Thursday 4th March 2010

Gestation: 22 weeks, 6 days

One year ago.

I walk out of the bedroom and into the toilet.  And there, seated, is Suse.

Peeing into a cup.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

The seven-day packet – the one with the purple bitch and her perfect baby on the front of it – has been cracked open.

Having sex like rabbits didn’t work.

It’s time to get scientific.

“So, what’s the go?”

Suse looks up.  “It’s an Ovulation Predictor Test.  It predicts when,” she picks up the box, “ ‘your luteinising hormone is elevated, which signals you are about to ovulate.’ ”  She pauses to see I am concentrating.  “ ‘You are most likely to become pregnant if you have intercourse within 24-36 hours after you detect the hormone surge.’ ”  She sits there, as serious as could be, with a the box in one hand and a cup in the other.

“Really?”

“According to her,” she says, pointing at the purple woman.

“So?”

“So what?”

“What’s the verdict?”

Suse holds up the stick, examining it intently.  “Negative.”

“So the test says that we shouldn’t have sex?”

“That’s what the box says.”

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic.”

I walk away.

Cursing that purple wench.

Her, and her tiny, perfect, purple child.

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