What happened to that blog about that chick...

OK, OK, I owe y'all a big apology! (if any of my old regular readers still check this site...) I'm not dead. I'm not dying. There are no huge tragedies in the family. I did, however, get pregnant... which while a very joyful event, a) killed a lot of my inspiration for this fictional blog and b) left me with the energy level of an African sloth. Unfortunately work and family has had to take up any the energy I have managed to dredge up. On the bright side - I go on maternity leave in 3 weeks. The idea is that I'll actually manage to get some writing in. Here's hopin'!

Fertility Help? Bollocks

Dear Diary,

I went to the doctor today to see if we could have some fertility tests run or something. Here's a transcript:

Doctor: How can I help you today, Anna?

Me: John and I have been trying to get pregnant, and we haven't had any luck... so I thought I'd see if you could run some tests and find out what the problem is?

Doctor: (consulting my file) You're 29, right?

Me: Yes! Not getting any younger.

Doctor: And how long have you been trying?

Me: 6 months, now.

Doctor: Oh, that's nothing to worry about! It takes lots of couples longer than that. Just relax and you'll be pregnant before you know it.

Me: Just RELAX? (steam coming out of my ears) What the hell do you mean, just relax?

Doctor: In other words, calm down, Anna.

Me: I'm assuming you've never been a woman. Am I right?

Doctor: (looking a little confused) Yes...

Me: So you've never ovulated?

Doctor: (looking a little irritated, but still confused) No, Anna.

Me: Then shut the hell up! You sound like a hippy herbalist who wears hemp clothes. Worse! At least the hippy would offer me something to help me relax!

Doctor: Don't shout at me!

Me: Why not? (voice getting louder and more shrill) You're a patronising twit who wouldn't know the first thing about trying to get pregnant, aren't you? You didn't even bother asking how long my cycles are, whether I've been ovulating, how long my luteal phase is, or if I get egg-white cervical mucous! Do you KNOW what a luteal phase is?

Doctor: Oh, Billings...

Me: NO! Basic biology! IDIOT!

And I stamped out.

Do you think I could've handled that better?

Boring

Dear Diary,

I just read over the last few pages, and I realised something. Well, more than one something:

• I'm boring.
• I'm obsessed with TTC.
• Any future child of mine reading this would be snoring by now.

Crud. I'm a boring, obsessed snore-inspirer.

Maybe I should write more about the rest of our life... like... my work.

I sit in front of a computer all day, program stuff, and drink coffee. It's nice coffee.

OK, work's boring too. Hobbies? Writing in this diary. Watching TV. Hey, there was a half-decent Neighbours episode on tonight, that shouldn't happen again for years! LANDMARK occasion!

I've turned into my mother.

Sick Part 2

Dear Diary,

John is refusing to have sex with me because I'm sick and might transfer my germs to him. I asked him what happened to "in sickness and in health", and he said he didn't realise that included sex.

So I licked the spoon when I made dinner.

Sick

Dear Diary,

I've succeeded! I feel like crud. I'm sick in bed, all my joints hurt, and I'm throwing up every half hour. Is this what morning sickness feels like? I'm starting to wonder if we should just adopt.

I don't feel like having sex. I want to sleep.

The Issues

Dear Diary,

I've realised that Operation Flu has some flaws:

1. Sick people don't appreciate their personal space being invaded. And they're grouchy, so they're more likely to yell at me for getting in their face.
2. I can't take most flu medications in case they hurt the (theoretical) baby. So I'm going to be even grouchier than everyone else.
   
3. Who has sex when they're sick anyway?
   

Operation Flu: In Action

Dear Diary,

I decided to start Operation Flu today, because Georgia was at work after 3 days off and she still looks like hell. I needed to talk to her anyway, so I sat next to her at her desk, she brought up the schedule onscreen, and I tried to unobtrusively lean in and breathe in her germs wherever possible. On the third subtle breathe-in, she frowned at me and said, "What are you DOING? Get the **** out of my personal space, you freak!" and stormed off to get a cup of coffee. Whoops.

Maybe I could steal her coffee mug after she's used it?

