The start of December saw the passing of my 2nd wedding anniversary and my 42nd birthday. I was supposed to plan something for our anniversary. It was my turn. How could I follow up a balloon flight in the Hunter Valley? If things had gone to plan, I would have been expecting the greatest gift of all, but it wasn’t to be. Dammit. Now I had to come up with the goods. I don’t remember what I did, or bought, for my husband. I think I was in slow motion. For some reason, turning 42 meant the end for me. Not the end of my life or anything as dramatic as that. I just had this block about having a baby after 42. It seems the risks get higher every minute. I was looking for a reason to stop trying, for someone (ie Dr Baby-Maker) to say “It’s time”. I wanted the decision to be taken out of my hands.
Christmas came and when my husband gave me electronic/tax deductable items, I had a meltdown.
On Christmas morning.
In front of the children.
Now, I’m not blaming my problems entirely. My husband has seen the error of his ways and over the past year I have traded the gadgets for things I actually want. Still, I had to do something.
I rang for an appointment to see my IVF doctor but had to wait almost 2 months. I thought was going to have a breakdown. I had to do something drastic.
So I went to a psychic.
Actually, I went to 2. You should always get 2nd opinions.