I’ve picked myself up and dusted myself off after last month’s disappointments and distractions. ‘They’ say that the answer to life’s problems can’t be found at the bottom of a bottle… but I figured it was at least worth a bit of a look, just in case. A few weeks of drinking away my sorrows (after Devilboy was safely tucked into sleep) and I discovered that ‘they’ were right, there were no answers, but damned if it didn’t make me feel better anyway!
Now it’s time for another ride on the IVF merry-go-round. And time to start treating my unco-operative body as a temple (a fairly shambolic and slightly ruined temple I grant you, but a temple none the less) in readiness for one of the embsicles to be dipped in anti-freeze in preparation for it to have a viewing of my uterine real estate.
I’m daring to feel hopeful again, not in small part due to the lovely gesture of a dear friend and her hubby who gifted me a delightful new icon to join my collection of fertile misfits.
The Fat Lady of Malta is a prehistoric headless splodge of a girl with an alarming set of cankles and I simply adore her. Now, she and the other girls are all facing each other so they can catch up on some girly goddess gossip. Though T-FLOM is usually insanely busy with her cult-like following of Maltese women, she kindly flew all the way from Malta just to help me in my mission to procreate… and her very presence is making me feel more hopeful.
I mean seriously, if a chick with no head can get preggers… there must be at least a little hope for me!