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.

Failure

Dear Diary,

My quest for sperm domination has failed.

Bugger.

What now?

Tantric Massage - Take 1

Dear Diary,

I'm thinking that maybe massage oil and eastern sexual practices should never be put together.

I bought a book about tantric massage, and decided to give it a go. John was happy to get involved. Of course.

So... I oiled up, checked the book, knelt above John's head and with both hands, maintaining an even pressure, leant forward and lightly but firmly stroked from his shoulders down to his buttocks.

Problem: The book didn't mention how I should keep my balance. My hands got to his bum, the rest of me was hopelessly overbalanced, and the massage oil gave me no traction whatsoever. All of a sudden my hands went up in the air, I fell forward, and ended up with my face plastered in John's buttocks and my pubic bone connected with the back of John's head. Ewww and owww.

John doesn't want any more massages.

Genius

Dear Diary,

I'm a genius.

I have a plan!

Tantric sex.

This wonderful creation can cure both problems at once. Raise John's self-confidence and take control of his unruly sperm (shy sperm?) without them suspecting a thing (the sperm, that is). They're going to be dancing to my tune now.

All I need to do is start when I'm not fertile, so John doesn't think it's a ploy. Which it is. It's important that he think it's not, though.

Men!

Fixing the Fake

Dear Diary,

Problem: A man who's jealous of his own sperm, and has no control over them.

Solution: Raise the man's self-esteem, and take control over his sperm.

Oh no, I sound like I have a miniature Napoleonic complex!

Fraud

Dear Diary,

I'm in shock.

John and I talked about the whole 'too tired' thing.

He said he'd been feeling guilty.

I asked, "what about?"

He said that he'd been faking orgasms. He said he'd been too embarrassed to say anything, and then didn't want me to think he was stressed about having kids, but the pressure's just really huge, and he isn't coping well. But he's been trying really hard, etc, etc.

Faking... do men DO that? I thought it was a female thing!

So... how do I get pregnant with a man who's jealous of his own sperm and having trouble getting them to do what he wants?

Tired

Dear Diary,

Oh, for crying out loud!

All the sex has worn John out. I should've known. Men whinge that they don't get enough sex, but when they do, they can't cope.

GRRRRRRRR.

(it's only been 4 days)

Another Month

Dear Diary,

So, another month of weird sex and trying to make sure my husband doesn't feel jealous of his own sperm. I'm still wrestling with how to do that... do I just give in and have sex every day, whether I'm fertile or not? Maybe I should.

Acronyms

Dear Diary,

I heard two guys across the other side of the office mention 'CM' and thought to myself, "Why are they talking about Cervical Mucous?". I'm officially obsessed.

I hadn't realised just how many acronyms there are in the trying-to-get-pregnant culture until I started thinking about it. But it's almost as bad as IT. Worse. IT acronyms are, at worst, geeky. These acronyms can be downright weird and gross.

Here are some of my favourites:

AF: Aunt Flo. Also known as 'my period'. Characterised as an annoying old interfering biddy who's always turning up right when you don't want to see her.

BFN: Big Fat Negative (home pregnancy test result)

BFP: Big Fat Positive (see above)

EWCM: Egg-white cervical mucous. It feels like you're entering the twilight zone, the first time you unravel the acronyms and work out that a forum full of women are happily discussing the consistency and colour of the mucous in their privatest of private parts.

TTC: Trying To Conceive. Well, that's pretty straightforward.

TWW: Now this is the one that had me confused for months before I got up the courage to ask. Two Week Wait... the time between ovulation and when a woman's period is due, when she turns into a brooding, obsessive weirdo who spends much of her time in the bathroom peeing on little sticks and wailing.

CRUD

Dear Diary,

It's not implantation bleeding. Not unless there's a whole swarm of babies burrowing in there. I'm not pregnant.

I'm going nuts, aren't I? I'm turning into one of those psycho women who get so caught up in trying to conceive that they have imaginary pregnancies for months at a time.

Maybe I should just skip that stage and have an imaginary baby. Think about it! No dirty nappies, no interruptions you don't actually want, no stress over cleaning bottles or soothing bitten nipples.

That sounds great. I wonder if I can rope John in too.

Do you think we should get a pram for Imaginary Baby?

Maybe Not

Dear Diary,

I'm bleeding.

Crud.

Hey... it could be implantation bleeding, right? No need to give up yet.

Sore Boobs

Dear Diary,

I'm still feeling sick first thing in the morning, and my boobs hurt. I MUST be pregnant. WOOHOO!

Note to self: Don't poke boobs to check if they're still sore while standing in line at Coles. Other people in line get uncomfortable.

Nausea

Dear Diary,

I feel sick.

Maybe I'm pregnant!

