I Hate Thinking Of Titles.

I have just been released from a most unpleasant Entire Hour in the dentist’s chair, and am virtually incommunicado-by-mouth as a result, sporting stroke-victim facial muscle control and a Fudd-level of lisp. Good times. The anaesthetic is wearing off rapidly, and I am feeling sufficiently sorry for myself that I have actually sat down in a comfy chair – while the sun is out, and I am surrounded by dozens upon dozens of things that I could usefully be getting on with. All of which are niggling me, damnit.

Firstly: the IUI that kind of wasn’t. Didn’t work, The End. I’ve had the period, but not the clinic invoice, just to aggravate matters. I am sinkingly despondent about failing at this new, earlier stage, feeling that the greasy pole of pregnancy (double-entendres not really intended) has now treacherously become coated with an extra, uber-slippy slathering of lard – and grown loftier into the bargain. I have fallen painfully from half-way up it 5 bone-wearying times already; this time, I couldn’t even get off the ground.

I know that, statistically, I was overdue for this. I have become pregnant from every previous cycle, even cancelled ones. I’ve even managed it on my own a couple of times – for a given value of ‘own’. A 100% assisted-conception success rate is not sustainable. Yet… at no point did I seriously expect this cycle not to work – for a given value of ‘work’, and I am experiencing difficulty talking myself out of a burning, indignant impression of having been thoroughly cheated. I also hadn’t thought it possible that my sense of reproductive failure could pervade my psyche any further, but au contraire, madame! I live and learn, evidently.

Telling myself that this is a flukish result is only useful reassurance if we extend the data to include a Next Time and try again; this is a horribly sharp pain in the wallet, and a costly way to disappoint yourself. I am, as I have previously mentioned, not currently in possession of very much of an income (although I am an expert in mighty wielding of a visa card) but until I know that a second child is irrevocably off the agenda, I feel miserably incapable of a re-focus in any direction labelled ‘career’ or ‘serious earning’. I recognise the need to work now that Harry is at school, but I want something with zero stress that I can walk away from at any time – hence the seasonal bookseller post. The only snag there is that Seasonal + Temporary ≠ living costs, let alone ongoing IUI costs. Which is a bugger. 

I also can’t rid myself of the sense of how pregnant I should be by now, which is something I managed to cognitively sidestep on miscarriages One to Four. Five is biting me hard in the bum, particularly as every drop-off and pick-up at school is essentially a running of the pushchair gauntlet – all Harry’s contemporaries have either an elder sibling or a toddling younger version of themselves. I’m not resentful, as such, merely… reminded. Every day, I am reminded of how fucking ridiculously easy it is for everyone  -for a given value of ‘everyone’ – else to have the children they want. There are no ‘should’s in this life, God knows, but I do feel most terribly robbed – and I can’t help but contrast their Haves with my Have Not. I do not forget to see the Have I managed to hang on to – who has spent a very happy weekend playing with Shannon’s kids – and if he is the only child we are going to have, then I will close the door on this, re-adjust, and be happy. But until I succeed, or fail utterly, then even this sublime Autumn weather, my favourite time of year, is a visual glory that triggers a sense of beautiful, restless poignancy, as opposed to actual contentment.

And to top it off (I’m not a barrel of laughs today, I appreciate)  my anaesthetic (all four syringefuls) has worn off, and holy-molary, I feel like I’ve been punched squarely by Tyson. My jaw is only tenuously attached to my face, according to my reviving nerve endings. *shudder* Thank God I didn’t let him take my wisdom tooth out while he was there: he wanted to. I have that to look forward to another time. And I feel, in this life, that I need all the bloody wisdom I can get.

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