‘Well, of course you didn’t. You don’t have a baby so how could you know? It’s not interesting unless you’ve gone through it.’
‘Is it really that interesting – talking about stitches for an hour?’
This was Jess, with whom I’d had my wildest nights. Jess, who could do twelve shots of tequila in a row without passing out or throwing up. Jess, who loved nothing better than a good gossip and a laugh about old boyfriends and disastrous dates. Jess, who had married Tony who was as mad as she was. Jess and Tony had been the most fun couple I knew. And now she was telling me that she liked hanging out with these grannies. In days gone by she would have been the first to slag them off.
Did having a baby mean leaving your personality in the hospital? Did your conversation have to turn to nappies and nurseries? Did you not have any interest in anything outside your child? It was scary to see someone change as much as Jess had. Tony hadn’t changed – granted, he’d calmed down a bit but, then, we all had. But Jess was like a different person. She hadn’t left the house in months except to go to baby groups. You couldn’t have a conversation with her because she spent half the time cooing to little Sally or talking to her in that annoying baby voice people use when speaking to small children, and her concentration span was about ten seconds long. Then again, I thought, if you were at home all day with a baby, it probably would be all-consuming. I’d have to be careful not to turn into one topic person when I had mine.
‘No, it isn’t that interesting, really,’ admitted Jess. ‘You know, I woke up this morning and realized how boring it must have been for you to have to listen to. In fact, I was bored myself. When I’m with the girls on my own we always seem to revert back to baby chat so I’m used to it. But seeing them through your eyes – well, we are a bit dull. I need to get out more. I think I’m turning into a granny. I haven’t worn anything but a baggy tracksuit in six months. I’ve forgotten how to put on makeup. I talk to no one all day and then by eight o’clock I’m in bed exhausted. I used to be really good fun and full of beans. Now I’m just knackered all the time. God, Emma, I need to get out and get my personality back!’
‘Hey, you’re not boring, you’re just exhausted. I’ll give you a top makeup lesson to get you back on track. Besides, I didn’t mean to insult your new friends. They were all very nice. I was just the odd one out, so naturally I found the conversation a bit one-sided. Anyway, look, let’s meet up for a slap-up dinner and lots of wine.’
‘I’d love that. Let’s do it soon!’
‘Great. I’ll call you next week.’
I felt relieved: at least Jess was thinking about leaving the house. And if we met in a restaurant, she could concentrate on having a proper conversation. I’d get Lucy to come too. She got on well with Jess, although she was a bit cheesed off as she hadn’t heard from her since Sally was born, despite having called in with presents after the birth and talking regularly to her voice mail.
I decided not to call Jess and ask her about the ovulation test because then she’d know I was trying and she’d be looking at my stomach the whole time trying to figure out if I was pregnant or not. It had happened straight away for her, she had actually conceived on honeymoon, and I knew she’d be eager to help me out in her very sweet way, but I didn’t want any added pressure.
I took myself to Boots and scoured the shelves of the family-planning section. There was a selection of brands. I opted for a five-pack of First Response ovulation sticks. Bloody expensive too – thirty euro for five measly sticks. I nearly put them back on the shelf, but then I remembered I’d spent sixty euro the day before on a funky long-sleeved T-shirt. Priorities, I reminded myself, priorities.
When I got home, I opened the pack and took out the instructions. First Response claimed to predict the two days when you were most likely to become pregnant. Excellent, I liked that. It sounded very positive, very confident. I should have bought these sooner. Right, instructions:
If you are having difficulty becoming pregnant it could be that you are not making love in the two days when you are most fertile, around the time of the ovulation.
Mmm, yes, that was probably what we were doing wrong. Not getting the precise days right. OK, what did I need to do?
The test will measure luteinizing hormone (LH), which is always present in your urine and increases just before your most fertile day of the month. This increase, or surge, in LH triggers ovulation, which is the release of an egg from an ovary.
