A self-basting turkey

I've talked this week about the depressing nature of TTC sex, and I've been thinking (Carrie Bradshaw alert again) that it must be even harder for couples who weren't sexually compatible in the first place.

We're lucky that we had a fairly decent sex life before all this started, and yet the experience has categorically dampened both our appetites. Imagine having none to begin with! It'd be ghastly.

There are aids available to help people struggling with the difficulties of TTC sex. We tried Preseed - a lubricant that comes in a little plastic tube with a twist-off cap, which you squirt up yourself 20 minutes or so before intercourse.

Anyone thinking "Wouldn't that spoil the spontaneity?" has clearly not been TTC for long - the level of checks, balances, red days, green days, temperature charts and everything else that have to be consulted pre-shag are similar to the preparations made prior to the take-off of an aircraft!

We didn't use Preseed because of any, erm, friction issues in that department, but purely as an experiment to help hubby's swimmers. (This was back before the sperm test, when we feared they might be struggling as much as my eggs.) It's supposed to contain minerals to help them swim and acts to balance all the acids in the hell-waters of the poisonous vagina (nicked that line from Ben Elton), which the Preseed marketing people describe as an environment not unlike Mordor.

We only used it about twice. It made me feel like one of those self-basting turkeys - and I'm a vegetarian, so that turned my stomach. And I don't think the image of his wife returning from the bathroom in a sort of waddling squat, barking "Come on then, this stuff isn't going to stay put for long!" did a lot for hubby.

As a result, I have about 16 tubes of the stuff gathering dust in my bedside cabinet, and not the faintest idea what to do with them. Suggestions on a postcard, please.

The dreaded sperm test

We did this in October. They said hubby could produce it at home as long as we could get the sample to the clinic within 90 minutes, so we decided we'd both take the day off work and then drive it into town while the traffic was light.

The plan worked well and we were there within 25 minutes (thanks to some slightly reckless driving), and it was much better for him than having to do it in some awful room.

The comedy part of the adventure was that you have to keep it warm, so after much deliberation we decided that my bra would be the snuggest place for the wee pot - a plan which again worked well until I got to the clinic reception and had to rummage around to retrieve it in front of about 12 people.

Thankfully I'm way, way past embarrassment on this issue now. I double-parked the car and was quite prepared to tell any jobsworth traffic warden who questioned me that I had some rapidly dying sperm between my tits!

That was the first time I'd been inside the fertility clinic. It's really nice inside, and it's good that our first visit was for the sperm test so I now have my bearings and know where everything is rather than encountering it for the first time when I'm nervous for one of my own.

I suppose they do everything they can to make such environments welcoming and relaxing. There were a few other equally sheepish, miserable and furtive looking couples our age rummaging in warm crevices for their own pots so it was reassuring to realise we're not the only ones.