I do this weird thing where I put deadlines on getting pregnant. Not enforced or anything, and it’s not like I have a calendar with dates marked out saying on them “MUST BE PREGNANT BY THEN!” I’m not an idiot.
No, these deadlines are in my head. And nobody put them there but me.
First one was Christmas. Last December Dave and I actively started trying to conceive and in our naive enthusiasm we actually believed we would have a baby by Christmas 2016. Or at least be pregnant. Well, nada. No bun in this oven. We came close in March, but sadly that hope and excitement lasted all of 36 hours.
Another one was March 2017. Because that’s when I’ll be 31. In my head, being a first time mum at 30 sounds better than 31, because 31 just feels OLD. Stupid, irrational, blah blah blah, I know. But it’s how I feel. Hell, my mum was considered ‘old’ as a first time mum at 28 back in 1980. But that deadline will also pass with no baby. The most I can hope for at that pointis a 12 week bump.
The most ridiculous deadline I set myself is my face wipe stash. I buy them on offer in packs of 3 which is basically 3 months’ worth. So I tell myself by the time I have to buy anymore of these I’ll be pregnant. Well I’ve repeated that charade now 3 times, so go figure.
But the most sobering deadline dawned on me this morning. I was thinking about the election for a new US president and I thought back to 2012 when Obama got re-elected for his second term. I remember thinking “the next time America gets a new president I’ll be married with a baby.” Well I was engaged at the time so the marriage bit was a certainty but I thought I’ve GOT to have had a child by 2016, surely?!
Well, let’s look at the reality here. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and there’ll probably be an arrogant, orange, tax-evading, sexually assaulting, racist, homophobic, bigoted clown as president of the United States… AND I’M STILL NOT FUCKING PREGNANT.
But if that twat can achieve his dream (God help us) then maybe there’s hope for me yet?