Well, we're back in London and all unpacked. StupidCat has settled back into his favourite sleeping position (flat on his back, all four paws in the air) and it's nice to be home.
As I still haven't started my period (and still don't feel even vaguely periody), we picked up a pregnancy test today in Tesco. They'd sold out of most of them! I guess that tells you something either a) everyone is as organised as I am and everyone wants a September baby or b) there were a lot of "unplanned encounters" over the festive period!
I'm now three days overdue, so felt that if I was pregnant, I should definitely get a positive result. Most tests you can take and expect a reliable result from the day you first miss your period. People say they sometimes "feel" pregnant. Never having been pregnant before, I don't think I can really claim that one. I don't feel any different whatsoever, which made me think there's no chance I'm pregnant - it's probably just an extended cycle.
I sneaked a little-used mug out of the kitchen cupboard for a urine sample (don't worry - it'll go in the dishwasher!) and toddled upstairs. I find it extremely tricky to pee on a stick - why complicate things? What I wasn't prepared for was how nervous I was. I know that this is just our first month of trying, and at 32, I'm probably less fertile than I was at 25, so the chances of having conceived were fairly slim. Nevertheless, my hands were shaking as I opened the packet.
I did the test, and waited the prescribed three minutes. The tests have two lines that show when you do the test; the first line shows that the test is working; the second line will only appear if you're pregnant. The control line appeared... and nothing else. So, not pregnant.
But at £5 a pop, I think I might have a look on eBay and see if I can get some cheaper pregnancy tests for the future. And maybe an ovulation kit.
I told my husband; we're both fine about it. But it is strange how shaky I was. I think it's less to do with desperately wanting a child, and more to do with the scary impact it would have on our lives!
Wednesday 28 December 2011
Sunday 25 December 2011
Big fat family Christmas
Happy Christmas!
It's a big family Christmas as usual this year; my husband and I have gone to my parents' house, as has my brother and his girlfriend, plus my 88 year-old grandma, so it's a full house.
One of my best friends - Michela - came round last night with her new baby, Rose, who's now three months old. Michela has never been a particularly broody person, so it was fascinating for me to see how naturally she seems to have taken to motherhood, and how laid back she is about everything. I genuinely can't imagine being in charge of another human's life!
Anyway, today we all ate and drank too much, and talked about old times.
In other news, my period was due today, but nothing so far. I don't feel at all periody, but I don't feel at all - anything. It's a couple of days late quite frequently (and I have a long cycle of at least 33 days), so I'm not too hopeful. My husband and I are coming back to London tomorrow. If I've still no period by the day after Boxing Day, I'll get a pregnancy test from the supermarket. Look at me, planning ahead! I'm such a loser!
It's a big family Christmas as usual this year; my husband and I have gone to my parents' house, as has my brother and his girlfriend, plus my 88 year-old grandma, so it's a full house.
One of my best friends - Michela - came round last night with her new baby, Rose, who's now three months old. Michela has never been a particularly broody person, so it was fascinating for me to see how naturally she seems to have taken to motherhood, and how laid back she is about everything. I genuinely can't imagine being in charge of another human's life!
Anyway, today we all ate and drank too much, and talked about old times.
In other news, my period was due today, but nothing so far. I don't feel at all periody, but I don't feel at all - anything. It's a couple of days late quite frequently (and I have a long cycle of at least 33 days), so I'm not too hopeful. My husband and I are coming back to London tomorrow. If I've still no period by the day after Boxing Day, I'll get a pregnancy test from the supermarket. Look at me, planning ahead! I'm such a loser!
Monday 5 December 2011
The time has come
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax-
Of cabbages - and kings -
And why the sea is boiling hot -
And whether pigs have wings."
Or in our case, the time has come... to start to try to conceive. We've decided to go for it; despite there being lots of reasons why we shouldn't (not an ideal time for my career, wouldn't it be better to save more money first? etc. etc.) the truth of the matter is I'm 32 now, and it's not unlikely that it might take us a year to conceive. So let's roll up those sleeves and get started*.
So, with the help of my trusty iPhone menstrual calendar, I figured out that in December, the week commencing the 5th was my "fertile period". It seems amazing, putting faith into a free app, but hey ho.
Today was our first "official" session of unprotected sex. There have been times previously where we've been a bit... lax, but they've been very few and far between. I'm not a big fan of the contraceptive pill (when I tried it, I had a bad hormonal reaction and felt very down), so we use the old-fashioned, but, so far, reliable, diaphragm. I would highly recommend the diaphragm by the way. It's less invasive than hormonal methods, but feels more "natural" than condoms (and you can be a bit more spontaneous too).
