It was a quiet Tuesday night at home. The beloved and I had finished dinner and were watching some kind of hyper reality on the box when there was a knock at the door. We opened the door to reveal a UPS delivery guy. He was tall, perfectly built with piercing blue eyes and feathery hair and he had a propensity to hover and give off light. So not our usual guy but maybe he was off sick? In a voice that sounded like he was in his own personal amphitheater, he said "I have a delivery for the Beloved". Those blue eyes swept past me and had the audacity to look slightly relieved as Jo stepped forward. He said "Don't be afraid, sign here. You're up the duff and the package will be delivered some time in July... Do you need a receipt?" And that was that, true story!
Ok maybe not. In fact, Tuesday came about with the help of a fabulous fertility specialist called Dr B. We didn't need to use IVF and there were no turkey basters! Apologies to the male ego but said baster was actually a teeny tiny syringe that Dr B cheerfully referred to as "the tom cat", which did nothing more complex than depositing some swimmers through the cervix. I may or may not have been heard to say "lie back and think of England" during this process... Bad Jac!
Photo edit thanks to Andrew ;)