Remember me!

Such a long time between drinks and even Blogger has forgotten me! I had to re-enter my email address and rack my tether-end brain for my password to get back into my very own blog. Goodness! What is this world coming to?

How does that work, exactly, that "tick the box, remember me thing"? I've ticked the box, I've asked the damn thing to remember me - over and over again. I am beginning to look desperate.

Quite frankly, I think those remember me things need a check-up for Parkinson's, or severe memory loss at the very least. I mean, they remember you fine if you see them regularly. You pop in every couple of days, you have no worries, they let you through the front door without even a second look. "Come in dear and have a nice cup of tea."

But leave it a few days and you are black-listed. Forgotten. All of a sudden the flywire screen is snap-locked shut, the main door is deadbolted and one beady, paranoid eye is staring out at you through the peephole (and don't dare forget the second P on that word), pleading, "show yourself - friend or foe?"

Anyway, I am thinking at this point that I need to make with the bridge-building and get over that particular conundrum. I just need to face the fact that I can be forgettable. Gasp!

So, all is well* in my almost-six-weeks-pregnant land. *Well would have to be defined as any, or all, of the following adjectives, at literally any given point: nauseous, tired, grumpy, angry, frustrated, annoyed, overjoyed, teary, "why does meat smell so bad when it's cooked?", starving, "if I even think about food, I will vomit up both types of intestines", let me eat now let me eat everything in sight, exhausted, drained, vague, forgetful, exhilirated, depressed, anxious, headachey, irritable, addicted to icy poles/ginger/tea/dairy, repulsed by icy poles/ginger/tea/dairy.

Actually, I usually feel all of these things at once. How on god's green earth do women come back for more of this shit? Haha. Grain of salt, people, grain of salt.

Could you imagine living with it? Jeesh. T has been completely lovely and really going to an extra effort to make sure I am ok. She bought me a pack of 42 Zoopa Doopas - do you know those? They are these long thin icy poles that are full of sugar, but different and brightly-coloured sugar and they freaking rock! She is even cooking dinner some nights when I cannot face food or standing up any longer. What the hell am I going to be like at 8 months?? One step at a time. One day at a time. At times I have wished I was in her shoes, being the first one pregnant and minus a toddler running around. But then I realise he is the source of so much joy and levity in my life - joy and levity that takes my mind off the grossness - why would I wish that away?

One week tomorrow we will have our first scan. Oh! Can you imagine. It's a no-brainer, but I'm just going to come right out and say it: I cannot wait to see my baby for the first time and listen to its little heart beating. Wow. I can guess at how profound that will be, but I won't know exactly how huge that will be for me until it is happening.

So I am six weeks exactly next Tuesday, and next Friday was the next earliest time we could get down to Brisbane for our scan. It will be the last time we see our IVF doc before we transfer to an OBGYN up here (about an hour north).

Our rellies will look after Jay so T and I can go down together. It will be great. And ooh, it's been a while since I've had any pics on here - that will soon change I hope.

The spotting stopped after about 24 hours...and my anxiety slowly lessened as more and more anecdotes and statistics came out of the woodwork about how damn common it is. Um, could someone have told me that sooner please?? Hello! Worrier Platinum Class right here!!

I am telling a few more people, again with a massive "very early days, so fingers are crossed" disclaimer. I even had one guy tell me today that I should be careful about how many people I told. He's right, I should take it easy there.

One week at a time. One trimester at a time...

Really? That again?

I will make this quick as I need to rummage through that dusty top shelf in my cupboard for the box that contains my birth certificate.

I just want to verify my middle name, because I am sure as sure that it is "worry".

Actually, that's not true. It would be my first name. Easily.

That's not true either, I just needed an excuse to use the word rummage, so came up with that whole birth certificate ruse. And I like how rummage leads to ruse and, surely then, ruin? We'll save word association for the day the psychiatrist runs out of Rohrschach butterflies.

Last Thursday evening I went to the toilet. Nothing unusual about that, except there was a little (I so hate this word) discharge left behind and it was light browny coloured. Sorry if you're squeamish...I am just getting warmed up here.

Instantly I thought that was my little embryo floating in the toilet bowl. It's amazing how irrational you get when you panic. I am not sure of its exact size, but I am pretty sure it is miniscule...and not as big as the thing I saw in the loo that day.

I spoke to mum who thankfully matter-of-factly told me that it should be alright, and if it wasn't, my period would show up as an indicator.

Since then, no period. Fine. I can breathe again and almost forget to worry. What a state of bliss that was! Shiny kitten all round!

This afternoon I went to the toilet. (I go a lot, alright? Here I was thinking I had to have an eight-month-old baby pressing on my bladder before I got the constant loo trips, but apparently no.) There was a small amount of browny blood on my knickers.

Plus all afternoon I have had very mild cramps...like the cramps I felt days before I did the pregnancy test (implantation cramps?). It's like a tautness...like there's a considerable build-up of, excuse me, Gassius Clay (gas) in your gut that just has to find sanctuary outside of your body.

So, cramps and spotting. Surely that's not good. Together? But they have both been light, so I am loathe to overreact.

A small part of me feels something could be wrong, but it's so hypothetical. Am I just fretting too much where a fret is not necessary? And through it all, I know I could ring every woman on earth and ask them about their pregnancies - yes it would be a logistical nightmare, but my neuroses make me incredibly thorough - and each one would tell me something different. So, ladies, fat lot of help you would be!

I am fine now, hours later, and there is only the slightest light brown (almost non-existent) still there. The cramps are almost gone too.

I wish the worry would as well!