Of course, I'm saying it's reliable, but for all I know, I'm completely unable to conceive, diaphragm or no!
So, the unprotected sex... felt really naughty actually - and therefore extremely enjoyable. There is something delicious about knowing there's nothing at all between the two of you. It's of course completely psychological, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
After sex, I kept my hips raised on a pillow for half an hour or so. To be honest, the whole thing feels quite silly. And still, it feels more like trying to manage a project than create a human.
* This is how you make a baby, right? Rolling up your sleeves? Oh.
Tuesday 15 November 2011
Project delivery
I have always been super-organised. I swear I made my first project plan (complete with Gantt Chart) when I was seven years old. So, it seems to make sense to take an equally well-planned approach to conception.
Whilst still not utterly convinced that I actually want a baby, a clever baby would definitely be better than a stupid one. With all the evidence pointing towards September babies doing better at school, we had to do some maths before trying to conceive. Maths done, we worked out that December was the month when we should go for it. Yes, next month. Holy scariness.
Yes, I know this sounds ridiculously organised, but let's face it, practically no-one conceives in their first month.
Part of me thinks I may be masking the fear with organisation. As a natural project manager by nature, a project with deadlines and goals is familiar and comforting to me. A baby, on the other hand, is utterly, utterly terrifying, So from the chaos, I create familiarity. Of course, it'll only make matters worse when the plan falls flat on its face. Unfortunately my project manager brain is already producing a flow chart:
So yes, we're not even trying for a baby yet, and already my mind is in overdrive. I dread to think what it'll be like once we're officially attempting it. I imagine every little twinge will feel like a symptom, and before two weeks have passed, I'll have convinced myself that I have polycystic ovaries, an upside-down womb and that my husband's sperm are all dead.
That's before I even start thinking about what a terrible mother I'll undoubtedly be.
Whilst still not utterly convinced that I actually want a baby, a clever baby would definitely be better than a stupid one. With all the evidence pointing towards September babies doing better at school, we had to do some maths before trying to conceive. Maths done, we worked out that December was the month when we should go for it. Yes, next month. Holy scariness.
Yes, I know this sounds ridiculously organised, but let's face it, practically no-one conceives in their first month.
Part of me thinks I may be masking the fear with organisation. As a natural project manager by nature, a project with deadlines and goals is familiar and comforting to me. A baby, on the other hand, is utterly, utterly terrifying, So from the chaos, I create familiarity. Of course, it'll only make matters worse when the plan falls flat on its face. Unfortunately my project manager brain is already producing a flow chart:
That's before I even start thinking about what a terrible mother I'll undoubtedly be.
Monday 12 September 2011
Potty mouth
I met a friend, Cara, for dinner last night at one of Jamie Oliver’s restaurants in the city. I haven’t seen Cara for ages, mostly because she’s now a full-time working mum.
I met Cara when we started work together on a graduate scheme of a large retail bank. I liked her straight away. She’s down to earth, practical, punctual to a fault, with a really dry, wicked sense of humour. It’s getting on for ten years since we met, and we’ve kept in touch regularly through book clubs, dinners and catch-ups. Cara is the only friend I know who will ring me to let me know it looks like she’s running ten minutes late… and will then go on to be five minutes early. As an obsessively punctual person myself, I love that about her.
It wasn’t a surprise exactly when Cara got pregnant – she’d been married for a couple of years – but I’d never pictured her as the broody type. She’s very pragmatic – like me, not particularly tactile, and she seemed different somehow from many of my other friends who’d recently become parents, with their cooing and seemingly unending desire to dress their girls in pink.
Cara’s daughter, Stephanie, is now just over a year old, and Cara was showing me some photos of her daughter, at various stages of babyhood.
“So, this is Stephanie when she was six months,” Cara said to me, handing over her iPhone so I could see.
“Cute,” I said. I didn’t really mean it. I’ve never yet found the photo of someone’s child remotely interesting.
"And this is her with the other babies from the ante-natal group.”
“Great,” said I,stifling a yawn and mentally making a Tesco list for tomorrow.
“Now, before I show you the next one, I have to give you some context,” said Cara. ”Basically, Stephanie hadn’t pooed for three days.”
Cara had my attention. Down-to-earth she has always been, but she’s too classy a lady to talk about poo.
“Well,” Cara continued, “I changed her, and suddenly she filled her fresh nappy completely with poo.”
“Oh,” said I, pushing my chocolate mousse to one side.
"So I changed her again. And the minute I got her new nappy on, she filled it immediately again.”
“Lovely,” said I, calling the waiter for another large gin and tonic.
“So I took her dirty nappy off one more time, and was just about to put a clean one on her… but I didn’t quite get there in time.” Cara hands the phone to me, and it is a picture of her, standing there, covered literally head to foot in shit. It’s even all over her face.
