Sorry for the absence.
What happened was, I did the IVF cycle and froze everything. I then went off and did the thing that I last blogged about. This all ended up in tears because, y'know, you can't have young (ish) women going around running things and pissing off old men.
So then I got on with IVF. This went swimmingly at first - pregnant on the first go, everything looked fine. I got past the point of all my previous losses and was beginning to relax.
The hcg checks were fine, the 8 week scan was fine, I was being sick everywhere, all good.
Except then I got to my 12 week scan and there was no heartbeat.
So it was all a bit shit.
I then, after a few days, got a surgically managed miscarriage (waiting days was torture, but I've discovered that in some places they make you wait a fortnight, which must be horrendous).
Mentally, I'm not as bad as I was in the olden days after losses. Having the Boy means that things could be a lot worse.
I also think that some of the behaviours learned from previous losses, and I suppose a much lesser expectation that things will be ok, means you've less far to fall.
Some things I had forgotten about though - we've got another two embryos to go and I'd forgotten what a pain in the arse it is not knowing what you're doing from month to month.
But anyway, that's where I am. I hope to be back blogging a bit more regularly but we'll see what happens!
Thursday, 29 December 2016
Thursday, 11 February 2016
My lovely lady lumps
I can't believe it's been 9 month since I last blogged. In a way it seems much shorter, but also much longer as very much has happened in a short space of time.
I've been promoted at work - well, sort of. Although I have probably made the glass ceiling that ittle bit wider, it isn't so much a glass ceiling as a glass floor you have to stand on. While everyone makes comments about your pants.
I am perfectly well qualified to do my job. Better than the men twice my age who have traditionally dominated, and who I certainly work harder than. But who probably don't get:
"Your hair is too short. You need to grow it long."
"You need to cut your hair into a crop."
"Our new boss has... a child!" - normally said in the same tones as if I slept in a coffin. Did I mention that my industry has problems attracting 'normal' people?
"You've got way more energy than our competitors. But I really have to pray for your family." Ditto.
The weirdest one was when my second in command called, to say I needed to be careful to cover up. Don't wear anything too low cut, or too short, he said. Wear a suit.
"But the CEO of our organisation goes to work wearing jeans."
For heaven's sake, even my Mum has said I look smart recently...
"Just, I just, I had to say something."
I was a bit baffled until I was in the office with a volunteer (yup, it is mostly volunteer run, so I can't go around sacking people.) She gestured at a PR photo and said "Well I thought that photo was a bit embarrassing, frankly".
The same woman has been really rude to me before, but one of the younger, more sane volunteers said, after I bit my tongue very hard and she left, "It's because you've got boobs".
And in the photo, you can actually see I have boobs. This is true. It was shot from the side, and I have 34Hs. I hadn't really noticed - I'm wearing a respectable dress and, anyway, believed we had got over judging a woman on their tits, unless they're in some sort of lapdancing contest.
I went through a bit of worry with this. Most high street shops have clothes that are cut for women that are a bit more up and down than me - so if I wear 'normal' clothes I look like a marquee. I already get my clothes online from specialists.
It all looks worse if you wear things that have a high neckline, like I have a tyre shoved down my top.
I could bind my chest, but frankly, I have enough trouble with control underpants (there's a whole blog post in the Bridget Jones esque leotard I own, that is meant to hold my stomach in place yet bursts at the gusset at every opportunity. Or the weird corset thing with a hole in for weeing through, but that you really have to take off every time you go to the toilet).
Unless I've really worn something too low cut - and I don't believe I have, and this tallies up with comments that other newly promoted people have had - some people are just jealous. And wonder why moaning hasn't reaped rewards, while looking at my tits - but not clicking that I'm pretty good at getting up off my arse.
I've been promoted at work - well, sort of. Although I have probably made the glass ceiling that ittle bit wider, it isn't so much a glass ceiling as a glass floor you have to stand on. While everyone makes comments about your pants.
I am perfectly well qualified to do my job. Better than the men twice my age who have traditionally dominated, and who I certainly work harder than. But who probably don't get:
"Your hair is too short. You need to grow it long."
"You need to cut your hair into a crop."
"Our new boss has... a child!" - normally said in the same tones as if I slept in a coffin. Did I mention that my industry has problems attracting 'normal' people?
"You've got way more energy than our competitors. But I really have to pray for your family." Ditto.
The weirdest one was when my second in command called, to say I needed to be careful to cover up. Don't wear anything too low cut, or too short, he said. Wear a suit.
"But the CEO of our organisation goes to work wearing jeans."
For heaven's sake, even my Mum has said I look smart recently...
"Just, I just, I had to say something."
I was a bit baffled until I was in the office with a volunteer (yup, it is mostly volunteer run, so I can't go around sacking people.) She gestured at a PR photo and said "Well I thought that photo was a bit embarrassing, frankly".
The same woman has been really rude to me before, but one of the younger, more sane volunteers said, after I bit my tongue very hard and she left, "It's because you've got boobs".
And in the photo, you can actually see I have boobs. This is true. It was shot from the side, and I have 34Hs. I hadn't really noticed - I'm wearing a respectable dress and, anyway, believed we had got over judging a woman on their tits, unless they're in some sort of lapdancing contest.
I went through a bit of worry with this. Most high street shops have clothes that are cut for women that are a bit more up and down than me - so if I wear 'normal' clothes I look like a marquee. I already get my clothes online from specialists.
It all looks worse if you wear things that have a high neckline, like I have a tyre shoved down my top.
I could bind my chest, but frankly, I have enough trouble with control underpants (there's a whole blog post in the Bridget Jones esque leotard I own, that is meant to hold my stomach in place yet bursts at the gusset at every opportunity. Or the weird corset thing with a hole in for weeing through, but that you really have to take off every time you go to the toilet).
Unless I've really worn something too low cut - and I don't believe I have, and this tallies up with comments that other newly promoted people have had - some people are just jealous. And wonder why moaning hasn't reaped rewards, while looking at my tits - but not clicking that I'm pretty good at getting up off my arse.
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