Sarah

Dear Diary,

Sarah just called to tell me she's preggers. My first thought was - "Crud, she beat me."

Not only am I a bad friend, I'm turning into one of those psycho, bitter TTC women who gnash their teeth whenever someone looks happy. Is there a drug that can help me?

Operation Flu

Dear Diary,

Here's the plan: get sick around ovulation time, so that my immune system doesn't kill off the sperm, or the egg, or whatever the hell it's doing.

I'm ovulating in a week's time... which means I have about 5 days, given an incubation period of 48 hours.

But what if I'm too healthy and don't catch the flu? Maybe I should stop taking vitamin C.

Immune System

Dear Diary,

I've been doing some research, and I discovered something interesting...

Sometimes our immune systems can be TOO GOOD, and kill off sperm or fertilised-cell-cluster because it seems to be a threat. I've just seen 5 or 6 stories from women who got pregnant when they were sick.

I have an idea.

Warpath

Dear Diary,

Right, that's it. I'm not pregnant AGAIN.

This means war.

AF-Day

Dear Diary,

AF is due today... and so far, no sign!

I'm not going to get excited.
I'm not going to get excited.
I'm not going to get excited.

Darn - I'm excited.

Coles

Dear Diary,

I went to the supermarket today. While I was waiting in line at the checkout, a woman in her 80s - I swear! - tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "Excuse me... are you the lady from People magazine?" I could've died. I should have said no straightaway, but I was turning red so fast she would've known anyway, right? She grinned at me and whispered, "I do that every night - works like a charm, doesn't it?" All I could do was nod dumbly as she chuckled lecherously and wandered away.

Does my grandma do stuff like that? It would explain the broken hips...

Fanmail

Dear Diary,

Hey wow, I did get fanmail! About 50 letters. Here's an example:

Dear Naked Lady,
I am very interestd in auto-erotism. Do you run classes? Did you make video? I can pay lots.
I love you,
Mark

Oh dear. Here's another:

You are a pervert and a freak. God will punish you, whore of Babylon!
Kind regards,
Francine

(surely not as much as he'll punish you for reading People magazine?)

Cravings

Dear Diary,

Time to ignore the court case, the photos, and the general humiliation for a second. Anyway, the sniggers have died down at work lately.

I've been getting the weirdest cravings and anti-cravings. I don't want coffee anymore... the smell nauseates me. I keep wanting fruit and vegies... this morning I ate fruit for breakfast. Just fruit. I must be pregnant. Lots of pregnant woman get weird changes in their diet as soon as they're pregnant.

WOOHOO!

Photo

Dear Diary,

Well... on the bright side, they can't print it in the newspaper.

On the down side, they can print it in People magazine. Apparently I was in the middle of an ancient Eastern ritual akin to auto-eroticism. Sigh.

I wonder if I'll get fanmail?

Court - the Whole Story

Dear Diary,

I think I'm composed enough now to explain what happened.

John side-swiped a car in the roundabout fiasco, right? Well, when he went over to apologise to the other driver, he noticed a couple of those old leather suitcase-bag things that doctors always used to carry around - according to TV, anyway. Not long afterwards, the guy took off in his one-side-mirrored car and was soon chased by a police car.

It turned out that he was a drug dealer... a fairly stupid one, I would've thought. He had a few kilograms of assorted illegal drugs in those bags, and he obviously hadn't been keeping a low profile because the police knew exactly where he was and when he'd have the stuff. I'm surprised he wasn't on his way to the airport to catch a plane for Bali.

Because John saw the bags on his backseat, John became a witness for the court case. So, the jury needed to hear how he came to see those bags. So John explained that he'd sideswiped the Drug Baron's car because he was feeling dizzy after circling a roundabout numerous times in order to get the car acting as a giant centrifuge to see if it'd help his wife get pregnant. Then the horrible defense barrister asked for the police report of the incident to be read out in court, so that the jury had a further idea of the reliability of this witness... and so the whole court, TV cameras and all, heard all about me lying on the back seat of the car after having sex, with my legs in the air doing bicycle movements, and flashing a police officer. You can see why I don't think I'll ever live it down. But it gets worse... the media blew it all out of proportion and added all sorts of extra, juicy details. Hardly a day goes by without a lurid story about our sexual exploits in one newspaper or the other. Yesterday we'd just had sex and I was carefully doing my upside-down cycling when I saw a sudden flash of light. A media photographer had used a ladder to reach our fourth-storey window and taken a photo of me, naked, bulgy and doing weird upside-down exercises. I hate to think what he's going to do with it. They can't print it in the paper... right?

