Eggs and holidays

Spoke to him yesterday about the egg freezing and the holiday. It's strange, if the holiday had been booked just a couple of months ago I'd have been totally excited. Now I just feel confused. It's not booked yet.

"I would love to go to Egypt with you," I said. "But as your lover, not as a flatmate."
"Well remember Rosie's sharing a room with us," he said.

So what to do? It's hugely expensive. We do need to try and work this out. Am terrified we will be silent strangers, pretending to enjoy ourselves. He quizzed me about why I appear reticent re. the holiday and I told him about the egg freezing. He was fairly shocked.

"How come you're suddenly able to find £3,000," was his first comment. He doesn't like the idea. But money shmoney - it's gotta be done for my sanity. I may have an ice baby one day in the future.

Am quite used to ice people - I'm living with an ice man right now. If our hands accidentally touch in the night he whisks his away. It's so lonely. Are we going to be able to get back on track? I don't know how to do this.

Age Gap

Job's calmed down so can keep daily diary, though it's still a fairly negative old write. At this week's therapy I said:

"I think he feels he's with the wrong person for the wrong reasons but can't admit it. I feel he wants to get out of the relationship and hang out with people his own age - have a bit of freedom. Basically, I think the age gap is a problem. We want different things."
HER: "Age doesn't matter if you want the same things." (no shit sherlock)
ME: "But we don't want the same things - he doesn't want domesticity/babies and a big family and I think it has a lot to do with the fact his friends in Chelsea are still single, go clubbing and are not having babies."
HER: (to him) "And what do you say to that?"
HIM: "It's not true. I do not want to leave the relationship. It sounds more like she does." (did he only just clock?)
ME: "Are you happy with the way things are?"
HIM: "Things have gone a bit bad since we started this thing (the counselling)"
HER: (to me) "And how do you feel about that?"
ME: "Just want an answer - need to know where this is all heading. Feel only he can provide that."
HER: (to him) "And how do you feel about that?"
HIM: "Well I don't know what more I can do..."
HER: (to me) "And how do you feel about that?"
ME: "Show me some loving?"
HER: (to him) "And what do you say to that?"
HIM: "It's hard to love someone who's so angry all the time."
ME THINKING: "Vicious circle - anger comes from no talk/no commitment - no talk/no commitment gets stronger with each angry outburst"
ME: "I just want us to be happy - and if we can't be happy together let's move on... so we can be happy elsewhere. Why flog a dead horse?"
HER: "He's made an effort with finding a holiday and making dinner to eat at the table hasn't he?"
ME: "Yes and I appreciate that." (I do - it's something, even though a part of me says why mess around with peripheries at this crisis stage?).
HER: "Time's up."

Write cheque for £60. Awkward atmos as we shuffle about getting our coats and say goodbye to this stranger. Drive back in silence through Greenwich Park, me pillion on Nat's new Vespa.

Birmingham... mmmm

Am going ahead with the egg freezing. It's going to cost £3,000 in all. I'll have to take out a loan. I spoke to a doctor there today. She said I've absolutely no time to waste - that I'm positively ancient.

"If you were 23 there'd hardly be any difference in your fertility in a year. When you're 39 it's rapidly going downhill. Women aged 39 and 40 who get pregnant have a 40% chance of miscarriage. The odds that one of your eggs will have a deformity are so high - that's why so many women miscarry. Even if we extract eggs from you there's no guarantee the eggs will be of sufficient quality anyway.

"It's the opposite for men," she continued. "They can go on making babies way into their sixties. It's terribly unfair."

Great.

Asked to think about it and she recommended not taking too much time. So I figured to hell with it. I'm taking action. I'm grabbing the bull and going for it.

Now I'm waiting for some tubes to arrive to take to my local nurse on day four of my period. She will take my blood and I have to take it to the post office and send it back next day guaranteed delivery. This is the "Ovarian Reserve test", which should tell them whether or not it's worth bothering with me... or whether I'm even too much of an old maid for this.This bit alone costs £250.

Then - Harley Street for scans and consultations. Most of it can be done in London. A week later my test results come back and if my ovaries are in shape (ie, not frazzled and old) I have to administer hormone injections to stimulate egg growth (if my ovaries are really past it I'll have to have quite a lot of this drug and it's really expensive). Then I'll have to go to Birmingham (that's the worst bit) for another consultation and scan. She was ever so negative about my age.

The egg collection itself will be an outpatient's procedure in Birmingham and can be done in a day if someone drives me. No general anaesthetic or anything. Yikes.

But as the Prince said the other day "you only live once". I feel my purpose on this earth isn't quite fulfilled yet. There's another purpose dying to pop out - so I'm ensuring it has a chance... one day in the future.

