Gabriella Edith Marks birth story

Our final little GEM 💎

Gabriella Edith Marks arrived 00:06 on Sunday 3rd July 2022. I was hoping for Saturday 2nd, obviously!

I went into Labour exactly one week after my due date, the first signs of it being a bit of watery blood leaking out of me at around 9.45am, as I sat on a fabric chair brushing big sister Isabella’s hair. Although I had experienced occasional Braxton Hicks from about 36 weeks of pregnancy. This was the first time I’ve ever gone into Labour naturally, so I wasn’t really sure what to expect, what was going on, and if this was really the start of it! For the next few hours, whenever I went to the loo and wiped, there was more of this faint watery blood on the toilet paper. I called triage who weren’t too concerned and told me to keep an eye on it, they had thought maybe my waters were trickling out rather than gushing as baby’s head was so low. Obviously at this point we didn’t know baby was a girl (although both James and I thought so, despite Cameron wanting a brother this time!).

Typically, it was all going on that Saturday! Cameron was at James’ parents house as is normal for a Saturday morning when daddy is at work, but Isabella was home because she had been running a temperature – typical!! I suspected this was the start of Labour, as I wouldn’t want to leave Isabella if she was unwell, but obviously would have to if I was in Labour! (I’m too high risk to birth at home, despite never getting any darn pain relief, however hindsight has proved I need to be in hospital for post birth which I will come to later!)

I let James know about the blood and said I suspected early Labour but told him not to hurry home as nothing much was happening at that point. I put a sanitary towel in my underwear but there was never anything on it, just faint blood when I wiped all day.

It must have been about 2pm when I decided that contractions had definitely started, and had been going on and off all day. Nothing major, quite far apart, and I still wasn’t really sure if this was Labour or not! The pain wasn’t that bad, quite literally felt just like tightenings, so I just carried on! I wanted to go for a little walk to see if it would encourage things along a bit, but the weather was awful and I didn’t fancy being out in it! Standard British Summer eh!

I also realised that I’d.. Err, TMI warning here… emptied my bowels, shall we say, a few times that day which I think is also a sign of imminent arrival of baby – having a good clear out! As such, I did not poo in Labour this time 😂!!

At 4pm Isabella’s temperature was 39.1degrees, and Calpol was taking an hour and a half to calm her temperature down slightly (not to normal) and 2 hours to perk her back up to her usual self. Of course Labour was definitely happening, my baby was poorly and my newest baby was coming!

I can’t remember what time James got home – I think about 3.30ish, with Cameron. At around5/5.30pm, we decided to alert our parents to the situation, the plan being my parents would come over to ours to help with the bigger two children, but OF COURSE, my Dad was also quite unwell with a chest infection. There was no way he could leave his bed. With Isabella also being unwell, my mum didn’t think she could manage both Cameron and Isabella for an indefinite period of time, so James took Cameron back to his parents for the night. We asked my mum to have dinner at hers and then head over to us.

At 6.30pm not much had changed! I was bored! I was bouncing on a birthing ball but it didn’t feel like it was doing much. Some contractions were really far apart (21 mins!) and not painful, others were painful, although again nothing major, and closer together (8mins!). We had our plans in place on the basis it seemed like something would happen that night, but now that we had that all sorted, it felt like nothing would happen!

Around 7/7.30pm I put a bikini on and sat in a hot bath. I had wanted to try a water birth so I thought getting in the bath would be a good way to start that off, and see if it helped the contractions as they started to become more frequent and more painful. It didn’t, but again I wasn’t in agony. Mum arrived around 7.30/8pm to me still in the bath. I think James managed to get Isabella ready for bed and even asleep (although she saw my Mum arrive, so she knew Grandma was around, which we wanted to do in case she woke in the night and we were gone).

Once Mum had arrived, things seemed to start moving a bit quicker. Contractions started coming closer together – nothing longer than 10 mins apart (& that was rare), and lasting up to a minute, from memory! It must have been about 9pm that I called the hospital for the third time that day (can’t remember what the second time was for!) as by this point, although I could breathe through the contractions, they were stopping me in my tracks and I was no longer able to continue talking through them. I wanted to go in and be checked over and thankfully as it was my third call for the day they say that’s when they want you in.

We arrived at the hospital at around 9.45pm. We left our bags in the car and just parked up in the emergency spaces by the door, for now, as at that point I did feel like I couldn’t walk very far. I was breathing through contractions ok, but they were definitely becoming more painful and more frequent.

