The barren woman's hate list - item #3: pregnancy tests

It's amazing the amount of vitriol and bitterness I can feel towards an inanimate bit of plastic. But by God do I despise these things.

The digital ones are worst - there's something so nasty and final about reading the words "Not pregnant", and you can't exactly hold them up to the light in the hope the "Not" will vanish - but their prohibitive cost means I've only graced them with my hCG-less wee once or twice. (When feeling flush, kerboom. See what I did there?)

I don't have a favourite brand - again, cost means I usually resort to Boots' or Sainsbury's own - but I definitely prefer the ones you can pee directly onto. Clarting around with a small pot and a lively stream of wee without my contacts in is not among my top-choice ways to start the day.

What I hate most about pregnancy tests is how soul-destroying it is to "fail" one. Because my periods are so irregular, there's often the temptation "just to check". Every time I say I'm not going to do one, but every time I wake up at 5am and brew a wee knowing full well I'm going to tiptoe to the bathroom, turn on the tap so hubby doesn't hear the cellophane rustling, and pee on a stick to my heart's content.

There's the brilliant moment where you're waiting for it to work - I usually cover it with a bit of bog roll so I can hope for longer - when you imagine what the joy would be like were it to be positive.

But then there's the inevitable blank result window, and every time sees me squinting and scrutinising it pathetically, holding it to the bathroom light in my desperation to see a line that never has been and probably never will be there.