Oh, come on, we all knew that eggs were produced at ovulation; get to the point.
The appearance of two easy-to-read purple lines in the test’s result window indicates your LH surge prior to ovulation. Most women will ovulate within 24-36 hours after the LH surge is detected. Predicting ovulation in advance is important because the egg can be fertilized only 6–24 hours after ovulation.
Yikes, I had no idea you only had six hours. That was absurd. How the hell did anyone get pregnant? Six hours – come on, give a girl a chance.
Your two most fertile days begin with the LH surge. You are most likely to become pregnant if you have intercourse within 24–36 hours after you detect the LH surge.
What? But it said six hours and then it said twenty-four to thirty-six hours, so which was it? Not so bloody straightforward, after all. I decided to get on with the test.
How to perform the test: holding the stick by the thumb grip, with the absorbent tip pointing downward and the result window facing away from your body, place the absorbent tip in your urine stream for five seconds only.
The ‘five seconds only’ was underlined. Jesus, I hadn’t thought I’d need a stop-watch.
With the absorbent tip still pointing downward, replace the overcap and lay the stick on a flat surface with the result window facing up.
I took off my watch and placed it on the sink. I was so busy staring at it to make sure I didn’t go over the five seconds that I ended up peeing all over my hand. Yuck. I washed my hands, laid the soggy stick flat, as instructed, and waited.
While I was waiting for the results to show up, the house phone rang. The only people who ever called us on it, were my parents or James’s. Mum still didn’t trust mobile phones because, ‘someone out there in that big cloud could be listening in to your private business’.
My mother’s voice bellowed from the answering machine : ‘Are you there, Emma? Are you screening this call? Well, call me tomorrow. I need to talk to you about that sister of yours. She is out of control. Not to mention your useless father, who refuses to come into town shopping for a new jacket for his own party. I saw something for myself today in that nice boutique, Lillie’s, in town, and they’ve put it aside for me until tomorrow. I need you to come with me to tell me if it’s nice. It costs an arm and a leg, so I need to get a second opinion, but it’s very stylish. Are you there, Emma? OK, well, I might pop in later to describe it to you. Call me when you get this message.’
Shoot, I’d forgotten to call the caterers about Dad’s sixtieth. I’d have to do it first thing in the morning. I also needed to call my brother Sean in London to see if he was going to bring anyone home for the party. I’d call him later . . .
Damn it, now I’d lost my train of thought. What was I supposed to be looking for? I grabbed the instructions.
Reading the results – two similar purple lines mean that you have detected your LH surge, you should ovulate within the next 24-36 hours. A purple reference line and a light purple test line mean that you have not yet reached your LH surge. You should continue with daily testing until the two lines are the same purple colour.
Bloody hell, this was daylight robbery. I’d be broke if I had to pee on these stupid sticks every day. I looked at the stick. There was only one purple line. What on earth did that mean?
I looked down at the instructions.
If only one purple reference line appears, you have not reached your LH surge. You should continue with daily testing.
Yes, but what if I’d passed it? What if I’
d missed the ovulation day? Then I’d just be peeing on the sticks every day for two weeks for no good reason.
Straightforward – my arse.
I wondered if there was another way of finding out when you ovulated – an easier way. I decided to check it out on the Internet.
I logged on and typed in ‘ovulation’. It came up with twenty five million matches. I needed to narrow it down. I typed in ‘ovulation testing’, ‘only’ fourteen million matches. I found a site that offered a fact sheet on natural methods of testing for ovulation. It said the key was to check the elasticity of your mucus. I wasn’t sure what mucus was, but I had a horrible feeling it might be related to vaginal discharge – gross. It was simply not fair: women should not have to go through this. I sighed and looked at the suggestions:
Be prepared to check your cervical mucus (CM) consistency several times every day during each cycle. Using white tissue paper, wipe vaginal opening to obtain CM specimen, or insert one clean finger into vagina as far up as the cervix, and then remove finger.
