I currently know nine pregnant women, or rather pregnants, as I like to call them.
Why do we say pregnant women? It doesn’t make any sense. You would never say pregnant men, so why not just cut it short and call pregnants, pregnants?
Anyway… I’m 35, so it makes sense that I would know a lot of pregnants, but nine?! That’s just crazy. And it makes me feel even more lucky and relieved that I am a pregnant too.
If you’ve read the earlier parts of my diary you’ll know that it took me two years to conceive this baby and I will confess that those two years were incredibly hard.
I even had to stop looking at Facebook because all the pregnancy announcements and updates on kids were really getting to me. While everyone around me decided to try for a baby and managed to conceive within a few months, I spent month after month after month trying, failing and wondering if it was ever going to happen to me.
In fact this baby is the result of: 22 months, three consultant appointments, one MRSA screening, five blood tests, one general anaesthetic, a laparoscopy and dye, hysteroscopy, stitches in my belly button (bleurgh) and abdomen, seven scans, two rounds of fertility drug Clomid, one self-injection in the thigh of Ovitrelle (my husband had to do that as I was incapable of doing it myself), one failed round of IUI and finally, on Christmas Eve, that elusive pink line.
Was it worth it? Of course. Absolutely, yes. But am I a little bit jealous of my friends who got pregnant as soon as they wanted to? Yes, I confess I am. A locum GP I saw a few weeks ago saw on my notes that this is an IUI baby. She said, it’s ever so exciting, isn’t it? I think IUI or IVF babies are just that little bit more special because you’ve worked so hard to make them. And I have to agree, but then I would, wouldn’t I?