This morning as usual I woke up, shot up, knocked back a handful of pills and then drank a Chinese magic potion. Then I sat down to write this blog and my cat sauntered up beside me and did a shit right next to my foot. With any luck, in another nine or ten days I will be fully justified in asking my neighbour to clean up the cat shit for me. Cat shit is kryptonite to babies…the perks of being pregnant.
The hormones don’t seem to be affecting me as much anymore, or perhaps it’s because I’ve shifted the timing of snorting my synarel so that it happens right after my puregon hit. I suspect they kinda balance each other out. I did cry in the street yesterday for absolutely no reason, about thirty seconds after window shopping some baby clothes, but that’s the first tears I’ve had since Tuesday which is an improvement on last weekend.
I had breakfast with two lesbian friends this morning and according to them, almost every lesbian they know over 35 is currently trying to have a baby. Perhaps I should become a lesbian–in the queer crowd I don’t know anyone else other than me. I do know of one or two queers who’ve already get themselves knocked up, but they’ve all stopped being social and fled the Inner West. Which is all very well if you have a partner, but if I ended up on my own in the burbs with a screaming baby I reckon the next time anyone saw me would be on the news.
On my way home I stopped into petbarn to buy kitty litter, in an effort to coerce the cat to shit somewhere other than next to my kitchen table. The hot dyke at the counter shot me a look, and my cunt pulsed slightly in response. This is a VERY SIGNIFICANT event. My sex drive has been virtually non-existent ever since I started the IVF drugs, which is like saying that Dawn French has gone off chocolate. It’s been almost four weeks since I last had a wank. So it was with some relief that I found myself buying thirty litres of litter, in some kind of perverted effort to impress her.