Uno, dos, tres...

I felt it was a good sign when the male nurse, who still looks eerily like the husband of a friend of ours, opened the ultrasound room door and called us in.

A familiar face at least, keeping the number of strangers who have peered up my wife at five since this debacle began.

Pale, bald headed, big lipped, with a neatly trimmed wiry beard, I wondered if he ever felt like he was looking in a mirror when he was down there sometimes.

As he got to work with the dildo-cam, I cracked open a fanta and offered around my peanut MMs.

First to the right hand side. One. Lovely stuff. Perfect.

The dildo-cam burrowed and snuffled it's way to the left.

One, two, and fuckyoudruggobblingsonofabitchfollicle, three.

In total, 4. Cuatro.

One 13mm on the left, and three at 12mm on the right.

The 13 is too small to induce ovulation now, which means giving them some growth time which would probably bring them all into the 'big enough' category.

If that happens, 4 is too many and it all gets cancelled.

Again.

ET is upset, tired, frustrated and stressed. I don't know what the fuck I am.

We await a phone call this afternoon to give us our next step. Maybe we go back to scan again tomorrow in the hope one has miraculously stopped growing like I did when I was 8, or vanished into the night like some South American resistance activist.

Or, it gets cancelled.

Again.