Once I got into triage and into the bed they hooked me up to monitors to check baby’s heart rate and the contractions. They mentioned about doing a covid test but then got distracted with other things as I needed a wee just as they arrived to do it, and as they wanted a urine sample they let me do that first. They could see I was having contractions but were not yet overly worried. I asked if we should bring our bags in as James went to move the car to the car park and the midwife said not to worry as she thought we may still be going home yet – this must have been around 10.15pm. I knew by this point that I wasn’t going home without a baby! Shortly after I randomly felt like I was going to be sick. They got me a kidney bowl just in time and I threw up all my lunch into it! They got rid of that one and handed me a new one and a bit more came up and then I felt fine again. They came back to take a covid test and to check my dilation which the midwife did first – she as astounded that I was already 7cm and said I had been managing that pain incredibly well, but I’d say it was from here that I felt like I was no longer managing it! She called a midwife up from Labour ward to come and get me, and as Grace the midwife walked me down, I said I’d like an epidural.

I knew as I was walking, just like with Isabella, that I was NOT getting an epidural 😂

Obviously, I still kept asking for it! I was even laughing as I asked for it as I knew it was too late. As we got into the delivery suite, I couldn’t stay still. Grace asked me if I remembered that I would have to stay still to have an epidural and I told her I’d manage – HA! I was bent over the bed, naked from the boobs down (still had my bikini top on!), gritting my teeth through contractions. Baby, was coming, and, it turned out, that watery blood was not my waters. My waters, had not broken.

Grace asked me if she could break them, to which I said yes of course, but once again, she couldn’t as I couldn’t stay still through any contractions. Baby was quite literally coming thick and fast, just like big sister did in the end. I chopped and changed through quite a few positions – some brilliant ones for birth – bent over the bed – facing the bed headrest and holding onto it, on all fours, but in the end ended up in a slightly less optimal position, sat/squatting on the bed with my back against the backrest. It came time to push, and baby was still in its waters! I told James to grab the camera because I knew being born in your waters was rare so I wanted pictures of the baby on the bed in them.

Obviously, because it’s me, this didn’t happen! I had all the extra pressure and extra pain of birthing a baby in its waters, and just as the shoulders came out, the waters popped! So no lovely, amazing pictures of baby in its waters, just unsharable pictures of baby in waters, coming out of my gaping hole 🤣🤣!

I’ve no idea how many pushes it took. I actually don’t think it was many – 2 or 3 and our second girl was out! Whilst James and I both felt baby was a girl, both of us were still surprised at the lack of boys considering his male dominated family! However, we were only settled on a girls name, neither of us were sure about the choices we had for a boy, so it worked out well! By some absolute miracle, despite her coming out in her sac, I didn’t tear at all! So zero stitches for me this time, yay!

Gabi came straight out and latched onto the boob like a champ, just like her siblings, for 45 minutes before she was weighed! 7lbs 5.5oz

Now 14 weeks already, time has flown! Huge eyes like her siblings – but blue! Different but equally gorgeous! She’s a super smiley little soul. Lighter hair too, I think she’s my most Scottish child – my Dad’s mini me!

Post birth was similar to Isabella’s – I only lost around 800ml of blood, but I couldn’t stand or sit without fainting. Once again I’d had no pain relief in birth but still needed the dreaded cannula to get fluid into me… could anyone get a cannula in? Could they hell! My veins collapsed and there was a point when James was snuggling a sleeping Gabi (probably asleep himself!) and I was dazing in and out of consciousness on low iron, very low blood pressure and very dehydrated – despite drinking quite a bit through labour! Who knows why my body keeps doing that.

Gabi had also done a poo in her sac, so there was water, blood and meconium poo all over the place! Whilst she was feeding on me she also very kindly did a poo on my naked tummy. I felt sorry for my wonderful midwife who didn’t only help bring my baby into the world, but had to give me a bed bath because all I could smell was poo but I couldn’t stand to get showered! The job of a midwife is not glamorous and not all bringing sweet little babies into the world!

1.5L of fluid later and I was finally able to stand up slowly. I was then later transferred to a ward, even though I hadn’t had a covid test done (fairly sure I was covid free though!). My big babies, daddy and Grandma (my mum) came to visit Gabi and I in hospital briefly – it was hectic because once Izzy had said hello, all she wanted to do was jump and climb as usual which didn’t feel good with a catheter in! I was desperate to get home to my bigger babies, despite saying all pregnancy I was staying in hospital for a week for a break! I pushed for discharge and once I could wee (oh yeah, once again my bladder went into trauma and wouldn’t release any urine for roughly 20 hours after birth!) that was that, we packed up and went home! In hindsight, that was a daft thing to do as my iron levels turned out to be dangerously low and along with still being dehydrated (should have probably had another bag of fluid, plus some blood!) I had constant headaches for weeks post birth and was frequently feeling very faint (although thankfully no more fainting) and breathless. My community midwife got me onto iron tablets and after that course ended, I’ve felt fine. And here we now are, as a family of 5 ❤️ (6 if we include poor Rufus who mostly lives with James’ parents now for a quiet life!)

