I think any woman who has spent several months trying to get pregnant will have had a stage where it was all that she could think about - where it seemed to occupy every waking thought, every hope, every dream and every prayer.
Most women I know in that situation have also had one month where they were absolutely convinced their prayers had been answered. Every little twinge in their body is noticed and interpreted to the nth degree, and the hope and excitement build up until they can hardly bear to wait another day for the confirmation of what they *know* to be true.
The disappointment when it turns out that yet again it hasn't happened is crushing. I don't think anybody who hasn't been through it can understand the feeling of failure and despair, and the fear that it's never going to happen.
So that was my November. The sickness turned out to be a tummy bug, and the exhaustion turned out to be the natural result of the amount of work I've been doing recently.
I know it's only been six months, but this is all I've really wanted out of life since I was a little girl. I'm 39 and desperately afraid that I'm going to be too old soon. I'm afraid to go for tests in case they show up problems other than the one we already know about (and which turned out not to be totally insurmountable after all). I'm afraid that any changes in my body which I attributed to pregnancy last month might actually be down to early menopause. I'm also afraid that I'm turning into an obsessive bore.
So that's why I haven't been blogging - my brain was full. But after the emotional rollercoaster of November, I'm going to try to relax about it in December and think about other stuff. After all, nobody thinks much about children around Christmas time, do they...?