...a very strange two weeks.
Center Parcs was bloody brilliant. Lots of chilling out in the spa, lots of reading, far too much wine consumed on a couple of occasions - thoroughly good fun.
Anthony spent quite a lot of time playing with his new fancy camera, Brychan liberated Paris (Blazing Angels on the Wii), Emily had an argument with Professor Layton ("I put in 5 AGES ago and it told me it was wrong, BLOODY GAME!") and Mum got us all hooked on Tyrrell's crisps.
This week I have had a migraine. And that's about it. It started as a headache on Monday afternoon and progressed on Wednesday to me not being able to see out of my left eye and being sent home from work. Yesterday I slept pretty much all day and then today I've alternated between dozing on the sofa and sharing various woes with my lovely Twitter peeps.
The only thing that's been a constant for both weeks was an attack of the green eyed monster.
Well not really a monster, more a stab in the heart and lots of tears kind of monster.
The only problem with going to Center Parcs when it's not a school holiday is the other people who take that opportunity. Like the 17 million couples with babies/toddlers who seemed to make up the rest of the guests there. Oh there were a few older couples there too...but they all seemed to be there with their kids and grandchildren.
Babies are bloody everywhere at the moment and it's really bloody hard.
I was supposed to have had a doctors appointment last Tuesday to discuss my miscarriage. About a week after I got the original letter I got another one to say they had to change the appointment to April instead. At the time I was just glad that I was getting seen, now I'm sad that this means no baby for me in 2009.
I am looking after myself though. Any blogs I've been reading that have unbelievably adorable new babies on I have deleted from Google reader (not you Keris, for some reason reading about Joe is ok), I'm trying to avoid the updates on Facebook from the 8-9 old school friends who are either expecting or have just produced, and I've been avoiding watching anything on TV that could get to me.
CSI:NY clobbered me though. I knew there was an episode coming up where Lindsay told Danny she was pregnant, I didn't expect her to whip out an ultrasound photo to prove it.
My brain seems determined to protect me by making me feel that it didn't really happen. Same as with my dad I guess. Silly coping mechanisms. The one thing I wish I had done was get the ultrasound photo. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it would be proof that I got to that point for the first time.
Gonna stop now cos none of this is making any sense. Thank you for listening.