I'm dreaming of a red Christmas

There's no other way to say it, the red menace is on its way. I'm in bits with period pain, which isn't good on Christmas Eve when I am running around like a blue arsed fly icing Christmas cakes, doing last minute shopping (mainly booze to drown the sorrows), washing floors and making trifle.

To all the lovely bloggy friends I made this year, thank you all for your support in the past few months. Have a very happy Christmas, and may all your wishes come true in the coming year.

I've a bottle of Veuve Cliquot in the fridge with my name on it. Not for any reason of celebration, but just because I can drink on Christmas day. Slainte!

Ahhhh! I'm meltingggg!

Well my head is anyway. Being a hardened pee stick addict, I decided at the weekend that I couldn't bare the suspense until Wednesday, so I conducted a wee experiment (literally).

Because I have had four hcg injections over the nine days following ovulation, I still have a certain level of synthetic pregnancy hormone in my system, which means that if I take a pregnancy test before 17 dpo, I will get a false positive result. So I figured the only way to test early is to test two days in a row and see if the line is getting weaker or stronger. So I did a test on Saturday and then another on Sunday, and the line was weaker on the Sunday. So far so shit.

It probably wasn't the wisest of days in the week to do this to myself, as we had decided to drive to a large shopping centre outside Dublin on Sunday to do the last of our Christmas shopping. So we parked up and made our way to the shops, passing a line of twenty or so little kids queueing to visit Santa. I remember passing a similar line of kids in the same centre this time last year and hoping that I would at least have a bump on me at this stage if not pushing a buggy. It just served to remind me that we are still stuck in the middle of all this shite, albeit with a small chink of light at the end of the tunnel, in that at least we are allowed to try to conceive again, for the first time in months.

Anyway the shops were absolutely thronged to the point of clausterphobia, and after a couple of hours I began to feel that old familiar crampy feeling in my belly. I found a bench outside the bookshop that John was in and as soon as I sat down I could feel the tears coming. I just felt so angry at myself for getting my hopes up and thinking we just might hit target the first month. For thinking we might have a reason to celebrate this Christmas, instead of the usual put-on-a-smile-and-get-on-with-it Christmases we have endured for the past two years.

I didn't bother testing again this morning, the thought of no line there at all was just too depressing to contemplate. But then as I got dressed I noticed my boobs feeling really sore and swollen, which is usually a pregnancy symptom rather than a PMT symptom for me. I'm still feeling tired too. So which is it? Is the witch on her way or not?

This is all such a head fuck.

Santa Claus is coming to town...

Just to prove that I am doing more than sitting around obsessing about the 17 day wait, here's a couple of shots of our living room, decorated to a standard that I hope will entice the fat man in the red suit to pay us a visit a day early with a great big present.

The cats as always at Christmas think we are the best humans ever, since we installed a great big fuck off cat toy for them to pull apart and destroy every day. They love punching the baubles until they get them on the ground, then they chase them around the living room. They also prey on my poor little rag doll reindeers, santas and angels. I regularly find them face down on the floor, murder victim style, all that's missing is the chalk mark surround and it would be CSI Tipperary. Then we drop hugely in their opinion in early January, when we take away their gigantic toy. Strange creatures, these humans.



I've gone really festive with the fireplace this year too. There's a whole raft of snow people, santas, reindeers and Santa bears hanging out waiting for a visit from the man himself. I even have a washing line of Santa's laundry, even though judging by the size of his mittens compared to his jackets and trousers, he's disturbingly out of proportion. So far the cats haven't taken a swipe at that, but I wouldn't rule it out yet.


So it's five days to Christmas Eve. I'm still feeling totally and utterly ran-over-by-a-steamroller knackered, even though I was in bed asleep at 10.30pm last night. And either my sense of smell is going into overdrive or some farmer collecting his pension in the post office this morning brought a serious amount of cowshite in with him on his wellies, because the smell nearly knocked me over. I've also had the passing twinge in my bosom region, but not the usual increase in cup size. So who knows. Having said all that, I had all those symptoms in a far more noticable way last time I was pregnant, and it was all over ten days after getting my BFP, so early strong symptoms are no gaurantee of a lasting pregnancy, if there is one there at all to begin with.

