It's Fly Day. Two months and two days since Mr Bea flew away. Last week, he wrote me one of his lovesick poems, of which this title is my favourite line. Being of a less romantic bent, I replied with a shopping list. Flour, bicarb, sugar, eggs, oil or butter, milk, syrup, thickened cream, bacon.

Since he's been gone I've waited out a two week window, had morning sickness, received a more-than-negative-but-less-than-positive beta result, made the decision to take a break, quit my job and move to a country I've never visited before, turned in my notice, taken our beloved dog backwards and forwards to the vet clinic for a mysterious waxing and waning illness, applied for and obtained a Singaporean residency visa, witnessed (indirectly) the births of three children - two of which were the second born since we started trying, the other of which was born to my first IVF cycle buddy, and one of which I wasn't told about at all until after the birth, filed tax returns for myself and Mr Bea, completed the pre-removal insurance and customs paperwork for our shipment, sat for a long-deferred family photo, had a general anaesthetic, laparoscopy, hysteroscopy and dye study, attended a weekend conference related to my job, taken our beloved dog backwards and forwards to the university teaching hospital for specialist care having reached the limits of experience of half a dozen general veterinary practitioners, worked full time during the busiest two months of the year, congratulated several more people on their pregnancies, whilst wistfully thinking about how close in due dates we'd be if only that beta had been a teensy bit more positive, sorted and packed an entire household of belongings and transported most of it into storage, made some decisions about my career path, cooked real food, finished dozens of DIY jobs in order to make the house ready for tenancy, contacted insurance companies, mortgage brokers, and banks in order to completely rearrange our finances, finalised our utilities bills and arranged for bills to be paid in our absence, voted in a by-election and changed both our addresses on the electoral role, worked through a big backlog of thoughts and feelings related to our cycles so far, arranged to have our property marketed and rented out, had the car serviced and detailed and put up for sale, revealed and discussed our infertility amongst selected family and friends, booked myself on a plane, supervised shipment of the core of our belongings, kept the house in presentation condition for viewing by prospective tenants at a moment's notice, blogged, applied for a new job in an entirely different industry, mentally prepared myself as well as can be expected for our treatments to come, arranged for our beloved dog to be cared for by family until she's well enough to fly, held someone else's newborn and smiled, researched the rental property market in Singapore, and ovulated, on time, by myself.

Can you hear me roar?

I want you to know two things. First, I didn't do it by myself. I had a lot of help from family and friends, and I do include you guys under "friends". Thankyou so much. Second, a lot of people have implied that I might be finding the move to Singapore stressful. All I can say to that is, "Not compared to infertility." Compared to infertility, it doesn't even raise a flutter. So if you've read this far and thought, "Wow - I couldn't do that!" like I thought two months ago, then sister - you are wrong.

So, where am I at the end of all this? Well, I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Mr Bea and I will be cooking pancakes together for breakfast.

And I'll see you on the other side.