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Posts from the ‘Preparing for Pregnancy’ Category

Jul 14 / Caro

Age Gap Obsession

Yes, I’m writing about this topic again. I’m acutely aware of the fact that I must be getting boring now. I’ll be honest that this text-only post has partly come about because my seven year old MacBook has (finally!) suffered a fatal head crash, taking all my photo editing capabilities with it. But I’ve chosen to write about it again because it is something that is so front-of-mind. Mentioning it so frequently here reflects just how often the thoughts of a sibling for Thomas enter my mind. Pregnancy, or rather the lack of it, and the potential age gap between children is something that pops unbidden in to my head countless times each day. Obsession is certainly not too strong a word.Try as I might, I can’t shut it off.

I thought a holiday might help. Break from routine. Take your mind off it. That sort of thing. But then our week away started with disappointment in the shape of a negative pregnancy test, followed fairly swiftly by the arrival of my period. (Come on, you’re used to the TMI in the “trying to conceive” posts by now!) Having taken the so-called “relaxed approach” last month – not tracking ovulation or temperatures, no supplements beyond my standard high dose folic acid – I think I carried it on pretty well and handled it better than the month before. I didn’t cry, so that’s progress.

And then came the news in the middle of the week that an NCT friend, whose son is just days younger than Thomas, is twelve weeks pregnant due on, of all days, my birthday. And then, I did cry. It’s nothing against her, or anyone else who achieves the pregnancy I so desire, because as I’ve pointed out before, it’s impossible to know what struggles others have already faced in order to get there. But I can’t help, or easily suppress, the envy I feel at the situation. Especially the lovely two year age gap.

That’s the bottom line: It’s the age gap that’s really getting me. I don’t feel envious of pregnancy per se, but more the families that those pregnancies will create. I can’t clearly articulate exactly why I feel the way I do about the age gap. Ian thinks I’m simply trying to recreate my own childhood (21 month gap) and perhaps that is true. I can’t help but feel a larger gap is less desirable because they will be less likely to have any common ground at each stage of childhood. Less likely to enjoy shared activities. To be friends. I know that you can’t know how things will turn out or how the personalities of the children will work out, but I want to give the best opportunity I can for my children to be good friends. I look at how much common ground Thomas shares with his cousin, who is older by two years and two months, and then look at the common ground the same cousin has with her sister who is younger by two years and ten months. Those eight months make a massive difference.

It seems at the moment that everywhere I look, there are women with young babies or toddlers who are pregnant again. Or families with children who are clearly close in age. And all this does is fuel my obsession. I can’t help my childish reaction that “it isn’t fair”. I think that each time someone who has been trying for less time gets pregnant. Or each time someone with a child younger than Thomas gets pregnant. And each month that passes I think I’m mourning just a little bit the passing of the dream for my family.

It’s something I cannot, of course, control. I can’t pause time, or Thomas. The longer it takes to fall pregnant, the older he will be when a sibling arrives and I have to accept that what will be, will be.

None of this means I will love Thomas’s eventual sibling, or our whole family any less. I’m sure that I won’t. But it’s hard not to dwell on it. Not to wonder how it will work out. Not to fear that a sibling arriving when Thomas is older will be harder and more disruptive for him that if they were arriving this month or next, as I would most have liked.

I don’t think I’m capable of not obsessing about it or thinking about it each and every day. I don’t think I’m capable of not getting upset by friends’ new pregnancies, no matter how irrational my feelings may be. In the meantime, unless anyone has any magical solutions for dealing with my envy and age gap anxiety, all we can do is keep trying, and hope that it happens soon.

Jun 13 / Caro

The Green Eyed Monster

I think every one of us has an inner green-eyed monster. Or in other words, we’re all capable of feeling jealousy. Some people are just much better at controlling and suppressing it than others. For the most part, I think that fare pretty well at not being a jealous person. By definition, it’s a negative and destructive emotion from which nothing much good can come. A desire to achieve what someone else has can motivate you to do what you need to get it, but succumbing instead to jealousy will only lead to resentment and ill feeling for all involved.

There is just one particular thing at the moment, however, that is successfully stirring my inner green-eye from its long slumber. If you’ve read some of my posts recently you might be able to hazard a guess that it has to do with pregnancy and babies.