Ok *slaps self around the chops in an effort to cop oneself on* stop bloody obsessing Jane!

Ten down, seven to go

Days that is, on my super extended two week wait. I got this month's blood test results back this morning, and it looks like we've got the formula right at last as results were.....

*** X factoresque drumroll***

Oestradiol 655
Progesterone 125.5

***Jane's ovaries burst into tears in a display of emotion to rival Alexandra***

I'm very happy to report that I am feeling like total shit. I was at my Christmas party at the weekend, had approx 4 drinks, was in bed at 3.30am and I'm still feeling like I need to catch up on my sleep after it, despite being in bed crashed out at 10pm the following night, and falling asleep on the couch at 9pm last night. But then I'm like a cat when it comes to sleep. I'd nearly sleep standing up. But still, I'm feeling knackered....hmmmm.....

In other news, my 14 year old niece is writing to the Pope to nominate me for canonisation, since I booked tickets to the Beyoncé gig for me and her. It happens to fall two days before my 40th birthday, but I'm sure that won't interfere with the party plans. I texted her to tell her, and got back one of those OMG OMG OMG texts in response. Ah bless. I might be pregnant by then, but I'm sure I will still manage to be Bootylicious as always (I certainly have an ample enough booty to shake anyway).

So anyway, I'm totally obsessing about the 2ww here. If anyone has any suggestions for fun ways of passing the time until Christmas Eve without ending up in one of those nice jackets you can hug yourself all day long in, please share.

Pimp mah symptoms

So I ovulated on Sunday, and despite me being plagued with a dose of man flu, we managed some rather enjoyable baby making attempts. As I said in the comments in my last post, it turns out that the digital opks I picked up in the company shop are actually being given away for free. I have no idea why they are doing this, it's hardly profitable for them to encourage the female half of their workforce to get knocked up, but I'm not complaining. The kits they are giving away cost approximately €40 to buy in the pharmacy, so happy days.

I'm now officially on the two week wait, for the first time in months. The last time I was on the 2ww was last June, and I wasn't particularly hopeful, as I think we got the go ahead to ttc after I had actually ovulated, which wasn't much good. The time before that was October 07, which was our first time to try again after a miscarriage at 9.5 weeks. That was the most freakish two week wait I have ever had. Within 3 days of ovulation (yes 3 DAYS!) I suddenly had melons for boobs (ok, I'll admit I'm not lacking in the chest department as it is), a sense of smell to rival any blood hound, and an overall bleurgh exhausted/flu like feeling. It turned out that I was in fact pregnant, but it was a very short lived one.

A poster on a ttc board I frequent started a thread some months back entitled "Pimp my symptoms" for two week waiters who wanted to be totally irrational regarding every little twinge and sniffle. Stuff like "I have terrible wind, is this a symptom?", "My pet cat is ignoring me, could this be a sign?". You get the drift. It's nothing to do with that vindaloo you ate last night, or that cats are snotty little fuckers at the best of times (except of course for my little fur babies, who are four legged love sluts). So this morning when I woke up and felt a slight sore twinge in my right chesticle, the pimping began in earnest. I've been feeling a bit knackered for the past couple of days, but that could be post man flu fatigue. Or, it could be a.....SYMPTOM!
I've been peeing like a race horse in the past couple of days, but ordinarily I think I must have the tiniest bladder in Ireland, so that's nothing new. So far I haven't experienced any bionic nasal passage tendancies, which is usually a dead giveaway. The last time I was pregnant, I could smell bacon frying in the staff canteen as I walked past the car park, which is a freakish distance for a cooking smell to carry. I will keep you informed if this starts happening again.

