Because I told him. And he was about as amazing about it as I could have hoped he might be. And now writing about all this feels a bit weird, because I’m not just writing about me and something that affects me. I know I’m anonymous, and by extension so is he, but it feels like I don’t have the right to talk about how he reacted in any detail. It’s not just my story any more.

Which is weird for any number of reasons. As I found out when he and I were talking about him discussing it with his friends. And I had a little flutter of panic about the idea that this is no longer just my story to tell. Because for all that doing IVF solo has had its trials and tribulations, the one thing I have had control over is who I told about it. I’ve been pretty selective about this. I’ve chosen the friends I’ve told and the ones who I’ve left to think that my non-boozing is still a health kick thing. I’ve not told my parents for fucks sake. So the idea that people who weren’t my friends, people who I’d never met, would get to know was quite uncomfortable.

But I think he gets that. It’s not like he’s going to broadcast it. But it was just the first thing that made me realise it’s not just me any more. For now anyway. And that’s both comforting and terrifying.

After I had my first transfer, when I found out that I wasn’t pregnant, I wrote about how grateful I was that it was only me and my emotions that I had to worry about. And now with this next transfer, that’s not the case. And yet we’re not a couple doing IVF together, we’re a couple and I’m doing IVF with someone else’s sperm. He gets that, he’s OK with that, but I’m not sure we want the same outcome from this next transfer.

I, of course, desperately want this to work. Regardless of what the impact is on this fledgling relationship. How can I not? It’s been five years and, although I haven’t done a tot up recently, I’m guessing the best part of £50k, in the making. He’s less invested in it — although he hasn’t said as much — far from it.

He sends me messages telling me he’s crazy about me and that that’s the most important thing. He tells me “whatever happens next, we’ve got this, together.” He’s even told me “I’m happy if you’re happy, everything else we’ll work out.” But there’s still a part of me that thinks that he didn’t sign up for this, that thinks he believes life would be simpler if I didn’t end up pregnant with someone else’s child three months into our relationship. You can kind of see his point.

But without wanting to write off this embryo before it’s even been transferred, I’m more concerned about where that leaves us if it doesn’t work. Because I don’t feel like I’m done yet. And the complications and permutations of what happens then aren’t exactly straightforward.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. One day at a time — and right now that means waiting for results of the blood tests my consultant advised (vitamin D, thyroid stimulating hormone, and prolactin) before doing the next transfer… So that’s what I’m doing. Trying to anyway…