Waiting to hatch

Well the Red Menace has almost left the building, and I'm already gearing up to hatch the golden egg. I have to admit, my clean living halo slipped a little (well ok, a lot) over the weekend. I noticed the other day that a restaurant in town was now allowing punters to BYO and not charging corkage. I rang up one of my friends and suggested getting a few people together for dinner. She said why not, let's put the session back in recession. So four of us headed out, bottle of wine each in hand. We left the restaurant, bottle of wine each down the hatch. We then progressed to the pub, and from there John and I went home, grabbed whatever booze we could lay our hands on, and popped in next door to see our neighbours. Luckily they are as big a pair of pissheads as we normally are, so they were their usual hospitable selves. The next day was a total write off. I didn't get out of the scratcher until around 5pm. As sick as a plane to Lourdes, I was.

Anyway, all that hedonism is behind me now, and I'm back on healthy form again. I went back to Catherine, my wonder woman acupuncturist yesterday evening for another session. For the first time ever, I bled when she took the needles out. Don't know what that means, but I suppose my circulation must be healthy enough. I also went back to the gym last night, before I fell off the wagon entirely. I started on the Evil Pills on Sunday night. I'm feeling a teeny bit weepy on them today, so I think it's off to the gym for me again tonight to get those endorphins flowing. I received my order from the medical test centre on Monday too. Preseed and peesticks galore. I had to tell John that preseed is not something you get from the garden centre to spread on your spring bulbs. It's more to do with lady gardens. Enough said.

This Saturday we are heading down south for John's niece's christening. I'm looking forward to it and dreading it all at the same time. I'm delighted for the new parents, you couldn't meet nicer people, but I'm dreading somebody not in the know of our situation giving it the "when is she getting a little cousin, nudge nudge, wink wink". I'll let you know how it goes.

Filling in time

As many of the blogging brethren have commented on their own blogs this month, it's hard to think what to blog about when you're not actively ttc in a particular cycle. Unfortunately that's my lot on an ongoing basis, until the powers that be up in Galway deem my hormones to be of an acceptable level with which to have a go at baby making. It's now a year since I last was pregnant, so it seems as though a lot of time and procreational opportunities have slipped past since then. Like my fellow ttc'ers I am still on a waiting game, but mine is a month long wait from one blood test to the next instead of a two week wait.

Anyway I'm blathering on here because I have little to report really. I'm still going to the gym, and so far I have lost 3 lbs (yay me!), but seem to be up a lb this morning compared to last Friday (boo me!). I haven't been drinking, have had a little bit of junk food this week, but not a huge amount, so I don't know what's going on. Mind you, this is my usual pattern when I try to lose weight, and I usually give up at this point. But I am determined this time. The muffin top is almost gone, and I have toned up a bit around my middle and my jelly belly, so that's progress. I'm trying to get to the gym three times a week, and not be intimidated by all the baldy, grunting, sweaty steroid heads who frequent the place. So far I have managed to avoid passively inhaling the fug of testosterone, so I haven't morphed into an Eastern European shot putter (yet).

I managed to get through this month's clomid cycle without too much weeping and wailing. I was a bit down in the dumps last weekend, but I think that could be due to the start of official winter time, and the dark evenings. I'm hoping the endorphins will keep the blues at bay.

John's niece is being christened at the end of the month, and I estimate from my ovulation date this week that I am going to be on cycle day 2 on the big day. This is usually marked by crippling period pains and full force of the crimson tide. Crimson tsunami even. I've told him that if I'm not up to it I might bow out. The other thing about it I'm dreading is that there will be friends of my brother in law's who are also friends of John's there. Some of them we haven't seen since brother in law's wedding, and they also came to our wedding. I'm pretty sure they haven't got a clue what's been going on with us for the past two years, so there's plenty potential for foot in mouth remarks as regards to our baby making plans, particularly when John is the godfather to this little one. So I'm kind of dreading the whole thing, even though it will be a nice family gathering. I just know that one misplaced remark would be enough to send me running for the bathroom.

Another event that has potential for awkwardness is coming up next week. There's a reunion on in Dublin for the bank I used to work at. When I was in my last job two or three years, the bank was bought out, and a lot of long term employees took voluntary redundancy. They still keep in touch with everyone who has left and every two years or so they have a reunion. I missed the last one as it was when I had my first miscarriage. I am going to go, because it's an opportunity to catch up with friends I haven't seen in a few years, but I'm just dreading somebody asking me how long are we married now, and any sign of the patter of little feet? Maybe most people will know not to ask, given that we've been married over three years now and I am 39 years old, which means we have either no interest in having kids, or we are trying and there's nothing happening. There's always the potential for somebody to drop a clanger though.

I'm due to have my next blood test on Tuesday. I've tried everything this month - dairy free diet, no alcohol, exercise, accupuncture. If that doesn't work I don't know what will. Tune in next week for results.

Feeling virtuous....

I had a very healthy weekend. I decided this month to not drink any alcohol whatsoever while I'm on Clomid and see if that helps its effectiveness. It was a bank holiday weekend here in Ireland and I'm pleased to say not one drop of the demon drink did pass my lips.



I also got out for a 3 mile walk on Sunday morning. One good thing about the town we live in is that there are plenty of walking paths. One of the more popular ones passes near to our house, so every so often I take a walk there. Part of the walk is lined with some really beautiful trees, mainly horse chestnut, so it's particularly pretty this time of the year.