Hey ho. Another day in this mad old life.

Tipping the Scales

Just for the record I really do love the Prince.

I know you'd never have figured that from this rantish diary. He just drives me fucking insane with his lack of communication and habit for sweeping stuff under the seagrass.

It kills me because I really really love him and want him. I just want him to want me too. And I don't think he does or we'd not be here.

He wants everything to be fine and happy all the time. He can't cope when it's not, just withdraws.

But isn't that what life is supposed to be about? Working on changing feelings/compromising in order to make marriages work?

I've tried to adjust to a future without my big family/doggy/cat dreams and just end up feeling resentful.

I don't think he'd put up much of a fight to save this thing if I was to ask him to leave.

It's sometimes a good idea to list things - bad and good points to see what outweighs what. So let's give it a go:

HIS GOOD POINTS

He's funny (and still makes me laugh)
He's got great taste
He's a great dad
He's gorgeous
He's knowlegable/intelligent
Not bad re. housework
Has v interesting job

HIS BAD POINTS

He doesn't like talking
He's not affectionate
Thinks "being here" is enough contribution to the relationship
He's immature
He's a raving snob
No empathy (can't put himself in anyone else's shoes)
Treats me like a mother
Often puts me down
Doesn't want any further commitment than what we have already
Doesn't want to marry me but asked twice (why?)
Doesn't want to spend an evening with me at dinner or theatre
Is a loner
Picks his nose disgustingly
Farts a lot (not that important)
Leaves dirty clothes on floor instead of washbasket (not that important)

MY GOOD POINTS (according to me)

Kind
Caring
Considerate
Empathetic
Loving
Hard working (don't expect the man to be main breadwinner, go half half on everything)
Ok looking
Up for a laugh
Good mummy

MY BAD POINTS (according to me)

Worry too much
Too obsessed with equality
Highly strung sometimes
Anger control issues
Like wearing slobby clothes

Anyway, I get my 50 minutes of listening time this evening. Am going to put it to him that he wants out and see what he says.

Mini Break

We are thinking of taking a mini-break after the disastrous weekend of last. The Relate woman said:

"So tell me about Saturday. You had one day to yourselves while your daughter is at her friend's house and what do you do?"
ME: "We went to the movies, then went to Waterstones and read books in the coffee shop."
HER: "What no talking? No communication at all?"
ME/NAT: (uncomfortable laughing/shifting in seats) "No."
HER: "Well I find that amazing - here you both are faced with a chance to reconnect and you watch a film and read books. You're in your own worlds. What about sitting and watching the world go by? Talking about the people you're seeing out of the window - you know, chit chat."
ME: "Nat doesn't do chit chat."
HER (to Nat): "And what do you say to that?"
NAT: "It's true, I can't listen to really long winded stories... and sometimes Indigo's go on and on and on... and I only said 'give me the headline' once. But I don't really enjoy talking about nothing."
HER: "So it's not so good then?"
ME/NAT: "No."
NAT: "In fact on Sunday when she exploded at me for no reason because she couldn't get a lie in, I was actually looking forward to going back to work."
ME: "Me too, I couldn't wait for him to get out of the house."
HER: "Oh dear. How are you going to get through this coming bank holiday weekend?"
US: "Don't know."
ME: "Maybe we should have a mini-break, you know, so he can learn to miss me again."
HER: "Oh, ok then. Time's up. Same time next week?"

He's been different since then. Collecting Rosie from school, doing her dinner and bedtime. He's made dinner and asked me about my day! And we've been eating at the table, face to face - not on trays infront of the TV. He is making a big effort - I see it. Something has changed though in my head - as if my own shutters have come down.

The baby/family/me getting to the end of my biological clock issue is still the same. Have found a place in Birmingham that freezes eggs successfully. There were problems once and conception via this method didn't have a good score. But apparently now it does work. It will cost me £2,500 but will lift the pressure and ease the aching throat that occurs whenever I think about this thing.

Mentioned this to the Prince last night (and asked if he might even loan me the money) and he laughed uncomfortably.

Red hot rant - warning: long groan

Forget trying to be positive. It doesn’t help and makes me even more depressed.

Our first marriage therapy went well.
Second not so good. He hardly spoke to me for days after.
The third was still a struggle. There's so much going on. It's been scratching to get out for years and now the surge to be heard gets 50 minutes a week. I won't be defeated. Not yet anyway.

Three things that happened since the last session that have made me hate him

1) Hellish Thursday

Spent the morning taking his dear lovely grandfather to Gatwick (he'd had a fall and is in a wheelchair). But it was much much longer than expected because the airport is crap. I was pushing an old man in a wheelchair and pulling the luggage trolley behind me. How did they expect me to get up the escalator, let alone walk a mile up a ramp. Ended up on a car park roof where we waited half an hour for an electric buggy.