First swim 14 days old!

Absolutely adored by her big brother and sister ❤️

Our 3 beauties ❤️❤️❤️

Baby Loss Awareness Week 2022

Where it all began..

We started out thinking I was “baron Karen”, the one that couldn’t conceive.

And then, thanks to IVF we were lucky enough to conceive our best boy, Cameron.

Roughly a year after his arrival, we started the process for another transfer – a frozen embryo transfer this time (FET). But sadly, we experienced an early miscarriage, something called a “chemical pregnancy” essentially where the embryo starts implanting, but for whatever reason, stops. I blamed myself – I had been very ill from the medication I was taking in preparation for our FET, a nurse had suggested not going ahead with the transfer but I insisted. When we lost it, I was sure that was why.

We then had another FET, and thankfully, that worked and became Isabella 🌈! But sadly, she also split into an identical twin, which didn’t develop. I was quietly upset ~ glad, grateful and lucky to even be pregnant. I adore twins, I am fascinated by identical twins, I’d love them, and I was sure it was my fault – I couldn’t just wait, I ran at 6 weeks pregnant, stupidly determined not to gain any unnecessary weight that pregnancy, having gained so much in Cameron’s pregnancy. What a stupid concern to have. I will always wonder what if I hadn’t run? Would Isabella be a twin now? I think she’d have thrived as a twin, having an identical her to plot with and create even more mischief! It would have been chaos, but beautiful chaos! Even more annoying is deep down I suspected the embryo had split and she was a twin; I had had so many little signs and just this feeling that it was twins – why didn’t I JUST WAIT?! It’s the only sixth sense I’ve ever had! And as ridiculous as I know it sounds, it felt to me the twin was making up for the one we had previously lost, and then I lost the twin too 💔.

Just shy of a year after Isabella made her speedy entrance into the world, we transferred another embryo, our 4th. But once again we sadly had another chemical pregnancy – even earlier a loss this time. This broke me. I loved my babies but knew I wanted more than 2 – I had always wanted four after all and this was now not likely, with only one embryo left, lower quality and I highly doubted another would split into identical twins.

I’m never sure whether a chemical pregnancy feels more like a miscarriage or a loss of an embryo. That’s essentially all it is at that point still, an embryo/blastocyst – a tiny ball of cells. I know I am definitely grateful we have never had a later miscarriage – never had to hear those awful words “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat 💔”

But our last, poorest quality little embryo worked, and, despite a worrying early bleed, convinced I was miscarrying, our happy, smiley little Gabriella 🌈 has joined her big brother and sister. We are incredibly lucky to have three healthy, happy, beautiful children. Thank you IVF.

Thanks to @ babylemonpaints – Instagram – for the gorgeous artwork.

National Infertility Awareness Week 2022

This is Infertility (& pregnancy loss).

This is not even all of the tests I did for this pregnancy. It’s addictive to keep doing them, keep checking right up until your first scan at least – even though if the worst had happened by then, they may still even show as positive.

With every transfer I’ve had, more and more sticks have anxiously been pee’d on. Every day willing that line to get darker and stronger and willing your tiny embryo – that tiny white flash (pic 1) – to stick and stay sticking and to develop.

Infertility is watching that line fade back to negative as your embryo becomes a “chemical” pregnancy: an early miscarriage.

Infertility is anxiously checking your underwear and the toilet paper for blood every time you use the toilet. Any bleeding you do have is crippling – but thankfully not always as bad as expected; I bled at 6 weeks with this pregnancy and I was so convinced I had lost the baby, our final rainbow – so convinced that even the nurse – my friend – that scanned me didn’t expect to see a heartbeat.

Infertility is finally getting your first ever BFP, your first ever beautiful baby and still anxiously thinking about your embabies (if you’re lucky enough) in the freezer and when you might transfer them. Almost unable to just enjoy the one miracle you have.

Infertility will mean 3 beautiful, healthy miracles under 4, for me. Infertility and pregnancy loss also means never forgetting the 3 I also lost. Why me? Why them? Why did their siblings stick and develop and become perfect healthy little humans yet they couldn’t remain “stuck” in my womb and became a clot flushed down the toilet? Would they have looked like their siblings? Would they be as bonkers?!