I also started my Christmas shopping yesterday. I don't normally start this early, but I was in a shopping centre and saw something I thought one of my in laws might like, so I bought it. I also got the ingredients for my annual attempt at baking. I appointed myself as Christmas cake supplier to my parents in law a few years back, and now that I've established this tradition I feel like there's no backing out on the job. John's sister used always make a Christmas cake for their mother, and since she passed away I have taken up the baton. I love the smell of baking around the house, but I wouldn't bake a Christmas cake just for John and I as we would eat the whole thing ourselves in the space of a few days. So I make a cake for my in laws, and I usually end up bringing a quarter of it home to our house. I just have to get myself into the mood for baking.

I finished the clomid last night, and am happy to report that I haven't morphed into a wailing banshee so far. Note the so far, this may be subject to change. I did have one or two tetchy moments on Sunday when we were wrestling with the grating blade on my food processor, but apart from that I've been ok I think. Felt a bit "yuck, I don't want to go to work today" this morning, but I'd say that's a natural reaction to Tuesday morning after a bank holiday.

I'm starting accupuncture this evening, and after that I'm off to the gym to start my new fitness programme. I had a fitness assessment on Friday evening (yes, I went to the gym on a Friday, wonders will never cease!) and I actually registered better results in lung capacity, resting heart rate and flexibility than I did the previous time I had one done last February. Mind you my weight was exactly the same as last time, but at least I haven't gained anything. So all in all I felt pretty happy with that. I'll report back on the accupuncture tomorrow.

I'm still gasping for a nice chilled glass of sauvignon blanc though.....

I'm bringin' sexah back

There must be something in the air in the IF blogosphere in the last few days, since some of us have taken to exercise all of a sudden. May is extolling the benefits of walking (albeit reluctant extolling, and walking with "a face like a bulldog licking piss of a nettle" (love it!), while Womb for improvement has come over all zen like and gone back to yoga. The health kick buzz has also descended upon Chez Jane & John here in the arse end of Midlands Ireland.

To tell the truth, we've been members of the leisure centre in the one decent hotel in town since we moved here around four and a half years ago. When we joined, we were a year away from our wedding, so our mantra was "We are not going to look like fat skobies (chavs, trailer trash, whatever) in our wedding photos". So four nights a week we were down at the pool, swimming away to beat the band. I was determined to get into a size 12 Audrey Hepburn style little number for our wedding, which I managed to do after much pain and sweat.

I was trying to lose the weight gained while spent backpacking around Australia for 3 months the previous winter. I've started reading "Eat, pray, love" by Elizabeth Gilbert this week. It's about a 34 year old divorcee who embarks on a year of solo travel in 2003 in search of her inner self. Which is a little bit of a coincidence, since in 2003 I became a divorcee, and later that year, at the age of 34, I chucked in my permanent pensionable job at the bank, got out my Jesus sandals and rucksack, and hightailed it off down under for 3 months on my own. If I was to write a book about my adventures and travels, it would be a lot less spiritual, and more likely to be entitled "Eat, eat, drink". I literally lived on beer, nasty deep fried food and ice cream for three months. When I returned to my soon to be fiancé, there was an extra stone and a half of me to love (that's 21 pounds for my readers across the Atlantic). And I wasn't exactly a stick insect to begin with.

Anyway, I digress...Since our wedding both of us have battled with a yo-yo-ing weight issue. We both gained at least seven pounds on our two week honeymoon. That's what you get for going all inclusive. There's this inner voice telling you "F*ck it, we've paid for this, let's get our value for money" which results in you gorging yourself on food and drink. I went on a health kick in the month leading up to John's brother's wedding the following year, but once that was over I fell off the wagon with a resounding thump once more. That Autumn, I became pregnant for the first time, and was barely keeping my eyes open with the tiredness, let alone getting out for a walk. With the result that the pounds started to pile on. Then I miscarried, which kicked off a comfort eating frenzy that continued for at least 3 months. By that stage I had reached my heaviest ever, tipping over 12 stone on the scales, and for the first time ever in my life I was clinically overweight. Eeeeekkk!! This is the girl who used to be known as Twiggy for all of her childhood and teenage years, or just Skinny Bitch to my sister. I used to wear size 8 jeans when I was 16 for God's sake! Now I was reaching for size 16!

From there on a cycle of half hearted health kick, lose 3 lbs, get pregnant, put on more weight, miscarry, comfort eat carried on. I tried during the Summer to get on the wagon once more, but I just couldn't get myself in the frame of mind. My hormones were all over the place with Clomid, injections, disappointing blood tests, resulting downer, blah de blah de blah, that I just couldn't get off my arse and do anything about it. The past few weekends we have been saying "Ok, starting Monday, we are going back to the gym", but we've always found excuses not to. So last weekend I went down town, purchased a pair of shiny white trainers and some tracky bottoms which cover my ample bottom in as flattering a manner as possible, and we bit the bullet and went back. You always feel sheepish walking in there when you haven't been in over six months. Especially when you have been paying €45 a month not to use the facilities. Making donations if you will.

But this time I'm determined.
Because I am sick of having a muffin top in my favourite jeans.
Because I have a wardrobe full of relatively expensive clothes (Coast dresses, bustiers and the like) that don't fit me anymore.
Because I'm sicking of seeing myself in photos with three chins and a face like a full moon in a fog.
Because I'm sick of going shopping and struggling to find clothes that look halfway decent on me.
Because I'm sick of (to paraphrase Neil Hannon of The Divine Comedy) the fact that my arse is the size of a small country.
Because this weight makes me look every bit of my 39 years, and I am vain and like to think that I don't look a day over 34.
Because I want to start my next pregnancy (and there will be a next one, God willing) a stone lighter, so that when I gain baby weight I will not end up 16 stone post pregnancy.

So here goes, **gets up on the stepper machine without having a coronary in the process**.....I'm bringin' sexah back.....do do do....