It’s not as simple, however, as being jealous of every pregnant woman that I see. Whilst I do understand that anyone who has struggled to conceive must see bumps and babies as a constant reminder of what they do not have, and an emotional response to that is to be expected, I’ve always tried hard to remember that I have no clue about what lies behind those pregnancies. I don’t know the stories of random women I see in the street, what struggles and challenges they have faced or how long they have had to wait to get where they are. And the fact that they are pregnant has absolutely no bearing on the fact that I am not. It is not as though they have somehow taken it away from me. It’s not as though names were drawn out of a hat and I missed out on the prize because I was in the loo touching up my lipstick. Another person not being pregnant would not magically mean that I would be, and with all that it mind it seems ridiculous to begrudge another woman something which I want so badly and therefore know just how much joy it carries.

The jealousy I feel at the moment is a bit more subtle. I’m jealous each time I see a mother with two children with a small age gap, especially any gap smaller than I would currently have if I were to conceive a second child. This extends to feeling completely fine and happy if someone whose child was born two months before Thomas conceives, but irrationally jealous if it is someone whose child is two months younger. And more ridiculous still, whilst I might be happy for someone whose child is one month older than Thomas and has just conceived, if I fail to fall pregnant again next month – which will lead to a bigger age gap than they will have – that will suddenly alter how I feel about their pregnancy.

I know it is ridiculous. Crazy. Irrational. Mad. And as above, someone else not having a small age gap would not mean that I would end up with the age gap that I want. It is unfair to begrudge someone else the very thing that I want when I can easily imagine the happiness it will bring, but I just can’t stop myself.

I don’t even know where this fixation about age gaps started from. I am the younger in a 21 month sibling gap myself, and my husband is the older in an 18 month gap. I have heard that it’s natural to want to recreate the gap you had yourself, particularly if you had a happy childhood, so perhaps that is a part of it. I know that there are no guarantees at all how a sibling relationship will develop, and it depends on the individual children. Close age gaps don’t guarantee friends for life, or that they will have anything in common or enjoy spending time together. But I do think there is a greater chance of family harmony when children are likely to be enjoying the same types of toys, games, activities and holidays, and when the dinner table conversation can easily be inclusive of all. More selfishly, not prolonging the gap means getting through the potentially difficult sleep period again sooner, before I’ve completely erased it from my memory and have to start from scratch!

If I’m completely honest, there is also a part of me that perceives a close age gap to be hard work and I admire mothers who manage two close in age. Being a classic over achiever, and never having done anything in my life the easy way, is also perhaps a motivator for a smaller age gap. Just typing that I’m aware of how silly it sounds, and doesn’t for a second mean I think any less of women with bigger age gaps, or would be any less satisfied with our eventual family if the gap is much bigger.

I want a second child to complete our family. I’d like Thomas to have a sibling who will hopefully be there for him (and he for them) throughout his life. Two is the number of children that feels “right” for us, and how we have always imagined our family. Those are our most important motivators. Whenever another child becomes part of our family, I will, I’m sure, love them as endlessly as I love Thomas. But if I had a choice, the gap would be small, and I just can’t help but envy those who have this thing that I have very little control over trying to achieve for myself.

Jun 3 / Caro

Sperm + Egg = ???


That is what. Big fat nada. Zero. Zilch.

Well, except for a big pile of selfish self-pity and a self indulgent blog post.

It is selfish. I know it’s selfish and self-centred to be moaning about the fact that we still haven’t managed to conceive another baby when the trials facing other people are so much greater. I know couples who’ve only conceived after years of waiting and endless fertility interventions. I know couples who’ve failed to conceive at all. Believe me, I do know how lucky we are to have Thomas. But that doesn’t make my feelings of frustration and disappointment at my inability to provide him with a sibling any less real.

And it really is frustrating. That is the word that tops the list for how I feel right now. I can’t stop myself from getting annoyed that it simply just doesn’t “just work”. If you know that the egg is there, and you’re sending sperm to meet it not only at the right time, but regularly all the time, why on earth has a baby not resulted yet? Especially given that it obviously worked for us before, and we know that we clearly were fertile recently. It’s logical to assume that sperm plus egg should equal baby.

I know that I need to take a step back and remember just how amazing the fact of two sets of genetic material coming together and making a whole new person is. Of course it’s not as simple as it might seem from the outside. Of course it takes time and truly the odds are stacked against all the necessary steps aligning perfectly in any given cycle.

