Talking and telling…

Now that I’m at the point where, despite what I thought was clever dressing to conceal my bump, I am very obviously, it appears, pregnant, I am confronted by yet another issue. How much do I say about our baby’s origins?

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What happens next…

It’s hard to know what this blog – which has been all about trying to get pregnant – should be about now I’m actually pregnant. And I suppose that sentence alone is something that speaks volumes. I didn’t start this as a blog about trying to get pregnant. When I started it, it was a blog about freezing my eggs. And when, later, I came back to it, I thought it was going to be a blog about being a solo mother. But life has other plans. And so I suppose now it’s a blog about being pregnant with a donor egg after trying to get pregnant for so long.

And part of that means coming to terms with the idea that we’re going to have a baby. We’re going to become parents and everything is going to change. And I know that that was obviously the goal all along. But at some point that goal became getting pregnant and staying pregnant. And if that had happened early on, I feel like the getting pregnant and the reality of actually having a baby would have been so closely linked in chronology that I wouldn’t have the feeling that I have now, which is – weirdly – that I’m not ready for this.

When we were away, B said to me “our next summer holiday is going to be completely different” and I just hadn’t really thought about it. Just like I hadn’t thought about the fact that we were going to need to get a car that would be practical with a baby seat. And it started to dawn on me that we probably wouldn’t be going to the concerts we’d bought tickets for next year. And I know that – to a certain extent – not thinking about all that had been a self-protection mechanism to shield me from disappointment if/when it didn’t work out again. But even taking that into consideration, the disjunct feels odd.

I think it feels particularly discomforting because this is something that I’ve wanted for so long and now that it’s actually happening, rather than being totally bloody thrilled, as I should be, all I’m thinking about is the stuff that being pregnant and having a small child is going to stop me doing: I can’t ski this winter, I’ve had to get rid of my pride-and-joy sports car, I’m going to have to share B with someone who he’s probably going to love more than me, it’s going to be a long time before I can just lie by a pool and read a book on holiday… etc etc

And, when I think about it, I know that on the scales of life and happiness, this sort of negative weighting is kind of inevitable. Because these are my known knowns. I know what I’m going to lose, what I don’t know, and what I hope will balance that (to some extent at least) is what I’m going to gain. I can’t possibly know that – and to be honest, even if I could, I’m not sure I’d really dare to dream about it after all this time, it would feel like tempting fate.

And so I’m here, juggling fear, excitement, anticipation and all the rest of it. So in some ways, pretty much like most of the last eight years really…

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When you’re making other plans…

It was John Lennon who apparently said that “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” and Woody Allen’s credited with saying “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans” — even though my suspicion is that Jewish grandmothers have been saying it for millennia. Undoubtedly there’s a bunch of other quotes from various wise civilisations that say pretty much the same thing. The bottom line is that you can do everything in your power to create a certain outcome, but it turns out that “everything in your power” is pretty much the square root of fuck all.

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Time and time and time…

Time and time and time…. simultaneously like a winged chariot and like a Southern Train (topical reference there — basically read “slower than slow”). Honestly, when I was looking for a quote about time passing slowly (something that would have been slightly more erudite than a Southern Trains reference) I found one attributed to Alice Walker that said: Continue reading

The result…

So I got the results of the ERA test… and they were normal. Basically my endometrium was receptive on the standard day. I’m not one of the 25 per cent of women who should have their embryo transferred before or after the standard day. And I don’t need to pay £1200 to have another test to narrow down the window of receptivity. Which should make me feel delighted. But weirdly left me feeling rather flat.

I guess I was hoping that this was going to give me The Answer. This was going to tell me Continue reading

Emotional fuckwittery…

I promised you the headfuckery, the emotional fuckwittery, the messy lifeness, the mental rollercoaster. And what better day to write about all that than at the very end of the year? Here! Have it! My unburdening, so I can sally forth into 2017, lighter, happier, whatever, I don’t know.

In October I wrote that I had made a decision. I wrote that after

thinking, and dating, and sleeping with unsuitable people, and thinking that something might become A THING — and then realising that it wasn’t going to…

I had decided to try to get pregnant on my own. And making that decision was exciting, and terrifying, and empowering, and terrifying, and for a while it made me feel utterly invincible. Which sounds like a totally Continue reading

Perspective – and weather

Perspective – like hindsight – is a wonderful thing. I’m frequently lacking in it. But then I rather think that we all are. It’s just very easy to get so wrapped up in our own worlds and our own worries, and our own mini dramas that we can’t see anything but that. And I am abso-fucking-lutely not recommending a hierarchy of misery where you make yourself feel like shit because not only have you been dumped or not managed to get pregnant, but you feel like you shouldn’t Continue reading