Drove fast to get back to computer at 2.30pm. Thereupon discovered major flaws with work emails. Threw PC and laptop into car and headed back PAST Gatwick to Haywards Heath, where the computer doctor lives on one of those modern estates in beige.

But before I left I called the Prince to explain what was going on. I apologised and said I would not be able to pick up Rosie and so please could he do it? Instead he said he’d been asked to help out at work with the Peru earthquake (in his spare time, he finishes at 3.30pm).

“It’s the first time I’ve been asked to use my Spanish and I really want to do it.”
“I need you to help me,” I said.
“I’ll call in half an hour and see if you’ve sorted it,” he said.

I put the phone down perplexed. Half an hour ain’t gonna fix this problem and duly he rang back 30 minutes later.

“Are you still going?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re not going to make it by half past five if you haven’t left now”

The sad thing is he wasn't concerned at all about whether I made it in time – there was only one thing vexing him. Himself. He didn’t want to come home and collect Rosie. He wanted to show his dedication to his work buddies but what about his girlfriend? He's NEVER left work for a domestic crisis... EVER.

(Not even on the day I couldn't lift my head off the pillow - or the day my Granny fell and was rushed to hospital and had a pacemaker fitted. I spent a lip biting day at the hospital dealing with the escalating health problems, trying to be strong for my terrified Grandmother but having to sneak out to the corridor to arrange childcare because the Prince wouldn't leave work early. That day I almost died of hypertension racing back at a stupid stupid speed and then getting stuck in 20 mile gridlock on the M25. And I didn't collect Rosie until 8.30pm from her classmate's house in Blackheath.) But I digress...

The Prince thinks because I’m working at home, it’s not really work. I’ve been getting up at the same time as him (6am) yet my workload appears to have increased.

Since working at home I’ve suddenly been tasked with all the school drop offs, the pick ups, dinner, bath and bedtime. Nine times out of ten the Prince comes home, goes to the “bathroom” then flags infront of the TV. At least when I commuted I only got to do either the morning or evening childcare.

I wonder what he thinks he gives this “partnership”?

Back to nightmare Thursday… in Haywards Heath for an hour and a half. Migraine firmly set in place. Computer doctor works miracles. But migraine is hurting and he’s talking an alien language. Feeling ill and want to go home.

Handle recovered PC as if it’s a premature baby. I place her gently on the front seat. Driving out of surburban nowheresville, back on the road to London, it is now half seven and I call the Prince. He sounds grumpy.

“Rosie’s in bed. What shall we have for dinner?” he says.

Grapple through jaded mind as I follow signs to the M23 to think what could possibly be in the fridge.

“Um, um, um, I don’t know,” (Why the fuck can’t he just say “Oh listen you must be feeling so exhausted after your stressful day, I’ll fix blah blah for dinner and have it ready for you when you get home” He doesn’t.)

I remember the smoked salmon. “Ok, how about smoked salmon and scrambled egg?”
“I can’t do scrambled egg,” he quips.
“I’ll do it when I get back,” I stupidly offer.
“When will that be?”
“Should be around half past eight but I’m not going to hurry, I’ve got a long drive ahead.”

He sounded so cross. I accidentally cut him off but when I called back (twice) he didn’t answer! Finally he did and he was really pissed off because I said I didn’t want to hurry. He shouted with such gentle undertones:

"OK, I SAID DON'T HURRY... I WILL WAIT FOR YOU."

Wept convulsively ALL the way home, absolutely all of it.

Got home. Eyes puffy. Look like Ike Godsey from the Waltons. Made dinner. Worked at computer all evening.

Friday night – he was tired as he’s been looking after his grandfather a lot, plus getting up at 6. See? I acknowledge these things (part of the reason I did all the drop offs and pick ups and now seem to have set a precedent).

So he was asleep in bed when I went up. I kissed him gently and stroked his head (don’t worry, no sex expected) and went to turn his light off. But he’s got one of those ridiculous lamps that you have to touch to turn on and off and this one DOES NOT WORK. I stood next to him for about five minutes, touching it fast, hard, lightly, dampening my fingers, tapping it. Anything I tried didn’t switch the light off. So I pulled the darn plug out (which he hates) and went over my side of the bed. He raised his head Loch Ness monster style, checked his plug socket and said in hateful tones

“why did you unplug it?”
“Because it wouldn’t switch off.”
“Only you are so stupid as to not know how to switch the lamp off, it’s so easy.”

Should I just give up being nice to him as it always seems to deliver such a harsh blow?