Kid - maybe you were conceived last week!

Birthday

Dear Diary,

It's John's birthday in two weeks.

What do you buy for a man who's jealous of his own sperm?

All I can think of is - a condom.

Sperm Wars

Dear Diary,

Following on from last night's 'two week dry' comment...

John feels as though I only want him for his sperm.

Uh-huh. I bit my tongue, then gently asked him to explain.

He said that I only seem to want to have sex when I'm fertile.

I commented that before we decided to get pregnant, we were having sex twice a week, and we're still having sex at least twice a week, so how the hell (voice getting higher and louder here) is that only having sex when I'm fertile?

He pointed out that we have sex once a day when I'm ovulating.

I pointed out that that's extra sex, and I thought he'd be happy about that.

He pointed out that it's sex for procreation, and he thinks we should spend at least equal time just having sex for fun.

The penny dropped.

John. Is. JEALOUS. He's jealous of his own sperm.

Wow. How does he manage that?

My back

Dear Diary,

My back is feeling better now... just in time for what John calls the 'two week dry'. Growl.

Oh no

Dear Diary,

I went for coffee with Cathy this evening. She asked how I was, so I opened my mouth to answer.... and realised I was about to tell her about my cervical mucous and general fertility.

I'm a freak!

Oh Yeah...

In all that weirdness with the scrambled egg craving I almost forgot...

I'M FERTILE!!!! WOOHOOO!!!

Mucous

Oh my.

I just discovered that I can work out when I'm fertile by sticking my finger up my vagina, wiggling it around a bit, and checking the resulting gooey finger for something resembling egg-whites.

I tried it. Yep - egg-whitey stuff. But is it bad to look at your own cervical mucous and get cravings for scrambled eggs? Somehow that just seems wrong.

Pain

Note to self: Screaming in pain during sex really puts a man off.

But come on, what else can I do? I ovulate, we have sex... otherwise we lose an entire month.

Kama Sutra

Dear Diary,

John and I talked a couple of nights ago... and he's upset that sex is becoming mechanical. Geez, welcome to the club, mate! I think the best thing about trying to get pregnant is that men start feeling the way women have felt all their lives. Like sex aids. John says that he feels like a cross between a dildo and a turkey baster.

So anyway, last night I brought home a copy of the Kama Sutra and some massage oil to help spice things up a bit.

Word of advice: Don't attempt the Position of The Wife Of Indra while you're both slippery with massage oil. I lay down on my back, John knelt down and I put my feet on his shoulders... then I raised my bum, something slipped and now I've got a sprained back muscle and John has a black eye and cracked tooth.

Further word of advice: Wash off the massage oil before going to the Emergency ward of the hospital. It causes way too many smirks and spurious advice.

Oh well. At least I didn't have anything stuck in an orifice.

Murder

Dear Diary,

New month.

"Look on the bright side - another month to have fun and sex with each other!"

If one more person says that to me, they'll die. Painfully. Slowly.

Yoyo

Dear Diary,

It's just occurred to me that for 2 weeks every month, I turn into Ms. Yoyo Knickers. John's starting to think it's unnatural.

I told him to stop whinging and count his blessings.

Drool

Dear Diary,

Remind me why I'm doing this? Yes, I know, I know, you're only bits of paper, you can't help me. Dear God, I'm starting to talk to inanimate objects. I can't cope. I miss my coffee. Coffee! A coworker makes a cup 10m away and I start drooling. This is pathetic.

I managed to hold off from testing yesterday. Good thing, too. I started bleeding this morning. Not pregnant this month either. Is the pain REALLY worth it?

FAQ

I compiled a list of frequently asked questions for myself. Maybe this way I won't go nuts every time I get a twinge somewhere.

My breasts are sore and I’m feeling nauseous – am I pregnant?

You might be. You might not be. Your body might be trying to get into the right mood by manufacturing some pregnancy symptoms to keep you entertained. Or the sex you had last night was just a little too enthusiastic. Or you’re just plain imagining things. I know that sounds both vague and a little nasty, but it’s a sad fact of life that while some women just know when they get pregnant, the majority of us need to wait until about 6 weeks into the pregnancy to get any unmistakable symptoms.

My period’s usually spot on time, and now it’s one day late. Am I pregnant?

See above. Also, the stress of trying to conceive can delay your period. Don’t lose hope, though – getting pregnant can also delay your period.

How long will it take me to fall pregnant?

Anywhere from 5 minutes to never. On average, though, it takes 3-12 months.

Disaster Area

Dear Diary,

I thought I hated this diet. I was wrong.

NOW I hate this diet. Passionately.

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and screamed.

