Thinking of England

Another month, another menstrual cycle.

That makes 10 since the coil came out. A lecturer at university told me that a fertile couple having regular sex (values not defined) would conceive on average once every 10 months. I don’t know what the spread’s like, but I guess I should wait another 10 months before I get impatient.

I’ve written a few baby-making posts since Christmas, but they all seemed too dull to share. In brief, I stopped ovulation-timing because it didn’t work out well. By which I mean it sent me bat-shit crazy – I think it focused too much on the possibility that I might’ve conceived.

I mentioned before that there’s a two week window when you could be pregnant but can’t yet test, so you have to assume you are. The basics were fine – no drinking, no smoking, no bad thing – but the uncertainty scrambled my brain. The fact that pregnancy was a maybe rather than a yes or no made the fetus-elect seem more vulnerable.

Drink a Red Bull – will the caffeine kill my not-baby? Run home from work – could the impact stop the not-baby implanting? I was proper nuts. Now I’ve gone back to not having a clue about my cycles or whether I might be at some early stage of pregnancy, and I am much happier for it. I figure if I conceive my body will let me know at some point, after which the certainty will help me be rational about it.

That said, I had a little wobble around March, when I was more than two weeks late. It was disappointing to finally get my period (despite several negative pregnancy tests) but the bad feeling was fleeting. I don’t know whether I was just really late or if I lost a little newly-made zygote, but the distinction doesn’t feel important. It’s either a few cells that did fuse or a few cells that didn’t – silly to mourn the loss of either for too long.

My sanguine (heh) attitude is helped by the fact that I’m starting a new job in two weeks’ time, and I’m really excited about the role. It would suck to rock up and tell them I’m leaving in nine months, so for the time being I’m more than happy for not-baby to take its sweet time. Until then it’s wine boxes and Bensons all the way.

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