1) A baby! Yes, Oscar and I have decided that this is the year we’re going to try. We’ve talked about it on and off for the last couple of months, and as of 1 January we’ve agreed I’m no longer going to take the pill. It feels like a huge leap into the unknown.
I don’t think I need to make any other resolutions. That one is monumentally life-changing enough for one year, isn’t it? Oscar has promised me that he’ll talk to his boss again about moving back to the UK. We stand a much better chance of falling pregnant if he’s home more, and when I do have a baby, it stands to reason that he’s not going to want to be absent so much.
2) Oh, shit, I forgot. It pains me to write this, but there is another – I’m going on the wagon. It increases the odds of conception, apparently.
‘Did you definitely remember to take your folic acid every morning?’
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my mobile on speakerphone on the bedside table.
‘Of course I did,’ I say. ‘But I doubt it’s all down to whether or not I ingest enough nutrients. It’s more to do with, you know, eggs and sperm meeting up at the right moment.’ I’m sure Oscar didn’t mean to make his question sound like an accusation; he’s just disappointed.
He doesn’t reply.
‘Very few couples fall pregnant on the first cycle,’ I say more seriously. I spend my days writing women’s health features, and I’ve covered pregnancy-related issues dozens of times. If it were left up to me I’d just get on with life and try not to obsess over whether or not we were getting pregnant. But Oscar’s results-driven nature seems to have taken over, and I don’t quite know how to tell him to calm down without hurting his feelings. It’s quite sweet, really.
‘I know, I just thought maybe we’d ace it first time round, you know?’ He sighs.
‘I know. We’ll just have to give it an extra effort next time you’re back, hey?’
‘You’re right. I mean, it’s not like it’s a chore or anything. Let’s book a whole night in, just you and me.’
‘Laurie, you’ve been in there a while.’
Oscar has actually delayed going to Brussels today to see if I’m pregnant. I’m not. I’m sitting on the loo holding a negative pregnancy test and trying to work out how to let him down gently.
‘I’ll be out in a sec,’ I call, flushing the toilet.
He’s loitering in the hallway waiting for me when I open the bathroom door. I shake my head, and he can’t keep the disappointment from his eyes as he hugs me.
‘Early days,’ I say. Only two months in and the shine of trying to get pregnant has already well and truly worn off. Who knew it would be so stressful? I’d like it if we could just take our foot off the gas and relax, but it’s not in Oscar’s nature to be so laissez-faire. He’s used to being able to make things happen; it’s clearly a huge frustration to him that he can’t dictate this so easily.
‘Third time lucky.’ He presses a kiss against my forehead and picks up his briefcase. ‘See you in a few days, love.’