I am officially down-regged. Hooray!
And now, twelve days of oestrogen supplements and back for a scan on 1 Sep. If all looks good then, we’ll be looking at transfer a week later, which is most convenient, as I am off work that week, and will be able to sit in my PJs watching Netflix and obsessively checking the blackberry.
Unfortunately no respite from the b-stings which continue for now, but I feel a lot better about them now we have moved onto the next stage.
I really now need to focus on my organic diet/daily yoga/increased sleep/decreased stress regime (says she, spending her day off having a massive panic attack about a job and stuffing her face with chocolate).
This afternoon we have a meeting at the nursery to review the Nipper’s progress generally as a human being. Slightly nervous about this, bearing in mind he likes to carry around three plastic tractors at all times, takes spoons to nursery in his pocket, and speaks in his own pidgin Nipperspeak, but who wants normal? This review is a practice run for the proper review with the health visitor in a week or two. Now that I am definitely not looking forward to. Had to fill in insane questionnaire, e.g.:
Does your child react appropriately to dangers such as moving cars and fire? (Er, actually, I tend not to put my 2 year old in front of moving cars and fires).
Instruct your child to put his plates in the kitchen after a meal. Does he comply? (No. He’s 2. He’s running round with no trousers on and a saucepan on his head shouting HELLO DADDY.)
Is your child too friendly with strangers? (What? I mean, WHAT?)
Don’t get me wrong, I fully understand and welcome an expert review of the Nipper’s development and, like all parents, crave reassurance that everything is tip top and as it should be. The problem is, I really really can’t cope with criticism, especially not of my boy. I do sometimes feel I’m really not grown up enough for this parenting business. (I am 39). (Oh god that sounds old).