Infertility is still having a tiny bit of jealousy of anyone seemingly conceiving the “natural” way whilst still being happy for them. I can’t see that last little bit of the green eyed monster ever leaving me.

Infertility is being so thankful for medicine and science and for not being infertile in a time where IVF didn’t exist.

Infertility is unexplainable guilt whenever I let myself get angry at or stressed out over my beautiful babies, who just want their mummy or daddy. They are loved beyond measure but parent stress/guilt is the same for everyone, but the guilt feels intensified when I should be only grateful to have them.

Infertility/Fertility sometimes feels all I know; all I can talk about.

Isabella Grace Marks birth story

We have a girl! Still, nearly 3 weeks post her dramatic arrival, I can’t really believe that we had a girl! Cameron told us all pregnancy that the baby was a girl, and low and behold he was right! I must get him to give me the lottery numbers too…

I was determined all pregnancy to not need to be induced again. I wanted to experience a natural labour. Given that I was pretty much 10cm dilated with Cameron by the time the epidural was in, I figured if I could get that far on my own with him having been induced, what could I do if not induced?!

Isabella, on the other hand, had other ideas. At around 36 weeks gestation we could see her growth had dropped from the 43rd percentile, to just above the 10th. She was measuring 10days to 2 weeks behind. Throughout her pregnancy I only ever gained one and a half stone – which would have been great if I wasn’t still 3 stone heavier from Cameron’s pregnancy!

On Sunday, September 13th I headed into Musgrove Park Hospital (MPH) having not felt baby move for a while. I was 40 weeks and 5 days. I had resisted initial anxiety and not been induced on my due date, but in my head I felt like I was simply putting off the inevitable – if baby was measuring 2 weeks behind then surely that meant I was going to be 2 weeks late and need induction anyway…

Obviously as soon as I arrived at hospital, she started moving just fine. I accepted a sweep and hoped and prayed-to-a-god I don’t believe in that it got things moving as we had all decided what with her movements reducing, and her growth dropping off, that it would be best to induce the next day rather than delaying things and potentially having to have worse intervention.

The sweep, FYI, was less painful/uncomfortable than the Covid-19 test I had to have on arrival to the ward for induction the next day. I’d heard when pregnant with Cameron that sweeps can be very painful and uncomfortable but this was fine!

On the drive home from the hospital that evening I thought I felt the beginning of things happening, but alas, overnight absolutely nothing changed. Another stubborn baby! So off we went the next afternoon to be induced.

I was lucky enough this pregnancy to get the same community midwife as I had with Cameron. Lisa is brilliant and I trust her completely. But apparently I just didn’t listen to her when she said that second baby inductions/births do tend to happen a lot quicker than the first. No massive surprise given I’ve zero braincells left, my memory has quite literally dropped off the face of the earth and my ability to take in ANYTHING is pretty much nil!

However, Lisa wasn’t the only one I apparently didn’t listen to… it would seem that I can’t even listen to myself/my own body.

The first pessary was inserted at 15:40. James and I remained chilling in our bay on the ward for a few hours with nothing happening. Thanks to coronavirus, he was only allowed to stay on that ward with me 2-7pm, so at half 6 we decided to go for a little walk, dropping him back at the car park on the way back to the maternity unit. “See you tomorrow at 2!” We said to each other, utterly convinced nothing was going to happen with that first pessary.

I went back to my bed and continued to chill. Read some of my book and decided I should make the effort to try and get some sleep, given I got zero sleep after I was induced with Cameron until he arrived, which was a bit silly! I slept for roughly an hour at 9pm and awoke to some pain at 10pm. I think I actually tried to pick up my book and carry on reading for a bit! That pain got more intense and at 11.30pm I decided I should probably try and monitor these contractions to see how long they were lasting and how far apart they were. I tried initially to do this on the stopwatch function on my iPhone before realising it didn’t really do what I needed it to. Then I can only assume I decided that they weren’t really contractions and/or that they’d definitely just stop soon (somehow?!) because the “contractions” app I downloaded shows I didn’t start recording them until 00:51! This app showed they were lasting between 45-60 seconds each and coming roughly every 3 and a half minutes. After recording around 5 it told me to go to the hospital! I ignored it a bit longer, still convinced it wasn’t really happening before deciding to call the midwife at 1.14am on the 15th September. She examined me and said I was 4cm dilated and that yes, I should call my husband back to the hospital and in the meantime pack all my stuff up so we could move down to labour ward.

It took me what felt like forever to pack my things up because the contractions were pretty intense and every three and a half minutes! I was already moaning through them and unable to do anything else whenever I got one, and mostly I just needed/wanted to lie down whenever I had one whilst hugging a pillow! I didn’t make any noise when in labour with Cameron!!!