Cara. Classy, educated, pragmatic Cara. Covered in another human being’s faeces.
I think this may have put me back at least a couple of months in terms of thinking about considering coming to terms with the possibility of trying to conceive.
I met Cara when we started work together on a graduate scheme of a large retail bank. I liked her straight away. She’s down to earth, practical, punctual to a fault, with a really dry, wicked sense of humour. It’s getting on for ten years since we met, and we’ve kept in touch regularly through book clubs, dinners and catch-ups. Cara is the only friend I know who will ring me to let me know it looks like she’s running ten minutes late… and will then go on to be five minutes early. As an obsessively punctual person myself, I love that about her.
It wasn’t a surprise exactly when Cara got pregnant – she’d been married for a couple of years – but I’d never pictured her as the broody type. She’s very pragmatic – like me, not particularly tactile, and she seemed different somehow from many of my other friends who’d recently become parents, with their cooing and seemingly unending desire to dress their girls in pink.
Cara’s daughter, Stephanie, is now just over a year old, and Cara was showing me some photos of her daughter, at various stages of babyhood.
“So, this is Stephanie when she was six months,” Cara said to me, handing over her iPhone so I could see.
“Cute,” I said. I didn’t really mean it. I’ve never yet found the photo of someone’s child remotely interesting.
"And this is her with the other babies from the ante-natal group.”
“Great,” said I,stifling a yawn and mentally making a Tesco list for tomorrow.
“Now, before I show you the next one, I have to give you some context,” said Cara. ”Basically, Stephanie hadn’t pooed for three days.”
Cara had my attention. Down-to-earth she has always been, but she’s too classy a lady to talk about poo.
“Well,” Cara continued, “I changed her, and suddenly she filled her fresh nappy completely with poo.”
“Oh,” said I, pushing my chocolate mousse to one side.
"So I changed her again. And the minute I got her new nappy on, she filled it immediately again.”
“Lovely,” said I, calling the waiter for another large gin and tonic.
“So I took her dirty nappy off one more time, and was just about to put a clean one on her… but I didn’t quite get there in time.” Cara hands the phone to me, and it is a picture of her, standing there, covered literally head to foot in shit. It’s even all over her face.
Cara. Classy, educated, pragmatic Cara. Covered in another human being’s faeces.
I think this may have put me back at least a couple of months in terms of thinking about considering coming to terms with the possibility of trying to conceive.
Saturday 6 August 2011
First Words
Hello. Welcome. It’s nice to see you here.
I’m Kate. I’m 31 years old. I work in London and live just outside of the city, in the suburbs. I got married earlier this year. These are all things that people seem to want to know. Your name. How old you are. What you do for a living. Where you live. Whether you’re married.
Whether or not you have children.
We don’t have children. Not yet. For some people, I’m apparently “leaving it a bit late”, for others, there’s “no rush yet”. We’ve thought about it and talked about it, and I’ve never been maternal or broody in any way. But I also don’t want to wake up 30 years from now and think, “Oh bugger, probably should have got round to that.”
My husband would be happy to have children – but I think he’d also be happy for it to be just us. We can see the positives of staying childfree so clearly – we could potentially retire in our 50s, travel all over the world, live a comfortable life. The positives of having children are less tangible. OK, it seems nice when they cuddle up to you, but does that really make up for the sleepless nights, the screaming, the dirty nappies and the fact they’re inevitably going to be teenagers one day? Who hate you.
So welcome to my blog. Over the next few months, I’m planning on writing – hopefully with humour – about our decision-making process (assuming everything biological is working OK).
I’m Kate. I’m 31 years old. I work in London and live just outside of the city, in the suburbs. I got married earlier this year. These are all things that people seem to want to know. Your name. How old you are. What you do for a living. Where you live. Whether you’re married.
Whether or not you have children.
We don’t have children. Not yet. For some people, I’m apparently “leaving it a bit late”, for others, there’s “no rush yet”. We’ve thought about it and talked about it, and I’ve never been maternal or broody in any way. But I also don’t want to wake up 30 years from now and think, “Oh bugger, probably should have got round to that.”
My husband would be happy to have children – but I think he’d also be happy for it to be just us. We can see the positives of staying childfree so clearly – we could potentially retire in our 50s, travel all over the world, live a comfortable life. The positives of having children are less tangible. OK, it seems nice when they cuddle up to you, but does that really make up for the sleepless nights, the screaming, the dirty nappies and the fact they’re inevitably going to be teenagers one day? Who hate you.
So welcome to my blog. Over the next few months, I’m planning on writing – hopefully with humour – about our decision-making process (assuming everything biological is working OK).
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