In which I buy new shoes. Again.

No. 9 made me do it. He told me he really, really wanted them. Honest. He loves my new shoes. He thinks they're great. The husband thinks it's a trifle suspicious ...as if the mother of his embryo would make such a thing up to suit herself. Can you imagine it? (That's a rhetorical question people, to which the implied answer is "No, no I couldn't possibly!" and possibly a shocked gasp for good effect)

I really wish there was some news, believe me I do, but there isn't yet. The waiting phase of this IVF cycle is quite evil. One minute I think No. 9 is in there, the next I'm convinced he's gone.

I'm not enjoying it a bit. It's been a very long week.

We have the date of the scheduled pregnancy test, but we have decided that it's one thing we want to keep to ourselves just now. We'll tell you, of course, probably straight away, once the result is in, but this way if we need time with the result, we can take it. The last thing I want is to hear that No. 9 has gone, and then turn around and tell a long line of hopeful, excited, expectant family and friends. You can imagine that that might be a bit horrendous.

But, I will tell you that we will know by the end of next week and the announcement to the general admission audience will be made here.

And so, the week that has been ...

Monday and Tuesday I spent on the couch recovering from my cold and lying very, very still every time my uterus even thought about cramping (and ... errr ... singing it 'twinkle twinkle little star'. At least we'll know that if No. 9 doesn't stick, he probably just died of fright ...and, obviously, next time there will be no singing to embryos), but by Tuesday afternoon I was starting to go a bit mad with what ifs and so Wednesday I crawled back into the real world.

I had cramping on and off all day Wednesday - nothing interesting, just twinging and cramping. Annoying, painful, constant, fun and games (no singing though because I was at work). My uterus was not my friend on Wednesday. I've had a bit of a backache too, which I imagine is uterus related. Unless it was jealous and wanted me to sing to it too, but I can't see it somehow.

At about 3am give or take Thursday, my uterus was even less my friend when it woke me up with the most unholy feeling that it was coming out. Yes, lovely picture that presents, don't you think? It was a solid, painful, dragging feeling that kept me awake pretty much until it was time to be awake ... eurg. Marvellous.

Thursday morning was the morning of the bubbles.

It must have been around 6.30 or so, and I just got this sensation of bubbles in my uterus. You know how in a fish tank the oxygen pump every now and again sends out a burst of little bubbles? It felt like what I imagine that would feel like. Little a little pop (I don't know how to describe it) and then bubbles letting go, moving up and disappearing. That happened three times and I haven't felt it since, and things have been pretty calm since then.

Last night my insides got a bit grumpy going for a short walk with the dog-meisters, but as soon as I sat down everything was fine. I had a great night sleep, and today you'd never known my uterus had been recently traumatised at all. It's all cupcakes.

You can, and I do constantly, read any number of things into any of the above, and I think the workings of my internal bits have been analysed more in the last week than the rest of my gingery life to date. Any of it could mean No. 9 is still with me, and I desperately hope that's so, but one must remember that my uterus is also being artificially supported by hormones at the moment and my body is adjusting after being assailed for the last 6 weeks with all sorts of things which were making it do both the opposite of normal and extreme versions of normal, not to mention invasive medical procedures. It's enough to make anyone's uterus feel unloved.

Even if you don't have one.