Hold on a minute. How the hell was I supposed to know when I was as far up as my cervix? I should have paid more attention in biology classes. I racked my brains. The nuns probably omitted the chapter on reproduction in case we got any ideas. So where the hell did my cervix begin? I decided to read on and maybe I’d have a poke around later. Hopefully I’d find it.
CM should be observable on fingertip. If using tissue, apply a fingertip to collected CM and then pull gently away to test elasticity. If using finger, test CM elasticity by closing and again opening finger with thumb. Note the following: elasticity of CM: (a) sticky and breaks easily or (b) slippery and stretches like raw egg white.
Oh, my God, this was unbelievable. It was horrendous. I’d never be able to eat meringues again. Egg whites would never have the same appeal.
As fertility approaches, CM should gradually change from dry to wet, from sticky to slippery, and from white to transparent. The most fertile CM is very thin and very slippery, often referred to as EW CM (egg white cervical mucus). If you observe several different types of CM during one day, record the observation with the more fertile characteristics.
How the hell were you supposed to tell the difference between slippery and sticky? Why, in God’s name, was I supposed to write it all down in some sort of diary? What for? To read about in my old age?
The last day on which fertile CM (EW CM) is observed is considered peak fertility day. Also note days on which sexual intercourse occurs and any bodily discomforts such as cramping, twinges, etc. These are important indicators if you see a specialist.
At this rate I’d never get pregnant. The choice was to pee on my hand or fiddle about with my elusive cervical goo . . . AAARGH!
8
The next day I called Sean. He was a typical brother and never rang. I was lucky to get the odd email as he worked forty thousand hours a week. He lived in London, where he had moved ten years ago after graduating from university, to work as a junior lawyer in Brown and Hodder. It was a prestigious law firm and we were all terribly proud when he was made a partner a week after his thirtieth birthday. There were only eighteen months between us and we had always been close.
‘Hello, it’s your sister, remember me?’
‘Hey, sis.’
‘Hello, stranger. Thanks for all the emails, I’m worn out reading them.’
‘Ha-ha. Sorry, I’ve just been –’
‘Up to your eyes, I know, I know. How’s it all going?’
‘Very well, actually. There are some great perks to being a partner, the best one being your own space to park your Porsche.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I certainly did.’
‘Coooool. I’d say the girls are throwing themselves at you. Flash car, loaded, successful, gorgeous.’
‘I may be successful but I still look the same.’
Sean was ginger too. We were both suspicious of our younger sister Babs’s true parentage because she had long blonde hair. Granted, it had got darker over the years before it got lighter again with the help of copious highlights, but there was no ginger at all. She was also eleven years younger than Sean . . . I’m not accusing my mother of any wrong-doing, you understand, I’m just saying it was a little strange and the ginger definitely came from my father’s side.
Anyway, Sean had also got lumbered with the grey-blue skin and the big orange freckles – which thankfully I’d managed to avoid – so he had never been very confident about his looks. He also had the misfortune – or maybe stupidity (he should have picked a guy with buck teeth and a hunchback) – to have a best friend, Jack, who looked like Bradley Cooper. Girls were always befriending Sean to get to Jack, which didn’t help his self-confidence. Sean is such a nice guy – I know I’m biased but he really is – that I knew he’d meet someone fantastic eventually.
‘I’m ringing about Dad’s party on the twenty-fourth. We’re just finalizing the numbers and I’m checking to see if you’re planning to bring someone. Mate, girlfriend, girl-you-fancy . . . whatever.’
‘Actually, I’m going to bring a date.’
‘Oooh, great. Who?’
I was delighted to hear this. In ten years he had never brought anyone home. Whoever she was, he must like her.
‘Her name’s Zara, she’s twenty-two, Irish and absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Wow, Sean, you sound smitten.’
