Insane in the membrane

Monday 3 September: Start snorting Synarel to bring on the hot flushes et al.

Thursday 14 September: Give good vein and learn how to stab myself in the stomach again so as to maximise bruising and tenderness.

Friday 15 September: Commence filling up my loudly and proudly displayed hazardous waste bin with the pointy bits from the Purgeon pen, muttering "happy 5th wedding anniversary" to hubs as I go.

Chuck in a couple more blood extractions and a date or two with the ever exciting dildo cam, a hormonally induced emotional breakdown and a weight gain of about five kilos, then...

Sometime after the 25th September:

1. Succumb to the delights of general anaethesia so that my fertility specialist can insert an enormous needle through the wall of my cooter to suck some googy eggs out.

2. Sperm, meet needle. Needle, meet egg. Newly formed embryo(s): divide for your life!

3. Indulge in a hot and heavy fifteen minutes of baby making two or so days after (egg) pick up. Just me and hubs....and the embryologist, and the catheter wielding doctor...

4. Spend the next two weeks wondering if the reason I have turned into such a moody biatch is because of crinone *ahem* squishiness or because I am, once again, host to a small human like creature. Either way, a lot of the cranky pantedness will definitely be due to the sudden removal of caffeine and the (sometimes more than) occasional glass of wine from my diet.

5. Blood let one more time to know whether I will indeed be getting fatter and even moodier over the next eight or so months. Or whether we will be having a break before thawing one of our frozen pop tarts (if we have any), or whether we will be repeating steps 1 to 7 again (and hopefully not again, and..).

Am I completely nucking futs or what?