Waiting is shitballs. Just saying. But really, no it is. For the record, I’ve always been a girl who doesn’t like to wait. When I was a kid I always went in search to find my pressies early and would open just a corner so I knew what was inside. I never waited until Easter Sunday to eat my choccie and if I see something I want there is NO.SUCH.THING as layby. I’d like to say I’m a instant kinda girl. You know, someone who likes to be in control, know where I’m going…and to basically have everything like, yesterday.

I have to say I feel like this past week has dragged on longer than an entire year and thanks to those terrible awful things they like to call drugs ending in ‘erone’ I have been feeling lower than Lyndsay Lohan’s reputation. It ain’t easy waiting for someone to deliver you news as though they are God themselves. You get to wait for 11 days – that’s two hundred and sixty four hours if you’re asking – until you go for a blood test and then get to wait another four hours until the nurse calls you and delivers you…what has been for me, bad news, the past three times. It’s not her fault but shit, it is like the hardest phone call in the world, well almost. I have had another phone call which ruined my life but let’s not even go there. This nurse has all the power in her hands to tell you if ‘yes you are pregnant’ or the answer I’ve inevitably been receiving, ‘sorry, but it didn’t take this time’.

Yes she’s lovely, yes she’s kind but if you’ve ever sat and willed a phone to ring with good news, maybe you’ll know exactly how I’m feeling. Sure, there’s other ways, I could go and take my own test, soften the blow somewhat but like all fellow IVF devotees know that is sacreligious. You are meant to wait. Wait for the blood test. Wait for the phone call. Wait for the news. Wait for the joy – or the heartache.

Which would be fantastic if it wasn’t that it seems to be occupying every single inch of my headspace right now…there’s not even enough room in there to consider if I need a new pair of winter boots it’s that bad (I hear your collective sighs). Or enough space to consider that the world is not about to end and that really if I miss an episode of Offspring that I won’t completely go into meltdown…or that I really am a fortunate little Lady Mama G with so many good things going on in my life.

But balls to that. I want a baby. I want the damn thing to work and I want all the second-guessing I keep putting my body through, all the constant hormonal army inside my body causing a complete uprising to just bugger off and have it’s own little protest in someone else’s head.

Love n hugs, Lady MamaG xox