But I can’t help feeling that I’m failing at this, that my body is letting me down yet again by failing to achieve this. I’m known for being hard on myself, but I hate to fail in any goal I set myself. I’m nothing if not tenacious. So the very worst thing about this is how totally out of our control this really is. In other areas of my life I will just work harder and do more , practice more, in order to succeed. But we’re already doing the logical things which need to be done. Without wishing to post all the intimate details of my life online, we’re very definitely having enough sex. And we’re as sure as we can be that I’m ovulating.

So once again, with feeling, why is it not working?

There is no sure fire way to increase your chances, and no shortcuts through the weeks of waiting between cycles and nothing much else we can do at all. We’ve already cut out/down on alcohol and caffeine, we’re eating a healthy balanced diet and taking recommended supplements. I do weigh more than when we conceived before, but my BMI is still in a healthy range.

Please don’t tell me to stop thinking about it, to “just relax” or that “it will happen when it’s meant to”, because I know. That doesn’t make it easy to do. I just want this so much. I want Thomas to have a sibling who is relatively close in age. With every month that passes I feel that dream slipping.

And there is nothing to do but wait. And keep trying.

May 21 / Caro

The Secret World of Trying to Conceive

Secondary school sex education would have you believe that you only have to be half naked with a boy to end up getting pregnant. And (possibly as a consequence) most of the women I know spent the better half of their early adulthood doing everything in their power not to get pregnant. I was certainly one of those women that doubled up on contraception “just to be sure”. (But then, back then I really didn’t want a baby.

I’m sure, however, that I also, remember being taught about the female reproductive cycle in secondary school biology (although maybe it was only at A-Level, or even undergraduate physiology) so I was aware that there is only a very short time frame in which there is a risk (or chance – depending on your viewpoint) of becoming pregnant. But when you’re avoiding pregnancy like the plague, the facts don’t slot together. The mantra “it only takes one time” sticks, and there is no reason to be thinking about which week is the week where pregnancy may occur.

Once you actually want a bun in the oven, of course, everything is different. For most of us at least, the idea of falling pregnant being a case of having a single quick fumble suddenly seems enormously laughable. Months of unprotected sex with not even the merest sniff of a morning after pill still yield nothing, and that fertile week is suddenly all you think about.

The thing is, trying to conceive is ultimately such a personal thing. Sure, there are plenty of forums out there full of women all pursuing the same goal, but they are without exception pretty anonymous. Hardly anyone uses their real name, and being behind a screen makes it easier to be open and honest. But virtually nobody, it seems, talks about this stuff openly in person with people they know.

Surprising as it may seem, given my candour here, I’m no exception. I get asked at least 5 times a week (the joys of working with the public) whether we’ll be having another. And despite the months of trying already behind us, almost without exception I mutter something non-committal like “maybe one day” or “yes, but I’m not ready yet, one is enough hard work”.

The efforts and struggles of trying to conceive are all too frequently hidden away.

Perhaps it is because the act of making a baby is ultimately very personal. It’s about you and your partner, and something you want to do together. Admitting that you are trying can also feel like holding your hands up and saying “yes people, we’re having lots and lots of sex”. We’re adults, and it’s normal and healthy in a relationship to have plenty of sex, but there is nothing that draws attention to it quite so much as talking about trying to conceive (if you discount having actual public sex, but fortunately not many people are in to that, and if you are I’m betting people knowing about it is the least of your concerns!) It is also in no small part because many people don’t want the “pressure” of people waiting and anticipating, or even outright asking if you are up the duff yet, never mind the unsolicited advice to “just relax” (as if it were that simple!).

Behind closed doors however, there are literally hundreds of couples riding this roller coaster without feeling able to talk about it. Living their lives in two week blocks. Two weeks where you know for sure that you are not pregnant, and that start with sadness and end with impatience waiting for the egg to drop. Then the “two week wait” where the “am-I-aren’t-I?” dilemma reigns, counting down the days until you will find out.

There are women out there carrying out personal science experiments in their bathrooms. Peeing on sticks and in plastic cups to find out when their hormones are surging as an indicator that ovulation is imminent. Women whose first waking action is to measure their temperature to see whether ovulation has indeed occurred. These are definitely things most people don’t chat about over their coffee.

And it’s a world which has its own code too – 2WW, OPK, BBT, HPT, BFP. It really is a secret world that no one could have imagined when they were sitting in their school science laboratory hearing all about the facts of life and how not to get pregnant.