Court

Dear Diary,

I'm still too traumatised to tell the whole story of the court case. Obviously the guy in the car that John hit, was the 'Drug Baron'. But when I think of the court case, all I can do is picture John lying on the judge's table demonstrating my upside-down pedalling manoeuver...

My life is over.

Finland

My aunt's best friend's cousin just rang from Finland to tell her about the perverts living in her town.

Maybe Africa?

Newspaper Headlines

Dear Diary,

Yesterday's headline:

Drug Baron Court Case starts today

Today's headline:

Drug Baron Witnesses Had Sex while Driving
Local residents Anna and John Schmidt today testified to a run-in with the alleged 'Drug Baron' in a bizarre story of sex, perversion, nakedness and dangerous driving. The court was in turns horrified, dismayed and convulsed in laughter as the red-faced, penitent witnesses gave their accounts as if they, not the alleged drug dealer, were on trial.

We have to move. Far, far away.

Maybe Finland?

Sex fiends

Dear Diary,

So here's the scene:

John's apologising madly at the other motorist, who is screaming incoherently and waving a BMW side-mirror at him. Detached, obviously.

I'm coming to my senses and realising that I'm still lying on the back seat, legs in the air, frozen in the middle of a bicycle revolution, with no knickers on.

The policeman is out of his car and heading straight for John when he casually glances into our car - and falls over.

(Honestly, I thought police were supposed to be immune to shock)

Then, the other motorist's attention is drawn to the fallen policeman, and he assumes that this apologetic guy must actually have some serious backup in the car. He chucks his mirror on the passenger seat and drives off, tyres screeching.

The policeman is looking with concern at the rapidly-departing BMW, obviously torn between a high-speed chase and nabbing a couple of sex fiends. After a brief moment of indecision, though, another police car screams by in pursuit. The sex fiends are his by default.

I'm bright red, but at least up the right way and looking a little more dignified.

He looks at me, at John, and back at me.

"You're not having a baby."

It's a statement, no hint of a question anywhere.

"Well, not yet!" I bluster.

A hint of a smirk twitches the corner of his mouth before he regains his official composure.

A few moments later, he's dragged the entire scheme out of me. His composure cracks a little at the upside-down bicycle pedalling (demonstrated by John on the side of the road), then smashes into a million pieces. He gasps, sits down heavily and howls with laughter.

We avoided being charged - but only because a call for backup went out over the police car radio. Although he probably didn't want to try writing a report on us anyway.

Roundabouts Pt 2

Note to future child

If you ever find yourself trying to explain to a police officer how you came to be lying in the back seat of a car with your knickers off and your legs in the air while your husband managed to side-swipe another car, and that he was only dizzy not drunk or on drugs... try to make him laugh.

Roundabouts

Dear Diary,

I've been reading up on how to select the gender of one's child. It all comes down to sperm. If a girl sperm gets into the egg first, it'll be a girl. If a boy sperm gets into the egg first, it'll be a boy. Most likely.

Girl sperm are apparently bigger and slower, but longer-lasting than boy sperm. So to have a girl, I should have sex a couple of days before ovulation, to allow the girl sperm time to get to the egg... and to allow the boy sperm time to die. Knowing men, they probably die fighting with each other while the girls head for the actual goal.

