The Girl Who Cried Pregnant

No, there was nothing wrong with my comments. I am the team of one and I know it seems terribly ungrateful but I really could not bear an outpouring of sympathy on Friday. I know some people e-mailed me directly and I thank you, if you did.

How am I doing?? Well, the title says it all. Twice now, I have had to tell my doctor, employer, diabetic nurse, postman (not), all at an early stage of pregnancy and twice now I have to tell them "Actually it is fucked". Well, not those exact words but you get my drift. Instead of the boy who cried wolf, I am the girl who cried pregnant.

Frankly, it is embarassing. My boss must not know what has hit him cos well, he is a bloke. A typical Scottish bloke, not much older than me.

Both me and Mr P are taking some time off work. Me, I am waiting to bleed. I am emitting some kind of brown snot at the moment but since I stopped the estrogen and PIO on Thursday, I am not sure how long it will take for the deluge to arrive.

Mr P is taking it hard, in his own quiet fashion. I cry and he pats me. I am not sure if he wants to cry but he has been obsessively hoovering up millions of leaves this afternoon which I am sure is some kind of emotional displacement. Hoovering up leaves in my garden is a thankless task as we are surrounded by deciduous trees and they will blow in from miles around too. They will all be back tomorrow and I guess he will start again.

I guess I am doing my own emotional displacement too as I refuse to lie around and be depressed about this chemical pregnancy. I used to do that and I have learned the very, very hard way that it does not help me in the long run, either emotionally or physically.

I am also refusing to let myself dive into the sugar. I want to. Oh, I want to but I will not.

There has been a lot of decluttering in this house this weekend.