Danger zone: You make some crazy-assed decisions when you’re hormonal…

 

Just a little bit crazy…

Sometimes I do some silly things not even I can explain. Like when I bought four packets of loo paper from the supermarket when I actually went in there for dish liquid. Or the time when I forgot I had still had my jammie pants on when I got out to fill up the car at the gasser. But lately I have been doing some silly things that involve a computer, an overly hormonal longing for a baby and a boredom not even TOWIE can cure.

As a side effect of creating a fertile wee temple for my sweet little ghost baby to inhabit, my skin is now resembling somewhat of an Iraqi battlefield. I have more breakouts than a teenage boy with an online porn addiction and I’m longing for my bloody pill. Yasmin, you good friend you. You made my skin clear, kept the last cling-on kilos at bay and while at times you might’ve meant my hormones had me resemble Kathy Bates in Misery, I still miss you. Lots. Sure I was blessed with my mum’s good skin – a little oily which means less wrinkles – but to have breakouts in your mid to latter 30s is all kinds of wrong.

Today in my search for fertility happiness and wellbeing I conducted my own… tests if you like… on If These Lady Parts Have Any Use Left in Them Whatsoever and on my little journey discovered a site named the Pregnancy Predictor. Explanation here perhaps not necessary.

Brilliant! Said my sweet little hormonal head. Maybe this is the key, fertility expert physicians be damned. Need I remind you again when a girl is all kinds of jumped up on hormones, she is willing to try anything – save selling her left kidney or maybe last season’s Jimmy’s – to find out if and when she might actually be able to fall up the knock.

Yes, I do realise it’s not normal to allow an internet site to determine whether or not you are fertile but my bus missed its ‘normal’ stop a good many months ago.

First it asks me for my details (all except my bra size) and at each step I watch the little line slide down like Lindsay Lohan’s undies til the last little step when it all but tells me I have raisins for eggs.

Want to know what it said? I’ll tell you. It told me my pregnancy prediction sits at a nice healthy whopping 8% chance of conceiving naturally and approximately a 37% chance of conceiving with IVF. Fan-bloody-tastic. Right now that’s a relief because I didn’t already think I was more baron than a 1950s spinster.

Guess if I’ve pretty much got Buckley’s chance of cooking my own maybe I’ll have to resort to different measures. Now where was that black market mail order site…? Kid-ding (before you slap me I wasn’t even serious). Pregnancy Predictor you know what you can do with your pissy-assed eight per cent…stick it where the trees don’t grow, sweetheart think I’ll stick to Mr Needles, thanks just the same. And I’m putting myself on an interwebby ban.

Hugs, Lady Mama G xo

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