Needlepoint

 

 

This week, we’ve had two new additions to our home.  Freya and The Venus of Lespugue.

Anyone familiar with my previous waffling on the world of the infertile will know that I have a fairly silly and pointless collection of obscure fertility icons secreted around the place. Some find this peculiar given that I’m bordering on atheist and would call myself agnostic at best… making good luck charms and religious iconography a bit left of field. But I never claimed that my crazy infertile actions made any sense.

Freya is the groovy and attractive Norse Goddess of love and fertility and The Venus of Lespugue, whilst not so pretty, is a charming multi breasted prehistoric Gallic blob who Devilboy has already, quite unreasonably, tried to destroy by smashing repeatedly into the face of a Cambodian Buddha of reason.

The rest of my unruly mob of icons (who you may remember rejected the golden hued lump of plastic  ugliness that was Kwan Yin) hail from a variety of cultures and religions and thus far haven’t given the new girls any evil death stares – well, except for the Black Madonna of Rocamadour who is a bit uppity and looks down upon all the other icons a little piously. I suppose she is the mother of ‘God’ and all that, so fair play to her for having a healthy ego.

Whilst those of you have been around a while may have clicked on what a sudden influx of icons means – those newer to my musings may not.

That’s right folks, it’s time once more to start sticking things that aren’t penises into my body to make a baby. We’re off to Casa Conception once more to make Devilboy an IVF sibling.  Sadly, the conventional method doesn’t seem to favour us and Dr. Sickboy (our lovely baby maker) has suggested we don’t wait around and that I just jump straight back on the good old smackhead express and start injecting myself daily.  We’re in the suppression phase for the next week or so and then my macabre needlepoint project will commence. Sigh! How dull.

Whiny arsed tales of IVF angst will appear between postings on Devilboys latest escapades.

For now, I need to take my suppressed self off for a cuddle with said Devilboy and remind myself how happy we are that we have him before I start feeling all sorry for my crap at baby making self.