And you know something? I don’t think it helps. I think the school student in us probably did have a better chance of making a baby without all the silent obsessing. All the waiting and hoping. All the disappointment. And even all the tools available that are supposed to help. What really is the point of knowing exactly when you ovulated if you are having regular sex throughout your cycle. Do you really need to know the actual day if sperm would have been ready to meet egg anyway?

I think what would help is making trying to conceive as normal a part of day-to-day life as saving up to buy a house or working towards a career promotion, and I wish it was easier to be honest about the journey. Internet forums are one thing, but they are not really a substitute for a face to face discussion about feelings, that doesn’t require a dictionary to translate. Hiding it away isn’t helping.

So in that spirit, I’ve decided to start talking about trying to conceive in real life, away from the web. I don’t want to be told to “be patient” or “just relax”, or to be judged because so many people have been trying so much longer and I should be grateful that I already have a child (of course I am, to suggest otherwise is just plain rude). But I’m fed up of being part of a secret world that does nothing but fuel anxiety.

Feb 11 / Caro

TTC With Diabetes

This is a post that I’ve been hesitant to write, because in some ways it feels a bit too intimate. Laying all my cards on the table opens me up to expectations and people asking me if I’m up the duff yet. I do wonder if it would be better to wait, and simply make an announcement when it happens, at a stage in the pregnancy that I feel comfortable to do so. But at the same time, this is something which is very important in our lives right now. It’s a part of our journey with Thomas that I didn’t really record, and this time I want to remember what it’s really like.

So here we are. We’re officially trying to conceive.

Everyone knows what trying to conceive involves. Plenty of frequent bedroom antics in the hope that a single sperm reaches the elusive egg. It’s important for everyone to take the best care of themselves that they can, and take their folic acid to reduce the risk of neural tube defects.

But diabetes has the potential to throw a huge spanner in the works when you want to make a baby. From the moment of conception, higher blood sugars than normal increase the risks of miscarriage and birth defects. The only way to mitigate these risks is to have the best blood glucose control possible.

But that isn’t always that easy. Diabetes is beast that isn’t that simple to tame. Everything that you can think of, from food to exercise, stress to the weather has the potential to affect your blood sugars. And of course blood sugars have the potential to affect pretty much everything in your life. That includes your hormones and hence, your cycles. And the more regular your cycles, the easier it is to conceive.

If you’ve read my entries from my pregnancy with Thomas, you’ll realise that I was quite obsessive about keeping good control, and would have done anything and everything to keep him safe. But back then, diabetes was pretty much my sole focus. True, I also had a stressful full time job, but now I have a stressful part time job and a demanding toddler, as well as diabetes which an be just as stressful as the job, and just as demanding as the toddler.

I have a feeling that things will be a lot tougher this time. But yet, somehow, I want it that much more.

When I was pregnant with Thomas, hearing about people desperate to conceive their second or third child always made me think “But at least they have one child already. It’s not the same as wanting your first child”. I couldn’t understand how the desire could be so great as for a childless person. It’s true that it’s not the same, bu tnot in the way that I thought. Now I don’t just want a child for myself, I want a sibling for my son. And I feel more pressure and in a much greater hurry to get pregnant because I don’t want a huge age gap between my children. To the point that I was ridiculously disappointed not to have conceived in my last cycle as it was my last opportunity to have a second child before Thomas turns two. I realise that two under two would be making life hard for me in so many ways, so please no one point that out. It was just a milestone for me.

The first stage of pregnancy prep for a person with diabetes is making sure that those blood sugars are good enough. In effect we need to be given “permission to try” by our doctors. Of course no one can dictate what you do, and there is no forced contraception, but it’s done for the best of reasons. I’m on board with that. The crucial test is the HbA1c, which reflects control over the previous three months. (For any geeks, it is percentage of haemoglobin molecules which have been glycosylated – or have glucose attached to them. The higher the average blood sugar, the higher this percentage will be. And it covers about three months as this is the approximate life span of a red blood cell.) For non-diabetics, the range is somewhere between 4 and 6%. The advised target for women wanting to become pregnant is less than 6.5%. See above for all the factors that affect diabetes if you think that is remotely easy to do for the majority of women with diabetes. It takes hard work and commitment every single day, and through the night too, since diabetes never sleeps.

This morning we made a trip to the hospital to receive my latest “report”. It’s ridiculous, but I was nervous to the point of feeling dizzy and sick. I want this so much that I was petrified my control would have slipped and we’d have to stop trying. I want this, but I also want it with the minimum of risks. Ian was ever patient, trying to calm me down and point out that I’ve hovered around 6% since Thomas was born, and there was no reason to think that would have changed.