Saturday - Rosie's at her friend Finn's house again. The Prince and I go to the movies. After we take a wander round Greenwich market - hand in hand! He says:

"I suppose one thing this stuff with my Grandfather has shown me is that you have to live your life.. you know, it's too short."

Hope soars! Might he be coming round?

"You know, I'm glad I bought that scooter.... you only live once."

2) Heart bash

Then, Sat night in bathroom – talking about Rosie’s little friend who’s 4 and started getting erections.
“Maybe he’ll be a highly sexed man,” I said.
“I can’t remember when I got my first erection,” the Prince replied.
“Maybe that’s why you’re not highly sexed,” (it wasn’t an insult it’s fact).
"What do you mean?” he said.
“Well let’s face it, you don’t appear to need or want sex very much.”
“I used to,” he said. And didn't qualify it. More bashing to my poor old heart.

Later in bed – ask him if he still fancies me. He says he does. Ask him why he won’t have sex with me anymore. He says “I’m too tired.” It’s the catchphrase of his thirties.

3) Sunday lie in

Sunday am – 7.30, get up and put Scooby Doo on for Rosie so I can sleep in (am very very tired at moment). Go back to bed. The Prince gets up and goes to the loo (irritating because he could have done the Scooby Doo run). Comes back to bed as I’m trying to fall back to sleep and it feels like the elephant in the room has got into bed with us. He’s thundering about all over the place, getting comfy to read his book, going online to read the Sundays. Whatever. Just as I get to sleep Rosie starts patting my face.

“Wake up mummy, Scooby Doo’s finished.”

I actually hear the Prince say “come on let’s go downstairs and look for your toy.” Inside I smiled, hurrah a lie in. But he buggered off by himself and she kept on patting my face.

Got up in foul mood. Came downstairs and he was lying on the floor watching motor racing on the plasma. I complained vociferously which made him fly in to a rage.

“WHAT HAVE I DONE WRONG? JUST TELL ME WHAT I’VE DONE WRONG!!!” Over and over. Went and got the washing out of machine and started hanging it up (third lot this weekend).

Every time I think I like him again (like after we saw the Bourne Ultimatum yesterday) he does something to set me right back. He’s hostile, rude and not very supportive. This is a farcical marriage.

In the interests of fairness I should add a few positives:

1) he's actually asked about going on holiday just the three of us in October to Egypt!
2) he did Rosie's dinner and bedtime today (Sunday)
3) he unloaded the dishwasher today, yesterday and Friday and did our dinner twice (and last night cleared up afterwards too)

Rosie’s world - Part II

Walked into the nursery playground on Friday to be bombarded by Rosie and her two friends.

“We’ve changed our names,” they cried in unison.
“I’m not Rosie anymore.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Daphne.”
“Me too,” said her friends.

It’s a new crush they’ve developed on Daphne, the glamorous red-head from Scooby Doo. Poor old Thelma doesn’t get a look in. Rosie has even said that Princesses don’t wear glasses which I struggled to argue with. Eventually she agreed that Sleeping Beauty may very well have needed glasses for reading but we’ll never know because we never see her with a book.

All day yesterday Rosie kept saying “I’m just going to think about Daphne,” then she'd withdraw into a quiet state of concentration. She did this at the swings while all the other kids played and later on the train. She ordered me to as well, so I did.

As well as Daphne she likes the three Ps - pink, princesses and ponies. She has a pink Christmas list the length of the Chinese Wall but as well as these dainty gubbins she's totally in love with toilet humour. She orders the Prince to burp on demand, says "bum" continously and then laughs hysterically especially if any adult might choose to join in. In Spain she said "culo" to vary the mix.

She's getting so big it's scary, but she'll always be my baby.

Going for Broke

I'm going for broke. There's nothing more important right now. My savings are there for rainy days, and let's face it, there have been too many of those this month.

So the Prince and I went to a marriage counsellor to find out what the heck's going on. He didn't/still doesn't want to go but is making the effort "to make me happy". And that's appreciated. I found out more in 45 minutes than I have in a year. That he talks to his mother and sister about our problems (I didn't even think he had noticed) and that he felt 26 was too young to have a baby. He actually talked to her and it felt refreshing.

I'm hoping this will be the boost our relationship needs. I'm not even thinking Baby anymore. I just want us to get along and be happy. The thought of going it alone fills me with bleakdom. Rosie dotes on her dad. How the heck would either of those two cope without eachother. I don't want to break up the family so the money is going to be pounds (hundreds, nay thousands, of them) well spent.

The egg freezing will also grab a sizeable chunk, but again - that too is hugely important for our future happiness.

Just realised how quite a bit of this diary veers on the negative. Now I'm going to start being positive.