Turkey baster

It’s good to start recording any race on the first of the month. Date: March 1st 2007. Time: 12:52pm. Location: London. Weather: sunny, bright, blue sky.

The race is against my body clock. For two years I’ve been trying to convince my boyfriend (the Prince) the time is right for another baby. Now panic stations have set in. I’m 39 in May and he’s no closer to agreement. I’ve tried all the following:

1) giving him time and backing off
2) setting myself deadlines (then extending them)
3) talking about it
4) not talking about it
5) phoning a Relate counsellor
6) printing out a costings sheet to prove we can afford it
7) soliciting the help of our three-year-old daughter to ask him for a sister

It's baffling that a man so clued up on the world has no idea about a woman's fertility. He says, "Holly Hunter had twins at the age of 47, you've got loads of time." The Prince reads almost all the papers every single day but still truly believes this. Any page with a headline containing the words "women, 35, fertility, declines and steeply" gets flicked over. Sometimes I've left an article under his pillow. He'll say "what's this?", frown, snort and put it straight on the floor.

About a year ago the Prince said “it’s so uninspiring when you mention it all the time” and I swore I’d keep quiet. I did for a good long time, only piping up again when he appeared no closer to inspiration a year down the line. Now he’s yanked down some heavy shutters. The days roll by and the issue festers.

I’ve had all sorts of advice - “get pregnant by accident,” by far the most common. In response to this I roll out one of the following clichés: “easier said than done”, “would if I could”, “wishful thinking” or “it’s an accident waiting to happen”. I have to explain the last one so rarely use it.

Thing is, during sex the Prince is a control freak and a freak in control. For two years he has either leapt off at crunch time or yelled “stop” if I’m on top. Sometimes I get so upset I curl up and cry for my poor deprived eggs. Other times I sulk. Or I get “heavy” and want to talk things through. Only I can’t because of his steel shutters.

The other day my aunt lent me a turkey baster. “It’s time for drastic action,” she said. “This is horrid,” I replied. I never intended to get pregnant deceitfully. But now I wish I’d kept quiet about stopping the Pill. My friend Fleur secretly had her coil removed. Her bloke was angry at first when she got pregnant but now he’s delighted with their new baby daughter. I know the Prince will be fine once our second one is here and part of our lives. It’s the getting it here that’s the problem.

Anyway, I took the turkey baster.