Because of the fertility drugs I am on, my luteal phase is almost always bang on 16 days. I am on hcg injections on peak (i.e. ovulation day) +3, +5, +7 and +9. Because it takes some time for the hcg to work its way out of my system, I am not allowed to take a pregnancy test until peak +17. So looking at the calendar and counting 17 days from December 7th, it looks like the either the wicked witch or Santa with a very big Christmas gift is due to show up on Christmas Eve. So it could be the Best Christmas Ever Ever, or it could be the Biggest Bummer Ever Ever.

I've never been much of a Mariah Carey fan, but this morning I found myself glancing down at my belly in the shower singing the following:

"I just want you for my own,
more than you will ever know,
make my wish come true,
cos all I want for Christmas is youuuuuuuuu, babeeeeeeee"

Let's hope I don't scare the little bugger off.

I really am a share holder...

...in Clearblue. In my more active baby making stick peeing days, I used to joke to John that I should have shares in Clearblue, I'd spent that much money on their products. Well I found out yesterday that I actually have shares in the company that manufactures them. As I mentioned in a previous post, I work for a multinational which makes all manner of consumer goods, one of them being Clearblue pee sticks. And I happen to be a member of the share ownership scheme at work. So there you go. Keep peeing ladies, I want a good dividend this year.

The way I found out was that when I visited the site shop yesterday to stock up on skincare products for myself, shaving products for John, and nappies for our as yet unconceived children, there on the shelves were Clearblue Ovulation kits, the digital ones. So I grabbed a box, thinking they have to be cheaper than the pharmacy, even though I have a stash of cheapie internet ones at home. But hey, when you're an addict, you can never have enough peesticks in stock. Anyway got to the counter, trying to avoid other people looking at my purchases. The guy behind the counter said "sorry, you can't buy these (the peesticks) until next week, they're not input in the system yet". I went "well.....erm....I kinda need them this week". Without making eye contact he went "Oh. Right so. You can pay for them next week then. Is that all?". Me: "Em no, you haven't scanned this (inordinately large) pack of nappies, God loves a trier eh?". I don't know who was cringing more, me or him.

Anyway I reckon the shagfest begins this weekend, even though I am smothered with a cold. I think I'll go home, get on the hot lemon drinks and try to shake it off. Nothing worse than coughing and spluttering when you're trying to get it on.

And the clanger of the year award 2008 goes to....

my brother in law's big mouthed twat of a friend. As I mentioned last week, we were attending John's nieces christening last Saturday. Not only that, but I was at the end of this month's clomid dose, and the hormones were all over the place, to say the least. The new parents are John's youngest brother (seven years younger than John) and his wife (four years younger than me). All in all, it was a pretty tough gig to attend, given what we have been going through for the past two years. I was pretty much prepared for somebody to put their foot in it as regards our sprogless state, but I thought it would be in a small group setting, possibly at the party when there were a few drinks down.

But no, it happened much earlier in the day than anticipated. After the baby dunking, renouncing the devil and praying was over, it was time for the photos. When it came to the Godparents shot, John was handed the baby to hold. In front of everyone in the church, a voice shouted up from the pew behind me "You'll be next John, ha, ha!". I tried my best to let that go over my hormonal head, when he followed it up with "Are you getting broody yet John?". At this point I turned around and hit him with a death ray. Bitchy I know, but at least it shut him up. At that point I just wanted to run for the door. We went back to brother in law's house, and I just went upstairs and cried my eyes out.

The tactless twat later apologised to John, saying he only meant it as a joke. Well forgive me, but my sense of humour has been stretched just a tad past its elastic limit. I know he had no clue what we've been going through, but given that we are married longer than the other couple, and a few years older than them, it shouldn't take a genius to figure out that we might be having issues in the fertility department. I just wish that I had turned around to him and asked him how was his sex life since he was so concerned with ours.