Except the month I spent without my CGM when the transmitter died and i was waiting for a replacement. Except the mild excesses of Christmas. Except the afternoon highs that have plagued me for the last few weeks.

I felt as nervous as if I was going in to an exam. And in a way, that’s what it feels like. I know that the number is just a number. That it isn’t a reflection of my self worth. It’s just a number which doesn’t represent failure. It’s just a piece of information to help me look after myself the best that I can. But even though I know all that, it still felt like so much was resting on this.

When we were called through to be seen, the very first thing I asked, before I even said hello, was “What was the number?”

The minute it took to get the results up on the screen felt like it was going in slow motion. And then came the answer.


And I turned to Ian with a massive grin, not even caring that he’d won the bet and been closer with his guess.

I felt the kind of elation that comes after finishing exams and knowing that there is no more revision but sudden freedom.

Except, diabetes doesn’t stop. It’s a relentless animal.

I have to keep doing this over and over and over. I have to keep doing it always, but especially whilst we try to conceive. There can be no slacking. No coasting.

While other women obsessively track signs of ovulation and time everything with precision, I’m obsessively tracking my blood sugars in pursuit of not just a pregnancy, but the healthiest pregnancy I can mange with the complications of my chronic health conditions.

That’s how trying to conceive with diabetes is different.

May 14 / Caro

The Nuts and Bolts of Monitoring a Diabetic Pregnancy

A pregnancy with pre-existing diabetes is automatically deemed “high risk”.

There is no point in getting upset over semantics. Despite how it may sound, I’m generally fit and well. On a day to day basis I’m healthy. I’d like to have a “normal” pregnancy, and honestly I do have a good chance of a perfectly “normal” pregnancy with a lovely, healthy baby at the end and no additional complications or surprises.

But there are increased risks, both to mum and baby, when the pregnancy is complicated by pre-existing diabetes. And really all that “high risk” means is that I’m being closely monitored with the aim of preventing potential complications and also so that if any of them should arise, we can do the very best to minimise them.

In early pregnancy, women with diabetes have an increased risk of miscarriage – although increased by how much is debatable, given how common miscarriage unfortunately is. The risk of birth defects is also increased – although by how much depends quite a lot on how close to non-diabetic your blood sugars. Prolonged high blood sugars in the first trimester increase the risk, as this is when all the baby’s organs and systems are forming.

Women with diabetes are also much more at risk of macrosomic – or big – babies. This one is practically a cliché. Again, it is very much affected by blood glucose control. Once the baby has a functioning pancreas of its own, any excess sugar in the mother’s blood stream, which passes to the foetus, will cause more insulin to be produced. Insulin behaves rather like a growth hormone, and this contributes to the baby growing larger. Of course, many women have large babies without being diabetic, and many diabetic women have babies of perfectly normal size, so none of this is a certainty. The main problem for a very big baby is delivery!

Conversely, women with diabetes can be at increased risk of intra-uterine growth restriction, causing a small baby. This may be attributable to early placental breakdown, which may also cause still birth ad is the reason why many women with diabetes are advised to consider early induction of labour.

Scary list, but it goes on. There are also specific risks to the woman herself. In early pregnancy insulin needs can be dramatically reduced and coupled with the goal of tight control this can increase the risk of severe hypoglycaemia. Pregnancy itself may contribute to changes in the warning symptoms of low blood sugars, and frequent blood sugars can dull these warning symptoms further leading to an increased possibility of passing out or seizures. In later pregnancy, pre-existing diabetes is also a risk factor for pre-eclampsia, which unmanaged can itself be life threatening to both mum and baby.

Pregnancy itself may accelerate any long term complications of diabetes, especially diabetic retinopathy. Part of the mechanism for this is related to pregnancy hormones, but it’s also in part down to the irony that a rapid improvement in how tightly blood sugars are controlled can cause a rapid deterioration in retinopathy.

It would be easy to find this all totally and utterly depressing. It is pretty depressing. But it’s also important to remember that these are all just raised risks. There are no certainties and the idea of the “high risk” label is so that everyone can work together to keep how much the risks are raised to the absolute minimum. Ideally to prevent all of these things from happening.

