Email to my besties Pippa and Trina

Hey my gorgeous friends

Just a quick note to let you know that unfortunately Joey has jumped out of the pouch and I’ve had a miscarriage this week.

I started bleeding heavily on Tuesday and saw my IVF Doc today for a scan. Unfortunately the nurses forgot to tell him that the scan was to diagnose a miscarriage rather than a pregnancy, so he came bounding out of his office asking how the pregnancy was going and if I was enjoying things. I got a bit messy when I explained that much of the pregnancy was down the hall in a hospital toilet.

Anyway, he was actually incredibly sensitive after that and arranged a D&C straight afterwards in the Private Hospital. So I’m home now, being forced to keep my feet up by Cameron who has donned an apron and a nurse’s hat and is busy clucking around me and cooking risotto.

Trina, sorry I won’t be joining you in the bump club at New Years, but I do look forward to meeting You Junior in May.

At least I’ve still got 10 more little Joeys in the freezer and my doctor says that even though I miscarried, the fact that the pregnancy started so well is very encouraging for the future (how’s that for glass-half-full). And it was really nice being pregnant for a joyful seven weeks. Must have been those damn poached eggs. Or, more likely, your dodgy pumpkin soup last week Pip (JOKE!).

Sorry to tell you in an email rather than the phone. But seems that, although I want you both to know, I’m not quite ready for talking yet.

Love you both so, so much. Really, truly. I hope I get to keep you as friends for a very long time.

Xxxxx
Alecia

More

More horrors unfolding in the wake of last night's Barreness massacre.

Cannot. Talk. About. It. I'm slinking off to the movies on my own for the day. Perhaps I'll be up to writing by tonight.

Thanks so much girls for your support. It means the world.

xo

B

Arrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggh!

In serious IF hell tonight. Unravelling. Somebody. Please. Kill. Me.

Details tomorrow.

Bottoms. Solos. Apostrophes. Jager bombs.

Well, it appears that, as a new blogger, I'm 'it' with respect to initiation rituals.

Happily it seems less painful than med school initiation which involved nudie runs, jager bombs, interpretive dances and the consumption of witchety grubs (not necessarily in that order).

Thank you Cassandra for this. The rules are:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Share 7 random and/or weird facts about you.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end, and include links to their blogs.

So, hmm, random/weird facts coming up:

1. My close friend D is the cousin of Bret from Flight of the Conchords, New Zealand's fourth most popular digi-folk parody duo. Seriously, you have to check Business Time on youtube.

2. When I get grossed out (weird dermatological conditions are a killer), my bottom gets so tingly I can't sit down.

3. I watched Disney's Sleeping Beauty 98 times in November (courtesy my niece), and more than once caught myself singing 'Once Upon A Dream' out loud while shopping in Westfield alone.

4. I am a founding member of the extremist political group, "Pro-Apostrophe: We Reserve The Right To Kill You If You Cannot Get That Damn Apostrophe In The Right Place." So watch your back.

5. I was the only kid in my school choir who didn't get to do a solo.

6. I didn't want to do a bloody solo anyway.

7. Speaking of nebulous claims, I have had my photo taken in front of the second largest playable guitar in the southern hemisphere (in Nerrandera, NSW).

Peace out. Dr B.

Oh. I tag my entire readership, all seven of you:

1. Two cents
2. Bec
3. Celia
4. Ophelia
5. Rachel
6. Guera!
7. Kischa

Why do I do this to myself?

Due date of my period today. After breakfast with my brother and cousin, their pregnant partners and two children, I thought, why not?

Be optimistic - it could be my turn. So bought a pregnancy test.

Of couse it was negative. What a waste of $8.

And now I have to go visit my pregnant friend for lunch, even delivering them a baby present.

What fun. No wonder I dread weekends.

Agony Aunt

It is interesting that I have a number of referrals to this site from Google, with people typing in their questions and subsequently finding me.

I am quite a generous soul, so, clueless Google friends, I will, from time to time, answer your questions for you.

Today's question comes from Mrs Dim, in North America:

Q: How do I announce my pregnancy to my friend, who I know has been trying to get pregnant for some time?

(That was seriously what she typed into the search engine!)

A: Well, Mrs Dim. The answer is simple. You are not really this lady's friend, because if you were, you would have done one of two things:

1. Become infertile yourself, OR, if you were too selfish to manage that, then
2. Hold off becoming pregnant until your friend becomes pregnant, adopts, otherwise comes to a solution which works for her, moves a very long way away (eg, Antarctica), dies, has a sex-change, or all of the above.

THAT be a friend.

I hope I have been of some assistance.

Yours sincerely

Dr Barreness. MBBS, BSc (majoring in Twitter, and Bisted)

Quickie

Sitting on the couch yesterday. Minding my own business. Preggers SIL (Aphrodite) sidles up next to me, flips her blonde hair from her face and surrepticiously whips something from her pocket. She slips it to me. Drug deal stylie.

Takes me a while to figure out what it is.

It is one of those pee-on-a-stick ovulation kits.

"Thought you should try this," Aphrodite breathes in a low voice, from the corner of her mouth. Like a secret agent.

I nod. I walk away. Gutted.

What did she think my reaction would be?

"Oooooh, thank you Aphrodite, you fertility goddess, you. Here I am, cradling three years' infertility. Multiple doctors' appointments. Transvaginal ultrasounds. Blood tests. A fucking laparoscopy. The medical opinion of half a dozen experts,

"All that, and husband and I didn't realise you had to have sex at an appropriate time to get pregnant. Silly husband and I, had just been sitting on the porch, cups of tea in hand, every day, for three years, waiting for a fucking stork.