The long wait

When our daughter was born I was so contented. She was (and is) just incredible. The most beautiful, most perfect little babe I could ever have dreamt of, and she was all mine. I didn't need anything else.

All that changed when I stopped producing milk.The hormones shifted, my body realised I was no longer pregnant or 'mothering' and started pushing me.

'Hey, you. Want another baby?'
'No thanks'
'..... are you sure?'
'..erm.... yeah?'
'Ah, go on. Have another baby... you know you want to.'
'..... it would be nice...'

And that was that. I was once again a slave to my natural (and strong!) baby-making urges. Thankfully my husband has markedly less oestrogen fuelling his decisions. So we had a chat, made a plan for THE FUTURE, and settled back into life.


He got sick.

Actually he'd been ill for a long time, but it took him so long to admit it that by the time he sought help he was already firmly gripped by anxiety and depression. Between trialling different medications, finding the correct dosage, and accidentally going 'cold-turkey', he was barely functioning.
He had a breakdown. He left his job. Life was put 'on hold'.
I was scared for him, for us all.

Things slowly improved. He found the right medicine for him (and got better at actually taking it!). He got a new job working with friends in a sector he knows well and can excel in. Life, in general, got back on track. 'THE PLAN' was, as far as I was concerned, still the plan. We wanted another baby. We wanted a gap of more than 1 but less than 3 years. We did NOT want another birthday during the festive period - it is just too financially stressful!

The time for action was now...Now.
.......NOW!

... Now??....??... *sigh*

No action. Of any kind.
No baby for us. For me.

It took someone else's happy news to bring him out of that dark place. Our friends announced their pregnancy just a few short weeks after getting married. I was so jealous. But then, miraculously, so was he! As soon as he realised that he wanted that to be our news, our joyous announcement, we were back on the same page. All systems go!! And it happened. Straight away. We are, and have always been, so incredibly lucky in that department. All those hormones rushing around my body knew EXACTLY what to do. They got to work, they got it done.
'Pregnant'.

We were both so happy. It felt like our lives had begun anew. We were singing from the same hymn sheet, as it were, and we were thrilled. I couldn't wait to meet our new baby. Our second. Our... son? It felt right. I wish, hoped, crossed my fingers, dreamt of the day we'd meet 'him'. We'd have to wait and see...

Then I was in HELL.
I won't go into too much detail, but when I say the morning sickness was bad, I'm talking prescribed medication and weeks off work. I had to have access to a bathroom AT ALL TIMES, and I wasn't being sick... Yeah, exactly. Hell.

Next, came blood.
Constantly. A plague upon our happiness. For 8 weeks solid, a 'mini period' constantly threatening to take away our joy, to destroy what we had created, what we (I) had waited for for so long.

I was helpless.

Doctors and midwives reassured me as best they could, but I knew what I had to do. I had to accept that 'it' wasn't to be. 'He' became 'it' again, overnight. I distanced myself as much as is mentally possible when the 'thing' is inside of you. I prepared for the worst. We held off telling people. When I spoke to close friends I made sure they too were 'prepared'. It wasn't going to happen.

The weeks dragged by. 10 weeks. Still bleeding, but still there.
12 weeks. We told people. More bleeding, but doctors were 'hopeful'.
14. Bleeding
16. Bleeding
18. Bleeding

By 20 weeks I was a wreck. I wanted it over with. The longer it went on the crueler it became; some sick joke on behalf of Mother Nature. I couldn't connect with 'it'. How could I when I knew exactly where this was heading? Every 2 weeks, like clockwork. 'Spotting' they called it. I called it shit.

Slowly, very slowly, I began to hope.
I felt the first little nudge. I saw it's little mouth gulping in black and white on the screen. I tuned back in as they said we were 'progressing nicely'. My hand strayed to my stomach now whenever there was movement. A kick. A stretch. I imagined it's fragile limbs inside of mine, searching for the edges of the World. I 'soothed' it's restless body within my own. For the first time I allowed myself to feel. To love.

The sense of relief was all-consuming:
'By this point in your pregnancy, your baby has a good chance of survival if born early'.
My pregnancy app made things clear - we'd made it.

After waiting for so long, after losing our way, after battling through everything that had been thrown at us, at the end of it all, I was going to have another baby.

I can't wait :)