‘Yeah, I am, actually. But let’s keep it to ourselves. I don’t want Mum rushing out and buying a hat just yet.’
‘What does she do?’
‘She’s between jobs at the moment. She wants to be an actress so she was temping in my firm for a few weeks to keep her ticking over while she went to auditions. She’s really pretty, Emma, a real looker, and she’s really talented.’
Wannabe actress – sounded a bit dodgy to me.
‘So she did study drama?’
‘Well, she travelled for a few years and then she did some drama course over here. She nearly got a part in EastEnders but they said she was too good-looking. That happens a lot, she often gets turned down for dramatic roles because she’s too pretty.’
Well, that’s the best excuse I ever heard: ‘I’m too good-looking to get parts.’ I didn’t like the sound of this girl. Why couldn’t she make herself look ugly for the auditions if she was that good an actress?
‘Wow, well, that’s a good problem to have – being too pretty.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’m dying for you to meet her. I know you’ll get on really well with her. She reminds me a lot of you. Things she says and does.’
‘Oh, really, like what?’
‘Oh, you know, she gives as good as she gets and doesn’t let me away with anything. And she says it like it is, very direct. I love that about her.’
A bully. Sean was saying his bully girlfriend reminded him of me. Charmed, I’m sure.
‘I’m not direct. I’m very sensitive and subtle.’
‘Ha-ha. Come on, Emma, you’re the most direct person I know. It’s a great trait and it’s the reason I know you and Zara will get on so well.’
I decided to let it go. I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to like Zara, but I’d make an effort for Sean’s sake and I’d be subtle and undirect about it.
‘OK, well, I’m looking forward to meeting her. She’ll be thrown in at the deep end – all the uncles and aunties are coming and the Devlins and the O’Connors, so she’ll get to meet everyone.’
‘She’ll be well able for them all. OK, I’d better go, I have a conference call. See you in two weeks.’
When James came home I asked him if he thought I was direct. He looked at me suspiciously. ‘Is this a trick question?’
‘No. Am I?’
‘Yes.’
‘What? No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. But it’s a good kind of direct, not a bad kind.’ James was becoming a real pro at this.
‘In what way am I direct?’
‘You don’t beat aro
und the bush. You just say what’s on your mind.’
‘But not in an aggressive, bullish type of way?’
‘No, absolutely not.’
‘In what kind of a way?’
‘In a subtle kind of way.’
‘James, how can I be direct and subtle?’
‘Because, darling, you are a very special person with amazing communication skills.’
‘Yeah, right. Anyway, Sean’s bringing his new girlfriend back to Dad’s party. She’s a wannabe actress and apparently a stunner.’
‘Excellent, always nice to have some eye candy at family parties.’
‘Easy, tiger. A wannabe actress, though. She sounds a bit flighty.’
‘Emma, as long as Sean’s happy, what does it matter what job she has?’
‘Or doesn’t have – apparently she can’t get work because she’s too pretty.’
‘Good old Sean. You should be happy for him.’
‘I am. I just want him to be with someone as nice as he is. She sounds a bit tough.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said James, putting on Sky Sports and settling down to watch some football match, ‘why don’t you ring your mum and discuss it with her for a few hours? She’s much better at this than I am.’
‘No, James, I want to analyse it with you.’
‘Emma, I need to relax before the big game tomorrow, and no offence, but talking about some bird neither of us has ever met is not my idea of chilling out.’
‘Fair enough, I’ll leave you alone, but only because of your big match. We can discuss it further after that. So who is this?’ I said, snuggling down beside him, feigning interest in the football.
‘Real Madrid and Chelsea.’
‘Is Giroud playing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oooh, good, I’ll watch it so.’
‘OK, but no talking, watch the game.’
‘OK . . . Just one thing – do you think I should wear my red dress to Dad’s party?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
The Baby Trail: How far would you go to have a baby? (The Baby Trail Series (USA) Book 1) Page 5