Anyway, enough sexism. I've come up with a better plan for having a girl:

1. Get a car.
2. Have sex (in the back seat if desired)
3. Man gets into driver's seat
   
4. Lie down on back seat with your feet toward the driver's side. Put legs in air as per standard post-sex procedure. If desired (and possible), do cycling motions.
5. Man drives to nearest roundabout, and drives around and around it as fast as is safely and legally possible. Telling bub that Daddy's in prison is not fun.
6. The car now acts as a centrifuge... and since the girl sperm are heavier, this will push them toward the egg faster than the boy sperm.
7. After as many rounds as possible, stop the car for a while until dizziness eases. You don't want to be explaining why HE was so dizzy that he side-swiped an oncoming car, and for that matter why YOU are lying on the back seat with your legs in the air while explaining that to the police.

Of course, there are obvious problems with this plan. For example, I'll probably need to get upright to walk/run to the car. I could roll, or be carried, I suppose. At any rate, the neighbours will be amused. So, I came up with a variant. It has its problems too.

1. Enlist the help of a friend. Preferably someone you can trust to keep their mouth shut.
2. Friend gets in the driver's seat.
3. You AND hubby get in the back seat, feet toward the driver's side.
4. Friend drives calmly to a nearby roundabout.
5. Meanwhile, you and hubby have sex in the back seat. Quietly. Or your friend may wish to put on some music. Nothing too distracting or humorous, though.
6. After sex (hopefully approaching roundabout), hubby crawls over you into the front passenger seat.
7. Put legs in air and make bicycle movements.
8. Do the whole roundabout thing, ensuring that the dizziness step is followed.
   

Hobbies

Dear Diary,

I've come up with a list of possible sports I could take up, with pros and cons for each:

Kickboxing
Pros: Fun, exhilarating, and a good workout.
Cons: What if I get pregnant, and before I know I'm pregnant, get kicked in the stomach by a clumsy partner? What if intensive exercise is bad for a new foetus?

Rockclimbing
Pros:Also fun, not quite as exhilarating but a good workout - and maybe too much adrenaline is bad for foetuses too. Great for the butt, and I've heard that one's butt goes downhill during pregnancy, so it'll need all the help it can get.
Cons: If I fell while I was pregnant, maybe the harness could crush a developing foetus. Or my partner could lose concentration, and I'd fall on my head on the ground and they'd keep me alive as a vegetable until the baby was born, and my son or daughter would be teased at school for being half human, half vegetable. I don't think I want that for our baby.

Running
Pros: Quite safe, as long as I avoid roads and falling over. But could I?
Cons: Boring as heck. I couldn't stick with it.

Team Sports
Pros: There are a lot of non-contact team sports. Team spirit. Socialisation. Fun. Accountability.
Cons: How many non-contact sports are really non-contact? I've seen some nasty bruises on John from 'touch' football, and Sarah has a lot of violent netball stories. Not to mention her husband's talent for getting injured - eg. trying to catch a cricket ball with his nose. And he's more co-ordinated than me!

Yoga
Pros: Almost completely safe, unless I fall over attempting a tricky pose. For me, that's sort of all of them... but I'd need to fall on my stomach... unlikely. Very low-impact.
Cons: I can't think of any. Except the embarrassment caused if John walks in and sees me in some strange pose on the floor. Hang on - this is the man who's seen me do upside-down bicycle pedalling after sex so that the sperm know which way to go. Is this really worse?

Tai chi
Pros: Even safer than yoga, except that I'm standing up, so if I do fall, it'll hurt more. I don't think people fall over very often though, even when they're learning. Old people with fake hips do tai chi - how dangerous can it be? Gives me the illusion of learning a martial art, without the extreme pain usually involved in martial arts.
Cons: Won't get me very fit or toned.

Walking
Pros: See running, but slower. I might get to know the neighbourhood.
Cons: Boring, but not as bad as running, weirdly. Maybe because I'd get a chance to properly spy on people in the neighbourhood instead of rushing past them. Blurs are really boring. I could get mugged, though.

Obsession

Dear Diary,

OK.

I admit it.

I'm completely and ridiculously obsessed.

Obviously, I need a hobby.

Box of chocolates

Dear Diary,

Life is like a box of chocolates. At least according to Forrest Gump's mum. But Forrest Gump's mum was never trying to conceive, was she?

Hmmm... life is like a box of chocolates, I'm not allowed to have any.