That time of the month

Wondering why I don’t upload more photos? Well, I don’t really document that I can’t get pregnant. Plus, what on earth would I take photos of? Ovulation sticks I’ve peed on? Pregnancy tests I’ve also peed on? Doctors’ letters with test results? My calendar where I write down period days and temperature? No, let’s just stick with the baby picture and focus on how cute I was.

Now, from the title of this page, it’s probably easy to guess what I’m going to be writing about. Well done, you’ve guessed it correctly, my period!!!

When you start trying to get pregnant, nothing phases you anymore. Words like “sperm count”, “sperm viscocity”, “ovaries”, “ovulation” and “fallopian tubes” all become part of daily talk. And “period” is no exception.

My period is a huge part of my life at the moment. I think about it constantly. When I’m not on my period, I worry about how many days after my period I should be having sex, when I’m coming up to my period I’m paranoid I’m going to get my period and I’m upset, and finally on the first day of my period, I cry and cry and cry.

This is currently the first day of my period, so due to form I am balling my eyes out. Not sexy.

Plus, my period is so painful I have to take paracetamol regularly on the first day, I go up a size because I bloat like crazy and I’m super sensitive and angry.

What I regularly cry out on the first day of my period, while shaking my fist up at the sky (I’m not that religious but when you’re going through something like this it’s good to be able to blame something):


– “I deserve a child more than these bastards who abuse their children!”


– “I hate anyone who has kids right now”

– “I hate all pregnant women”

– “What’s wrong with me?”

– “Why can’t I do the one thing a women is meant to be able to do?”

All these thoughts go round and round in my head and then the bottle of wine gets opened and the pot of nutella comes out of the cupboard. I grab a glass and a spoon and I wallow.

*sip. “WHYYYYYY?” *sip. “I hate myself. I’m now going to put lots of weight on.” *sip, sip, sip. *sound of glass being refilled. “What have I done to deserve this?” *sip. “I hate myself even more now” *sip, sip, sip. *sound of glass being refilled. “I’m drunk.” *sip. “Let’s write down the first day of the period on the calendar and start counting” *sip, sip, sip. *sound of glass being refilled. Text to my husband: We need to have sex on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday next week”. *sip. *sob.

Great life, isn’t it?


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