Tablets and Tantrums

Ask any man and 99% of Lesbians....women are hard to understand at best of times. Just because I'm a woman does not make this statement any less true. I do NOT get my wife. I don't understand the moods, why I'm wrong ALL the time and God knows I have no idea how to answer the "Am I fat?" question. Add into that mix a cocktail of fertility drugs and I am now in the depths of hell with absolutely no escape route!

The little tablet is supposed to ensure that The Egg forms when it's supposed to, thus upping the chance of fertilization when we proceed with insemination. What they don't tell you is that this tiny little pill also turns your obviously better half into Beelzebub's first cousin!

On day one it's all smiles and excitement because we're finally starting the process. By day three, the usually smiley happy face has scrunched into a perpetual frown and I am now sleeping with one eye open in case I get attacked in my sleep for dipping her teabag too many times. Being in the TV and film industry, I'm always wondering about motivation for certain effects in movies. I now firmly believe that Peter Jackson's wife was on Clomid when he came up with Smeagol's descent into madness and ultimate transformation into Gollum! I'm pretty sure I woke up in the middle of the night to her stroking the packaging whispering "my pressshhhhiiiouus".

By now I am counting to ten each and every time I attempt to open my mouth just  in case whatever I'm about to say could be construed in any way other than the way I mean it. "Hi sweetie, how was your day?" is treated to a scornful stare followed by a diatribe of how absolutely hellish her day of googling baby names was and how I now had to go out and find her some supper because there is just no way she's cooking!

I must admit that she was aware of all these changes though. On day four she proceeded to tell me that even though I am doing and saying absolutely nothing wrong, everything out of my mouth is irritating the "living hell" out of her and it would be best to just shut up. "Yes Dear" garnered me yet another scornful stare.

I thank each and every deity for limiting this small, white version of dynamite to only five doses, because at Day 5 I had already packed my toothbrush,  rolled up my sleeping bag from the couch and was heading for the door when she ever so sweetly popped her head round the corner and said, "oh honey, we have two lines"....

Now before you jump to all sorts of conclusions and start yelling at me for skipping steps, this was not the pregnancy test. This was the ovulation test.

Procedure to be followed upon positive ovulation test:
1. Phone up Santa at the Sperm bank and make sure that 1,9m tall, dark haired psychology dude with green eyes and medium complexion is in stock and book a couple of straws for the following day.
2. Load wife into car (making sure to tell her how amazing she is despite the scornful glares)
3. Get your ass to the sperm bank as soon as possible, taking all your weekly frustrations out on unsuspecting taxi drivers and early morning commuters.
4. Get wife to drop trou so she can get jabbed in the gluteus maximus by a rather large needle filled with yet another drug...this one ensures that The Egg drops into place when it's supposed to, so that the swimmers have a finish line to strive for!
5. Load wife back in car (sympathizing the whole way).
6. Proceed with the return journey home, yelling expletives at every other driver who dares to use the same public roads as you.
7. Deposit wife in chair at home, boil the kettle for tea (making sure not to dip the teabag too many times), grab laptop and hightail it the hell out of there.

To be Continued.....