If you had asked me, in my twenties, what my life plan would be like in my thirties, it would probably go something a little like this… I would be happily married, be a mummy to two little children and enjoy doing the school run with a little dog on a lead. It sounds so simplistic and in my twenties, I never imagined that being a mummy of two would be the hardest dream to achieve.
I was diagnosed with polycystic ovaries just over 8 years ago and I never really realised at the time how much of a struggle it would be for us to have a family. Having a baby at that time wasn’t on my mind, I was career focused and wanted to excel in work. I always imagined when it came to baby making, that we’d enjoy a few months of fun and nine months later we’d be welcoming a bundle of love into our arms. Dreams don’t happen like that in real life and when we were ready to start our family, we hit months of hurdles and heartache.
We are so grateful for our little boy. Olly is the light in our world, the love of our lives, he’s such a happy chappy (most of the time). He’s clever, funny, cheeky and has such an old head on young shoulders. Like every parent who adores their child, we feel so, so lucky to have him but there’s always the thought of what if?
What if we can’t give him a brother or sister? What if he won’t ever get to experience the sharing, the learning and the friendship of a sibling? What if he’ll be an only child? Should I be fully embracing his firsts knowing that they’ll always be the last that we’ll get to enjoy? Am I being selfish? Is it selfish to want to expand the family and share the love?
I never in a million years thought we would struggle again so much to conceive our second baby. I’ve only ever been pregnant once and after years of spending time avoiding pregnancies, I feel so guilty for wasting so much time. What if our dream of a second baby is just that? Just a dream?
I saw my GP last week after receiving a letter from the hospital on the back of a referral that I had fought so much to get and it wasn’t brilliant news. Apart from the letter being from a hospital that no longer deals with fertility investigations in our area (but was happy to see me four years ago!) the fact that I am grossly overweight is still a big issue and is a huge barrier to being referred for any treatment.
You’d think that being told by doctors that you’re too fat for treatment would be the huge kick up the bum you need to make sure you’re eating healthily and on the right track with your diet. In my case, no! Emotional eating and thinking fuck it, has been at the forefront of my mind and shamefully, I’ve put weight on. I weighed in at my appointment with my doctor on Monday and saw the numbers of the scales looking back at me like. It’s not pretty. It’s definitely not clever and I’m nowhere near where I need to be weight wise.
So doing what I usually do when faced with uncertainty and worry, I put up the barriers and focus. Focus on what I need to do. Stay out of the kitchen, think about what I’m shovelling in my mouth and think ahead to weigh in! Without sounding like a broken record, I really need to succeed this time. I need to show them my weight isn’t going to hold me back and I’m committed to making positive changes for our family.
I need to know that I’ve done (or doing) everything possible to try and give Olly a little brother or sister to play with. A little friend to love forever and someone to share memories with when he is old and grey.
Is it just a dream?