As I sit here on my couch, full of a cold, snuggled up with our dog, after just being a total bitch to my partner for no reason, I am trying my hardest to ignore the cramps and that ‘your period is on it’s way’ pain that I’ve now been feeling for 2 days. I’m thinking about everything else but that. What’s for dinner? Should I do some washing? Should I move that lamp to the other corner ..yeah great idea…actually now I want to move it back. I should paint my toenails. I wonder what Coles are going to do if they have to recall all their lettuce with this Salmonella scare I’ve just seen on Facebook. Random and unimportant things, to keep my mind from focusing on what is really happening.

My period is coming.

So, not only will the bitchy moany PMS monster inside me be arriving (joy for all those around me) I’ll be bed ridden all weekend with the pain (gotta love being a girl with endometriosis). But the arrival of old unwanted ‘Aunt Flo’ (who always seems to come for her visit at the most inappropriate time – I guess she really is like that wacky Aunty everyone has somewhere in their family), it also means that our first round of fertility treatment hasn’t worked.

This isn’t the month that I get to tell my beautiful love that he is going to be a Dad for the first time. Something I have thought about, Instagram stalked and spent hours on Pinterest and YouTube planning how to do it in the sweetest and kind-of-funny way I know he would love.

This isn’t the moment I have waited most of my adult life for – the moment I can finally tell my Mum I’m having a baby. That we are so clever, we made her another grandchild, to add to the two she already has who she thinks are the Bees Knees.

This isn’t the month that I can start buying all the baby stuff I’ve taken screen shots of on my phone …hello Bugaboo and Incy interiors .. I’m looking at you! (Not bugaboo…I’m going to beg my sister for hers)

This isn’t the month that it won’t be awkward when The Man catches me looking at myself in the mirror pushing my tummy out to see what I’ll look like when I’m pregnant .. Hopefully when it happens my face won’t be so red from holding my breath while I push out my stomach!


This is the month that I feel somewhat like a failure. Like once again my body has failed me. That I’ve failed. As a woman. As a partner. As a daughter.

As a 31 year old woman, making a baby is what we are meant to be able to do. It’s easy right? You decide you want to start a family together, you come off the pill, you go at it like rabbits thinking it’s all fun and sexy and you make a baby.

No. As it turns out, sometimes it’s not that easy. Sometimes you try for almost a year and start to wonder why it’s not happening. You buy countless pregnancy tests, different brands because obviously it’s the test that’s incorrect not your body and then you start to slightly panic when they are all negative. Umm… WTF is going on here!? Ok let’s have sex in the morning. Yep that’ll be the problem. Our bodies aren’t working properly at night, too tired from work and everyday life, that must be it. Nope. Nothing. Hmmm… Ok. Let’s eat reeeeeally healthy and do lots of exercise and have fun with friends and not think about it and then it’ll happen, right? Everyone says, when you don’t think about it, it happens.


Rightio..let’s go and see a fertility specialist. Ok so now we have a plan. We both need to go through some tests, make sure everything is working the way it should…that nervous wait to get the results is a killer…and the tests (for me) are invasive and painful..he on the other hand had to endure a blood test and give his ‘sample’ in a cup and he was done.. but you would think he had run a marathon whilst pulling a Mack Truck on a chain the way he tells his side of the story. He does that, he makes jokes to lighten a heavy situation. It’s one of the things I love most about him.

We sit and listen for the results, all pretty good on his part (fist pump) on the other hand. How did I get this body? Was I terrible in a previous life? So I don’t ovulate consistently because of the cysts on my ovaries, and when I do, I ovulate ‘bad eggs’ (let’s call them rotten eggs to keep with the egg theme). Which would explain the miscarriage we had in August.

So we are to start Clomid – a drug that basically tricks your body into producing the Follicle Stimulating Hormone (FSH) which you need to make you ovulate, and you need to ovulate to get pregnant. Ok, seems easy enough. Take one tablet for 5 days and then go for an ultrasound with the Dr. Have sex when we are told to. Ohhhh yeah sooo sexy! And not at all awkward!

Don’t get me started on the sex you need to have whilst trying to make an offspring. I kid you not, sometimes I don’t even want to look his direction, let alone drop my pants and I know he feels the same. Anyone who tells you “making a baby would be so much fun, think of all the sex” has obviously never tried to make a baby this way.

Back to the sex…it’s all fun and sexy when you first start. And then it’s a job. It’s work. A chore. Like something you know you have to do, but you would rather do anything else. Like taking out the has to be done but I put it off until the bin is overflowing and something starts to smell. Now I’m not referring to my life companion/lover as garbage. No no no. He is the total opposite. He is HOT. I think he is the garlic to my bread and I usually want to jump his bones all.the.time (except Monday nights at 8.30 because I’m too busy with The Kardashians). Seriously, I bloody love this man. And I know he feels the same about me. (Although I’m sure after my unprovoked outburst earlier his love for me dimmed a little for a while…silver lining to all this is you can blame everything on ‘the hormones’).

But when there is someone telling you when and how to do it, for that week, it becomes work. And it always seems, that when we are told to do it, it’s at the worst possible time. I have just finished a nightshift, he has just come back from travelling interstate for work, we’re tired, we’ve had a stupid fight (no I didn’t empty the dishwasher .. Again ..I think you can see the pattern of my lack of household chores) or we just don’t want to, plain and simple… Think of it like this… The times you just want to be a slob on the couch, stare at the tv and ignore each other .. The last thing you want to do is get sexy and do your thing…well guess what?! You HAVE too. Twice a day. For as many days as some Dr you’ve met 6 times, tells you too. Ohhh yeah…(insert sexy music here).

Anyway, back to the tablets. We thought it would be easy. Seemed straight forward enough. Well it would be easy if my body didn’t react so badly. I hallucinated – first that my hands and feet were 10 times bigger than they were (weird) and then I started having a great convo with my Nana in the lounge room (she passed away almost 10 years ago). Embarrassingly I almost passed out at work. Luckily I work with some amazing girls who were awesome.

We finished the treatment and had multiple ultrasounds and finally I ovulated! Yay! One beautiful follicle! Go me! Go us! So we did what we were told (see above). And then we started the two week wait until we could test…that’s today. Negative. All six tests. All 3 different brands.


So now we wait, for ‘Aunt Flo’ to come. Joy. Then we start again. Round 2. Injections. For 12 days. It feels intense and more hardcore than popping a tablet for 5 days, but it’s what needs to be done. The thought of injecting myself is scary, emotional and surreal.

So I guess you now know what this blog will be about, to be honest I have always found writing things down a cathartic and freeing experience, so if no one reads this (not you Mum, I know you’ll read this…sorry for any swearing) it’s a way for me to put down in writing how I feel about something I want so desperately. Heavy black heart

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