Someone said recently that the number 23 was lucky. That was news to me. Maybe it is, we shall see soon enough.
We are less than a week away from what would 'normally' be the end of this cycle.
The ovulation signs popped up a day or so earlier than usual this time, and the temperature charting isn't being very reassuring either. So confusion reigns supreme.
Regardless of what happened with, and when it happened in the wife's innards, we covered all the days like the good little missionaries we are. Spreading the good word so to speak, or the bad seed, as the case may be.
Anyone want to place some bets? I could do with the cash.
There is something I just thought of though. What happens to all my kindly donated milky goodness that hangs around inside the wife, generally being useless?
I know I'm not exactly pumping her full with gallons of the stuff, and I know that if it was all put together in one place you wouldn't be able to see it on google earth or anything, but heading for two years in, there is quite an amount of it.
Where does it go?
Are the fallopian streets littered with the corpses of Spencer's army or do they just disappear or melt away.
Like candy floss.
Answers in a comment box if you please.
Meanwhile, back on planet earth, some very kind soul, or souls, have nominated this blog for the 2009 Irish Blog Awards. It's one of a long list of all nominations in the 'Specialist Blog' category which is wonderfully ironic, considering you wouldn't exactly come here for advice on getting knocked up.
Unfortunately, they don't have an 'Extraordinarily, dreadfully, and exceedingly rubbish at what you do blog' category, but I'm quite happy regardless.
The list of nominations will be judged by a panel, who will produce a short 'long list', and then a 'shortlist' before the winners get announced, embarrassingly drunk, and beaten up by the locals at a ceremony in Cork in late February.
A note to the judges, I bet you're really bloody sorry you volunteered now aren't you?
Put on the kettle, you may be here a while, just the 150 odd entries to get through from last year, luckily at least 2 of them are less than 700 words.
I'm not one to try and sway favour, but remember that we are childless, pathetic, and condemned to a life of misery with n'eer a glimmer of hope for a happy life.
"I heard there was a secret chord...."