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Saturday 27 August 2011

Woo! Wheee! Hooray! And OMFG.

Dear Child of Mine,

Papa wants to start trying for a baby!

WOOOOHOOO!
WHEEEEEEEEE!
HOOOORAAAHHH!
POM POMS
OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.
BOLLOCKS.

This is what I have waited for for six whole months. Well, if you're a bit loose about the details,  six whole years. I am going to be a Mama again!

This is quite a long tale, so forgive me if it takes a while.

I hadn't posted for a long time because I was feeling very glum about the prospect of never having another baby. Actually, glum doesn't do it justice. I was experiencing flashes of real grief. Papa and I had three very serious conversations about it. We concluded that it would be nice, but it's a massive risk and there's no way we could mitigate it. We either jump in with both feet and to hell with the consequences, or we walk away. I understood Papa's point of view. There are lots of other reasons, smaller, practical, what-have-you, but the big problem for Papa was the risk taking. And, if I was honest with myself, I was just as scared too.

Our best friends, Mary and Brian, have recently had a baby themselves. I was looking forward to meeting this new little bundle for the first time, and also dreading it, in a way that I have found is common in women with complicated fertility and ideas about family. Papa decided we should wait until we'd spent the day with baby Ruth. She was ten days old. Then we'd see.

Baby Ruth was what you'd expect - tiny, pink, suedey-headed and perfect. Papa came home and said he was broody, expecting hearts and flowers and joyous bonding. Rather awkwardly, I was not broody. She was lovely, I admired her and I enjoyed spending time with her, but I did not feel slapped by my ovaries in the way that I expected. This was a shock to the system. Maybe I wasn't broody at all? Maybe this was a natural ageing thing - an accepting that my family is already complete and I am moving on from the active childbearing years?

We talked again. Papa was confused about my lack of enthusiasm. Maybe I should not have shared my feelings with him, but I was shocked by them too. What did this mean?

Rather confusingly, I still felt the sharp pangs of longing for the baby I would never have. Each time I say a newborn I felt hurt. I forced myself to dwell on the positives in my life as it is, but I told him how I felt each time, and I even cried myself to sleep a few times. Then something odd happened:

Papa and I had row. A big, serious row.

I'll make no bones about it, I said I was leaving and, for about two hours, I meant it. I'd searched the internet for places to live and everything. In the cold light of day, I can't actually remember what the row was about. However, within a couple of hours, we'd calmed down, reconnected and both cried tears of relief, establishing we actually loved each other very much, really loved each other, and we wanted to be together no matter what. I can't explain how wonderful that reconnecting felt, or what a shock the blow out was.

We talked again about the baby thing, and decided it was the wrong time. If we were rowing, we couldn't have another baby, could we? I said that I needed to get on with my life in a more focussed way than I have in recent months. And we properly talked through a few big issues that had come up in our relationship, mainly relating to how my illness had changed our relationship and our family. We got a lot out in the open.

I did a lot of research and decided to sign up for an OU type module. Very exciting. Then, out of the blue, my book contract came through. I'd become a student again and was writing a book - hoorah! All sorted in my head. Sad, at times, but taking the long view.

Last week, this is where I thought this post would end.

On Sunday we were lazing about in bed (post coitally, actually, unless that's TMI.) I asked Papa again to consider having a vasectomy. I had asked at the beginning of the year, after five and a half years of his not wanting to commit to another baby. He said he'd prefer not to, in case we felt broody. I BECAME broody, partly because he had taken this point of view.

However, six long months had proved that he still had such reservations that he did not want to try again, which was what prompted me to re-request a vasectomy. He was extremely reluctant. I pointed out that he did not want to use condoms, he was unhappy when hormonal contraception reduced my libido, and that he neither wanted a baby, nor to remove the possibility of me becoming pregnant. I explained that this was a bit of a head-fuck and something I wanted addressing. His response? After a (pregnant, ha ha) pause?

"I think we should try for a baby. I think we should set a limit of, say Christmas, when we review how we feel and either stop or carry on if we want to. I don't think we should get too worried, I think we should stop using contraception, have more sex and wait and see what happens."

Fucking hell.

My response was: "are you sure? Do you want a few days to think about this?"

He responded no, he'd been thinking it through for some time, but wanted to be sure of his feelings before he talked to me. Oooo-kay, then. And, within an hour, he'd been online to buy folic acid, and had clipped out coupons for buying Pampers.

I don't know how I feel about this. I am delighted, over the moon, giddy with happiness. I am shocked. I am scared shitless. I am wondering what I have let myself in for. I am worrying how we will cope, and whether our respective ages will cause pregnancy problems or complications. I am happy. Papa just seems happy about the prospect of regular sex.

So THERE, dear child of mine. Wherever you are, I hope you're celebrating. We might meet soon. Papa and I have already started discussing what Christmas might be like if I am pregnant by then, what we might call you and what baby accoutrements we'd need to buy.

Of course I have to conceive you, and carry you without problems and deliver you. I know a whole world of potential difficulty lies therein, but for now, I am your slightly shellshocked, but very happy

Mama x

PS It's a secret.