As we limp go into our ninth month of trying, I find myself feeling more desperate about the process than ever before.  I still have six days to wait for my period but I know it will come; I just don’t feel like my body is undergoing the beginnings of a massive construction project.  I’m being thrown the odd bone – a lower back ache here, a headache there – but if I’ve learnt anything in the past nine months it’s not to trust what my body tells me when it’s under the intoxicating influence of wanting something so much.

So, why is it that I feel so bad this month?

If I’d got pregnant on our first try, our baby would be popping out to greet the world any minute now.

None of my friends have taken anything like this long to conceive.

This last time round, we tried to conceive during a holiday period when we were both relaxed.  If we can’t conceive when we’re both relaxed then what hope is there for the coming weeks and all the stresses of normal life?  I can’ think of when we’ll next have an opportunity to coincide a holiday with a fertile window…

It’s January.  It’s cold, wet and miserable and I spend too much time inside; inside my flat, inside my office, and inside my head listening to the unhappy voice telling me I’ll never be a mother.

If the happy, ice cream loving side of myself was in residence it would say “don’t stop believing”.  And then it would sing me this from the excellent tv series, Glee.  And for a while I’d probably feel better.