What this means in terms of pregnancy care is appointments. Lots of them. Throughout the first two trimesters, I’m scheduled to be seen in a diabetes and pregnancy clinic at least every two weeks – more often if there are specific problems. These appointments involve a raft of medical professionals – a diabetes consultant, a diabetes specialist nurse and a nutritionist if required as well as an obstetrician specialising in pregnant women and a similarly specialised midwife. In addition, there is close email and telephone contact between visits. There will be additional scans to spy on the baby and check for problems, including a foetal echocardiogram to check on the baby’s heart during the second trimester, and fortnightly growth scans from the late second trimester onwards. This is in addition to the routine scans and midwife care offered to pregnant women without diabetes.

My eyes will also be under closer scrutiny than normal to look out for any changes. In a non-pregnant diabetic with no previous problems, retinal exams would be once a year. Now, my retinas will be photographed once per trimester, in addition to having been examined just a few months before the pregnancy began.

It’s a demanding schedule and in the third trimester, things step up even more. The growth scans continue and the visits become once-twice weekly. But whatever it takes to keep baby and mum healthy – it’s got to be done.

The final part of the equation is everything that goes on in between all those appointments. Managing blood sugars is the biggest part of managing the risks of a diabetic pregnancy, and managing blood sugars tightly can be a full time job. No amount of time spent at the hospital will make a real difference if I’m not able to keep on top of things for all the other hours in the week. Whereas the healthy body has all the tools to continually sense and respond to changes in blood sugar levels, I need to get that information for myself and act on it. What this all means is lots and lots of blood glucose tests, and for me, wearing a continuous glucose monitoring system and an insulin pump, which is the best tool for me to be able to respond to rapidly changing insulin requirements.

No one said a pregnancy with diabetes would be easy. But I’m sure that it will all be completely and utterly worthwhile when hold our child in our arms for the first time.

May 12 / Caro

Two Pink Lines

We found out that I was pregnant on a Sunday evening.

I took the test almost to prove Ian wrong, that there was no way I could be pregnant. I wasn’t even totally sure whether I was expecting my period yet or not, although I’d had a sustained increase in my basal body temperature for enough days that it was certainly possible. We spent the weekend at Ian’s parents. I thought they’d suspect when I wasn’t drinking – having just a few small sips of champagne at his dad’s birthday meal. But I didn’t want questions. I didn’t want to feel under pressure, because I probably wasn’t pregnant.

Ian seemed increasingly convinced that I could be. That I was.

We arrived home on Sunday afternoon, and I nipped straight out to Boots to buy a First Response test. I bought a two pack, thinking that it was bound to be negative, but a two pack worked out cheaper per test than a single, and then I’d have another test for another cycle. I debated waiting until the following morning, because the concentration of the pregnancy hormone would be greater in first morning urine and so the chances of an early positive result are increased. But in the end I wanted to prove things one way or another, at least for that moment in time. So I peed on the stick.

Does a watched pregnancy test develop?

I don’t know, but I couldn’t bear to stand in the bathroom anxiously watching my pee creep across the test window, searching for signs of the lines that would seal the result. So I popped the cap on, stuck on the windowsill and Ian and I both went in to the bedroom to wait the requisite three minutes. I’d always imagined that Ian would be with me whenever we got a positive pregnancy result. I didn’t want to test and him not be there, to find out the result at the same time as me. We made the baby together, so I wanted us to find out about it together.

For those three minutes, I was pacing around saying “It’ll be negative. There’s no way it’ll be positive.”

“But it could be” Ian would interject. The shaking his head agree that no, it wasn’t going to be, but at least we’d know.

I watched the numbers on the bedside clock. It was 5.47 when we could go and check.

I raced down the hall, beating Ian back to the bathroom, still chanting that it would be negative.

“There’s only going to be one line…” I seized the little plastic stick from the windowsill

Ian was right behind me saying “Yeah… there’ll just be one line…”

“…. But there’s two….” I interrupted. ” Oh my God… there’s two lines… it’s positive.” I remember thrusting the test at Ian. The huge grin on his face.

The memory is a little hazy from here. I remember Ian grabbing me in a hug. We both jumped up and down a little. We raced downstairs and I bounced around the room.

There were two, strong, pink lines on the test. I was definitely pregnant. Not just a little bit pregnant. But properly pregnant.

Of course, I still didn’t totally believe it. And two more tests – different brands – followed over the next 24 hours. By which time even I had to admit that it was pretty conclusive.

It was really on… there was a baby cooking away in there.



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