My face looks like it was borrowed from a teenage boy. I have zits all over my face. I'm so depressed I almost didn't go to work. Thank God for zit concealer. As long as I don't let anyone come within three metres of me, no one need know. Except my beloved husband, of course. Maybe I can just keep in the shadows when he's around. Candlelit dinner, and sex in the dark? It could work. Surely there's no chance of sex if he gets a closeup of this face. I look diseased.

I did another test this morning. I'm not pregnant today either. I'll try again tomorrow, just in case the tests aren't sensitive enough to pick it up yet.

Aftermath

Dear Diary,

That chocolate was so incredibly good. I don't think I've ever had chocolate so good. The pain of the last two weeks was almost worth the near-orgasmic experience of eating an entire block of chocolate.

I walked into work this morning and couldn't keep my face normal. Simon, Georgia and Karen twigged straightaway. You should've seen the earnest, disappointed looks on their faces. Like facing a cult member who'd strayed from the fold. They were feeling a little betrayed, but willing to forgive. So I confessed to eating a square of chocolate I'd found at the back of the fridge. I actually cried, the emotion was running so high.

So, back to the diet. Salad sandwiches on real wholemeal bread – not that fake dyed-white-bread stuff. I was allowed to add a little mustard, as long as it didn't have any salt or sugar in it. Actually, it was sort of nice – although it could've done with some cheese and meat. Anyone who says salad sandwiches aren't filling hasn't tried this healthy bread... it's like eating lead. Thunk, down into the stomach.

Negative No. 2

Dear Diary,

A negative. I tested and it's negative. I'm sitting here crying my eyes out, and I'm not sure what I'm most upset about – that I'm not pregnant, or that all this bloody liver-cleansing diet has been for nothing. I'm going nuts. I'm in tears, and I can't eat chocolate. What am I DOING to myself? This just isn't natural.

Wait a minute. What am I thinking? I'm at home by myself. There's a 24hour service station down the road. They sell chocolate. Who's to know if I break this stupid diet? It's not like I'm actually trying to cleanse my liver. All these vegetables have numbed my brain. Bye.

Berries

Dear Diary,

Despite the 'digestive discomfort', we've managed to keep to the sex schedule. If we get pregnant this month, I can finish this charade in 4 months. I can't keep the diet up for 4 months though. No way. Lucky I told people at work it should only go for 2 months. What am I going to do for the other 2 months? Darn, didn't think of that. Oh well, I'll think of something. Maybe I could pretend to convert to Islam.

PS. Berries on my breakfast – now that's one meal I can cope with. Pity about the soymilk.

Liquid Life

Dear Diary,

I've been fruited to death.

How on earth am I supposed to have sex every night when my bowels have turned to liquid? No-one warned me about this. 'Some digestive discomfort' does NOT imply diarrhoea.

John is in better shape. I suspect he's been cheating at lunchtimes. Fair enough, I guess. I would too, if I could.

Pulling Out...

Dear Diary,

I tried to do it. I did. I looked Simon in the face, and I said, “Look, about this liver cleansing diet...”. His face fell. He thought I was pulling out of it, and told me he was feeling SO much better, but he couldn't keep it up without our support. He was almost crying. Sigh. What is this talent I have lately for making grown men cry?

So I'm stuck with my brilliant idea. Let me see... what's for dinner tonight? Vegetable stirfry with rice... hallelujah, a dish I actually recognise!

Weird food woes

Dear Diary,

It's Day Three of Plan Health Nut. I'm about to expire for want of decent food. I'm eating vegetables I never heard of before. Chickpeas. Okra. Spinach. OK, OK, I'd heard of spinach before, but that doesn't mean I was stupid enough to eat it.

Maybe I should just come clean with the people at work. Suddenly, having 14 people showing deep interest in the sordid details of my sex life and asking me if I'm pregnant every second day doesn't sound so bad.

Soy = nuts

Dear Diary,

I shared the diet plan with the people at work. They're enthusiastic. You know, I should've started a cult instead. If these people can get enthusiastic about giving up everything that tastes good in their life... surely they'd get enthusiastic about a new religion with lots of sex and giving me half their income. Right? Bloody weirdos.

This morning for breakfast I had half a grapefruit, a bowl of muesli with soy milk, and a glass of orange juice. Soy milk. People drink the stuff voluntarily?? It tastes like bean-flavoured water with some sugar in it. Yuck. And I'm stuck with the stuff for 2 months. I'm nuts, right??

Kid, if you're reading this – LOOK AT WHAT I PUT UP WITH TO GET YOU. I sacrificed everything I value.

The Diet

Dear Diary,

I just talked to John about my diet problem. He collapsed in a pile of laughter. Bastard. He sobered up fast when I reminded him that I do the cooking around here, which means he's on the diet by default. He asked why I couldn't follow the diet at work, then pig out at home. I thought of that, but I couldn't look my fellow dieters in the eye if I did that. Besides, I need realistic leftovers to take in for lunch.

