#notpregnantjustfat

Recently I have really thrown myself into the fertility fight, because I have decided that I have waited long enough. All the time I have been trying for a baby I have been very focused on the possibility of my own problems including a large ovarian cyst, PCOS (I was incorrectly diagnosed with this, but the fear that the real mistake was the doctor who told me I didn't have it still hangs over me, 'what if I am missing out on vital treatment?'), tilted uterus or something similar (nurses always struggle to find my cervix during smear tests) etc etc. What I haven't considered for more than a fleeting moment, is the possibility that the problem is not with me. It takes two people (or at least the ingredients from two people) to make a baby, so why is so much focus on the female? If I were baking a cake (I wouldn't be, I'm a fucking terrible baker!) and it came out tasting like shit, or didn't rise or...I don't know what else can go wrong with cakes becau...

So after my first few posts, I thought to myself 'I am really getting into the swing of this blogging jazz, I just need to set myself a schedule.' I didn't. I'm a born slacker. Apparently without a deadline set in stone, my brain believes a schedule to mean 'anytime but now.' I'm sure you've all been waiting with bated breath for my latest update, so here it is. I have probably gone on a bit so far about fertility issues, but I've skated around the Fatty McFatterson issue that is staring me in the face every time I look in the mirror. I keep telling myself that Jeremy Kyle types with all sorts of substance abuse issues get pregnant all day long so 'a few pounds' couldn't possibly hurt me, but the reality is that it could be. So it's time to get real and get this fat girl off her fat ass and moving (which is probably what motivated me to sit back down and start writing again...funny that).  Over the years I have found myself suffe...

OK so for anyone on tenterhooks after my last post, I can clear everything up very quickly. My 'show' soon developed into a full-blown underwear massacre (sorry for the imagery) and I spent the rest of my evening watching trash TV cuddled up to - what turned out to be - a leaky hot water bottle. To add insult to injury I didn't even realise until I got up to refill it as it was wrapped in a blanket and I felt how cold and wet my whole abdomen was. So there it is...I'm not pregnant, just fat. Still. Now the 'in-the-know' fertile Gods out there may be tutting in disgust at my acknowledgement of being fat as it is a well known medical fact that carrying extra weight may impact fertility negatively. Well guess what fertility Gods...I KNOW! When I say I am fat, I don't mean I'm a roly-poly, Fatty McFatterson who needs the roof removed and a crane to be lifted out of the house (although some days I don't feel too far away!). What I mean is that I am...

So for any woman trying to get pregnant, today is D-Day, the dreaded day of every month when my period is due. It is marked in the diary, highlighted in fertility apps and firmly imprinted in my mental calendar. Today I will hope and pray that the cramps don't bring what I know they inevitably will. I will go to the toilet countless times to check for any sign of a 'show' all the time willing my body not to cheat me again, praying that this month will be the month. I already know it won't be. I can feel the pressure, the pains...and the sadness.  I used to celebrate the arrival of my periods and breathe a sigh of relief...not anymore. I have been through this over 18 times now. At the beginning I told myself "It's OK, hardly anyone gets pregnant that quickly...It's OK, it will happen soon...It's OK you just have to wait for the time to be right etc etc etc". Since the start of this journey I have celebrated births of my friend's childre...

So today I am still fat and still not pregnant for anyone who was wondering. Although my idea of myself as 'fat' has changed somewhat over the years. Today I have a BMI of 28.4 and am teetering on the edge of officially obese according to the NHS. To get back within my 'safe' weight bracket I have to lose 1.5 stone, to sit in the middle of said bracket I need to lose 3 stone. Despite this health warning, I am more comfortable in my own skin now than then. In years gone by I was fit and healthy and never understood how people let themselves get so out of shape, to be honest I still don't, it has just kind of 'happened' (I blame hitting the dreaded 3-0 and the resulting decline in my metabolism). Despite my previous good fortune with my weight, I never saw it that way at the time and always believed I was fat, not obese or anything, but the word 'fat' has always clung to the back of my mind. Now I just wish I were as fat as the first time I thought I...

OK, so I really should've started this a long time ago, but 'I haven't had time, work, work, work etc' and all the other bullshit excuses we perpetuate to put off things that scare us. This is a mixture of a typical fat girl diary and also a catalogue of fertility trials and tribulations, so buckle up, cos you're in for a rough ride! Sorry to anyone who was looking for a weight loss journal, I'm over 30 now so I don't lose weight. *Looking Back Through Rose Coloured Glasses* Back in my twenties, I lived the life, drank every weekend (often more often 😜), casually "dated" (I write "dated" as actual dating for Irish people is a relatively new phenomenon, since the dawn of online dating apps; prior to that, relationships used to start with a few drunken "shifts/snogs/getting off with/go wi etc" and after some time could blossom into something longer lasting), whilst generally clawing my way through my career and life. Other ...