Unprotected

Things didn't go exactly as planned during that post pill/ pre 'trying' period. Getting used to stopping and fishing out a condom, when really we did want to get pregnant was a bit difficult to get our heads round.

My dear husband was also terrified that when he knew he was doing it for real, he would get performance anxiety - and with the whole condom thing it was going to be fairly obvious that we had indeed stopped stopping ourselves.

At the end of the day, we had our first shot a couple of days before we had planned to, when messing around, my husband decided he didn't really want to stop and pop on a johnny, and I decided I didn't really think one day here or there was going to make much difference to whatever tiny scrap of anti-malarial medication I had in my system. And in the event, because we hadn't sat down and said 'right, here we go, let's give it a whirl', I am pleased to report there was no difficulty in rising to the occasion or in following through.


Of course, that first time did not bear any fruit, and a few more enthusiastic attempts later, I had proof of that - my first period in about 18 months. I greeted it with mixed emotions - it was a good sign in that it meant I appeared to be going back to a normal cycle and should be able to get preggers without too much delay, but it also it clearly signified that I was not, as yet pregnant - hardly a big surprise.

Sitting at home wrapped in big woolly jumpers and chain-drinking tea while clutching my bloated and painful tummy, I reflected on the fact that I really had not missed peridods at all... the associated crippling aches, my tendency to get mild diarrhoea at that time of the month, or the fact that for the duration I feel a little bit like I'm wearing a nappy.

I also reflected that if my very first few attempts had proved successful, I would have been eight months pregnant at next year's Glastonbury Festival, which I had persuaded my husband to buy tickets for for the first time in several years because I would hopefully be a little bit pregnant by then. I think that eight months pregnant would really be too waddly for sleeping in a tent and trudging through mud, however much I love the festival.

Anyway, my period is over now for another month although I am still curled up on the sofa comforting myself, this time because I have a nasty cold.

I wonder if I will become one of those women anxiously checking for my period each month, devastated by the first sight of blood. I hope not. I am realistic about how long this might take, and am planning to favour the scattergun approach (do it as much as possible and hope for the best) rather than a military strategy complete with dates and charts.

But wish me luck none the less. I'm off for another cup of tea.