So, I found a sensible and not-too-bad diet... I'm not allowed more than one serve of red meat a week (John's in tears now), but allowed two serves of fish. The other meals are no meat, no dairy (oh, he's wailing...), not many eggs... no white flour, white sugar... dear God, is there ANYTHING left to eat? Or do we just starve for the other 18 meals?

Rollercoaster

I opened my mail tonight to find a news article sent by Mum. Apparently a woman having trouble getting pregnant, succeeded after going on a rollercoaster an hour after having sex.

In Australian theme parks, we'd need to have sex while waiting in line to get ON the rollercoaster.

Hmm

Note to self: Screaming out, "I'm ovulating!" does not turn a man on as much as I thought.

Sailor

To get pregnant, we need to have sex. I realise this. I quite welcomed the idea. But I'm starting to walk like a sailor - bowlegged. Make that a sailor who jogged 50km yesterday and repeatedly fell on his (let's make it her) bum. Very, very carefully.

People at work are starting to ask questions. I told them I've taken up horse-riding. It's practically true.

Tough?

No I'm not. It's been 10 minutes and I just - unintentionally - ate a piece of chocolate. I can't last 10 minutes on this diet. How can I keep it up at work?

The Diets

Dear Diary,

There are a plethora of liver-cleansing diets out there. That's the good bit. The bad bit is, they all SUCK. Big time. No coffee, no chocolate. How do people survive on these diets? Coffee and chocolate is how I get through my workdays.

Deep breaths... calm down. I can do this. Mind over matter. I'm tough.

Sheep

Dear Diary,

Crud. I now have three people joining me on my non-existant liver-cleansing diet.

I have to come up with something – FAST.

Doing it right

Dear Diary,

I've been talking to Sarah, and I've decided to do this properly. Just as if I were really pregnant. No coffee, no alcohol, pregnancy vitamins, the works.

Work is going to be a problem. I'm working 60+ hours a week and going out to the pub once a week. Drinking like a fish. Apparently that's not good even when TRYING to get pregnant. How do I explain suddenly switching to lemonade?

Sarah recommended a sudden health kick. Who on earth is going to believe that I'd go on a health kick? A drinking binge, sure, they'd believe that way too fast. To the child I'm writing this for – don't try that for yourself. I'm stupid, OK?

So – my plan. I tell my workmates that I've been talking to a friend who's into the whole natural medicine thing, and she recommended going on a liver-cleansing diet for a couple of months, since I've been pushing the poor thing pretty hard. Maybe I should try converting a few to my liver-cleansing diet too, just to add veracity.

Blood

Dear Diary,

I'm bleeding. I don't flipping believe it! I'm not pregnant. John thinks I've lost the plot because I burst into tears when I realised. Idiot. Him, not me.

Slow Time

Dear Diary,

One week till I know if I'm pregnant. Whew. This month is going so incredibly slowly. Maybe this is why women worry more about ageing - because sometimes our months feel like years, and we assume our bodies are showing it.

I overheard Sarah talking to Rachel at work yesterday. You're not going to believe your little blank pages, but they were talking about cervical mucous. I don't know what it is. I don't WANT to know what it is and why the heck they were talking about it. Has this pregnancy idea has totally unhinged my best friend? What should I do? Is there a Pregnancy Obsessives Anonymous who could stage an intervention?

Coffee

Dear Diary,

Sarah and Graham are trying for a baby too. I wonder why she didn't tell me before? The same reason I haven't told anyone but her, I guess.

We went for coffee during our lunchbreak. It was great to chat about babies and getting pregnant. Sarah was drinking herbal tea, though, and I asked what happened to the usual latte. Bad for conception? Crud. I thought coffee was only bad during pregnancy, but apparently not - it lowers the chance of conceiving.

This is NOT good. No more coffee? Is a baby really worth 10 months of no coffee?

Meanwhile, John and I are doing our thing every night. John's in HEAVEN. Men.

The Beginning

I got the surprise of my life today. I thought I was surprised when John proposed to me, but this knocked my socks off.

I walked into the lounge after work. John was home, sitting on the couch, TV off, looking solemn. My heart sank. He said, "We need to talk"... and my heart found a new, previously-unexplored depth to sink to.

But get this... he's not having an affair. He didn't get fired.

He wants to start trying for a baby.

I'm so excited. I've decided to start this journal to chart the conception, pregnancy, birth and early childhood of our new family member. She or he can read through it later in life and know just what went on. I wish my mum had done this.

This is all fiction...

Watch this space...

Fictional diary entries coming soon.