Getting pregnant is easier for some than it is for others. Below, we have each given our accounts on pregnancy:
My partner and I have been together for 14 years. (No, we’re not married yet, would I like to be?….. Well I think so, not sure!…ask me again in a couple of months!)
We met on our first day at Uni. We were good friends for the first year and then we crossed the line of that friendship and haven’t been apart since. We have been there for each other through thick and thin, and really early on in our relationship he had to take on my health issues too. Just before I went to Uni I discovered I had Cervical Cancer, which thankfully was caught in time and the bastard was removed. Two fingers up at you Big CC, but then the following year while at Uni I found out I have endometriosis. Now it’s a pain in the ass. Quite literally. So 13 years later and 4 operations it has settled slightly but unfortunately will always be with me and make my life hell, with hormonal outbursts, painful breasts, painful sex, painful ovaries feeling like they’re going to explode, and pains up my bum. But when I first found out, I had some doctors saying that if you want kids then try now then have a hysterectomy, or that I wont be able to have kids at all. This was in my 20’s when I wasn’t ready to become a mother or hadn’t actually been thinking about it BUT then that’s all I was thinking about. It haunted me. I didn’t want to listen to the matter of fact doctor and I certainly wasn’t going to have a hysterectomy. I took a lot of hormonal drugs and painkillers instead and saw a lot more doctors, and had a lot of people poke and prod my most intimate parts. This fucked with my body and my mental health. I began to believe that I was never going to have children and hated my body. Especially ‘down below’. I binged, I put on weight, I got lost in who I was as a woman, I became very self conscious, very unconfident and worse of all I was jealous of other girls/women, who had no problems in that department.
And then I fell pregnant at the age of 32.
That was the day my life changed. My body finally did something awesome for me. I began to get fitter, healthier and a little bit more excited by this surprise. But there was still a little devil in my mind that said that my body was going to ruin this for me. I was super sick and had terrible heartburn but I loved being pregnant. I loved feeling my bump grow every day and the more confident I grew in the knowledge that I was nearing the 9 months and having a successful birth the more confident I grew in myself. Then 36 weeks in, She stopped moving. My heart felt like a lead balloon. I went straight to hospital and they hooked me up to all the machines until finally we heard the heartbeat to our relief. I went home so exhausted mentally and physically. I felt so sick. I slowly manoeuvred my way onto my bed when I most certainly heard a POP and felt wet down below. I tried to look down but couldn’t see pass my big belly, so like a beached whale tried to move off the bed and call for help – my waters had gone! – back into hospital! My life changed again.
At the age of 38 I knew that I had fallen pretty hard into the medical category of ‘geriatric mother’. Not very sexy but I didn’t meet the right person to have children with until late in life.
Seeing the big 40 bobbing on the horizon, I was pretty convinced my baby boat had sailed but within a month of ‘trying’ I was pregnant. Sorry, awful expression that, far too visual.
I was naturally delighted but I was also paranoid that it was all going to go wrong due to my age. I didn’t buy any baby clothes until the very last minute and I was only brave enough to share the news on Facebook a month before my little fella was born.
Despite my nerves, my pregnancy was a great experience, not an ache or pain at all. I can’t say the same for the stitches and sleep deprivation that ensued but it was fun while it lasted.
Still suspicious that getting pregnant was a fluke and sure it would take longer the second time around, I was shocked to find I was pregnant again when our first born was just eight months old.
My first reaction was to burst in to tears as I felt guilty that I’d not been a Mum long enough to Jack to be having another one. My sister said that it’s impossible to think you can give as much love to another baby as your first but your heart simply gets bigger. She was right.
This second pregnancy was so different to the first. I craved crappy food and found myself devouring massive bags of giant chocolate buttons on the sly. The pains in my back and hips was so bad it hurt to lie down and I winced picking up my toddler. My bump was so massive I still can’t believe it when I see photos! Six months on and my body is still recovering, I still have hip pain lying on my side and sitting crossed legged is not much fun anymore.
Now a mum to two under two I feel so, so fortunate to have had them so late on and without complications but it is bloody challenging physically and mentally.
I met my hubby working on a project in Sydney. Previously we had both spent far too long with the wrong people and so wanted equality and fairness in our relationship from the outset. This worked well until we discovered that in order to get pregnant we needed some help from an IVF clinic. This ‘help’ involved one of us (me) having daily injections, regular tests and probes, headaches, bruising; and a strong feeling that our equilibrium was slipping away.
We were very lucky that the IVF worked first time around; but the fact that we hadn’t fallen pregnant as easily as some people made us feel anxious about ensuring I did nothing to jeopardise the pregnancy. I gave up sport (my addiction); alcohol (my relaxant); and reduced my (much needed) caffeine intake. We researched nutrition; and every ‘unusual’ sensation was rapidly googled with follow-up calls to the IVF clinic. I became a borderline neurotic.
We discovered with great amazement and joy that we were having twins and – as you’d expect – I gradually ballooned into a hippopotamus with very fat ankles, and outstanding pelvic pain that made sitting/standing/sleeping pretty uncomfortable. A hot Summer wasn’t hugely helpful nor was trying to juggle house renovations and commuting into London.
Whilst my husband was/is very supportive, I regarded him with envy and anger that his life was seemingly continuing as-was. Meanwhile I was a (gigantic) shadow of my former self. I placated myself with the view that it would all change back to the way it was once the babies were born, but of course it hasn’t which I have (with time) learnt to accept.