There’s three things that scare the living shit out of me. Well, no technically that’s not true, there’s an entire 18-wheeler’s trailer load full of things that I’m afraid of – walking on glass floors being one of them – especially if they’re at a great height (and what a stupid place to put them in the first place) I’m all like one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-while-fiercly-gripping-the-walls-as-if-I’m-a-base-jumper in those damn touristy shittown places.

Lady Hope herself…

But the three things that scare me most at this right here second are: Snakes in my garden…anyone who has seen me on my daily walk-run down the bushy paths of our community will have laughed their squirrel nuts off at the sight of me leaping into the air when I thought a fallen palm frond was an actual boa constrictor lying in wait (it was very convincing, at a distance).

Rollercoasters and anything that tips you upside down…this is a real and actual physical anxiety and no amount of coercing by the 12 y o is going to change that. I did enough of the stupid ass things in my teens to put me off for life (thanks to my thrill-seeking bestie) and being that it’s school holidays there’s a very real chance my son may actually want me to partake in such life-threatening voyages.

Mostly I’m shit scared of failure. And by failure I don’t mean in life in general (though I may have slipped up on my 2015-diet-and-pilates regime, yes) but I am sweating bullets that this one-time-only last cycle won’t work.

Today my friendly needle nurse and I became acquainted once again. She placed a tournequay around my arm and I obligingly squished the stress ball. She then gave me a scrip to collect approximately $6k worth of drugs which probably isn’t the best thing to repeat to your girlfriend loudly when you spot her in a shopping market full of people. The filthy looks were reassured with my addition of ‘oh they’re not recreational drugs or anything’ to the man restocking the aubergines.

Loaded with anxiety and ‘will it fucking work this time?’ kicking around in my head, we’re about to start our ninth cycle of needle bashing.

There are fears I didn’t even know I had the inner fuel for but shit they’re burning into my psyche like a fucking furnace. Over the next 10 days those close to me will witness The Shining level psychosis that comes hand-in-hand with those wonderful things they like to call Follicle Stimulating Hormones (look them up, great lube for a party mood) and my favourite, the thick needle ‘trigger shot’ that is the gift that keeps on giving – pain that is – for sometimes an entire day if you’re lucky.

The next few weeks will go a little something like this: I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to punch something. No hold on, I want to snuggle a kitten. I need chocolate by the tonne, no wait maybe I need sponge layered cream cake…

To the person upstairs who is giving out the luck dust, I think it’s about time you come spread some of that shit this away cos Lordy knows I’ve had plenty of your bad stuff…now it’s time to play nice. All we want is our family complete, please? Love’n’hugs and Happy New Year, Lady MamaG xxo