It seems my new friend Letrozole and I are not getting on as well as I thought we would. Shame on her. Just one month into our first meeting and already I’m completely pissed off. Why? Well, like a Jedi Knight, Letrozole has managed to play some ridiculously pitiful mind games on me. I took her five tiny white pills at the start of last month just as I was told…with the hope it would make my ovaries spring up into action and suck up those eggies like Jordan Belfort on a bender. If she’d stuck to the deal, we’d all be happy right now but instead I found myself days overdue, the heady highs of ‘Am I?’ ‘Could I be?’ fast making their way up to the front of the queue of my headspace.
Being as it is that my cycle has been more like clockwork than Big Ben, when on day 28 there was no sign of my usual someone-is-trying-to-stab-me-through-my-uterus’ cramps who like to visit me so frequently, my stupid and very vulnerable heart started to giggle with glee. Give it one more day I ask myself patiently. You need to wait. You’ve had no ‘pregnancy’ tweeks, and there were those Kym Richards outbursts last week…just cool it.
The next day and still nothing. But it’s mother’s day, my heart tells me. This could be a sign. I decide to give it a miss and not do any testing that morning. I think I’m doing fine and even feel a little bit of what I initially think is morning sickness (which turns out to be sea sickness, turns out it’s not a good idea to be under the galley of a boat when a big wave hits). I decline a glass of champers because I’m pretty sure I feel a bit of new pregnancy butterflies. My contrite heart will tell me anything when it’s trying to make me believe it.
I make it to the afternoon when I suddenly give in and break the sound barrier trying to get to the supermarket for a POAS (that’s pee on a stick test for those not up with fertility speak). I can’t even wait until I get home, so flee to the public toilets for the special event. What a charming thought that you get to tell your kid you discovered you were carrying it in a loo cubicle amongst everyone else’s pee on the floor – but I’m not even thinking about that I just Have. To. Know. Now.
Holding the POAS in my hand I promise God I’ll give up everything, anything even my brand new Isabel Marants if this works. I breathe in deep…close my eyes…willing it to paint two pretty pink lines…but of course it doesn’t. Stupid. Ass. Mind. Games. No second line. I can’t believe I actually fell for it, must’ve got me at a weak moment… Love n’hugs Lady MamaG xox