Because, clearly I was utterly delusional throughout this entire labour, when the midwife offered to get me a wheelchair and wheel me down to labour ward, I said “nah don’t be daft, I can walk!” This, readers, confirms I am entirely mental. I got to labour ward at the same time as James, 1.54am. I’d stopped two or three times for contractions, and practically ran to the bed (which seemed to be in the furthest possible delivery suite!) when I could see it because I just felt like I needed to lie down on my side. I think realistically I knew then, but when my delivering midwife (Daisy) came in she said she thought I might be too late for an epidural/any drugs other than gas and air (which I refused as I felt with Cameron it didn’t do anything other than space me out, which I didn’t enjoy!) Daisy was right. I was 10cm (walking to labour ward probably sped that up!!) and Isabella was well and truly on her way out. I could feel her moving down inside me. I could feel her crowning (which seriously stings!) I could feel that I was about to shit myself (yes I pooped this time, on the plus side I didn’t have horrific poo-gate that I had post Cameron!). I could feel that my body felt entirely out of control and that my thighs were shaking beyond control. I could feel absolutely bloody everything!

At 3.18am on the 15th September Isabella made her appearance into our crazy, crazy world. I had gone from snoozing pain free, to baby in just over 5 hours. They didn’t tell me she was a girl, just handed her straight to me, wrapped in a towel. Her umbilical cord was hanging down over her lady bits so I actually had to lift it to see if she was a boy or girl! I couldn’t believe it when I saw she was a girl! I actually checked a few more times whilst I held her/she fed over the next few hours! A superstar, just like her big brother, she latched onto a nipple straight away and remained there for three whole hours!

With Cameron I had an episiotomy (think this is standard for a forceps delivery). With Isabella I tore naturally. However I lost less blood with Isabella and my iron levels (although on the low side), were higher post birth than after Cameron. Despite this, I couldn’t stop fainting for the first 24-ish-hours after her arrival. Even sat up in bed I was feeling like I could faint at any moment. Many, many tests and checks were done (as a slight heart issue was picked up when I was pregnant with Cameron), I saw what must have been ALL the doctors alongside several other midwives at MPH and no real issue could be found as to why I kept fainting; it was put down to trauma from the speed/intensity at which she arrived. So, despite not having had any pain relief in labour, I still ended up with my biggest hate – a cannula in my wrist so they could pump extra fluid into me to stop help stop me fainting! I know everyone hates cannula’s, but for me they are just horrendous. I’ve fainted having them put in before, and wherever they are put in then renders that part of my body entirely obsolete – I just cannot use that arm/hand with it in!

Between the extra fluid and a fairly decent nights sleep remaining in my own room on labour ward (so they could keep an extra eye on me!) I was able to stand up and walk about on the Wednesday which meant I was safe to be discharged and we got home to meet big brother by 4pm. Yay!

Almost 3 weeks later I am however still feeling the side effects from such an intense, drug-free birth. On a brief walk today I experienced vertigo, and even though my iron levels weren’t horrifically low, if I don’t take my one a day iron tablet, I seem to get lumbered with headaches/migraines (I’ve just shifted one that lasted an almighty 11 days!). Whilst I am amazed at myself managing to go through that without pain relief, I remain no martyr, and if there is a next time (and believe me, when she was crowning I was thinking our final two embryo’s would just have to stay in the freezer!!!) I absolutely will listen to my midwife/body and get all the bloody pain relief!! People say the recovery from a drug free birth is much quicker, but I don’t feel like it has been any quicker than Cameron’s birth where I had a failed epidural and then a spinal block (bliss, because I couldn’t feel a bloody thing!). If anything, given it’s nearly 3 weeks on and I’ve just experienced vertigo (cause of which can be migraines/trauma!) I’d say the recovery is longer! So if anyone is reading this thinking they should have a drug free birth – do whatever you want. If you want the drugs and can have them, do it!! Mentally however, I am fine and finding the entire thing quite amusing, although, if we conceived naturally, I would probably NOT be going for a third child, but knowing we have two more frozen and waiting for us, I still can’t leave them behind.

Finally, something I kept quite quiet after Cameron’s birth, but I wanted to talk about because I’ve actually not yet really noticed a difference – placenta encapsulation. I did this with Cameron’s placenta and whilst it potentially helped my lower iron levels, I haven’t done it with Isabella and I haven’t noticed a difference in my energy levels – which is the main thing it is supposed to help with.

Here she is… (12 days old at time of photograph) weighing a respectable 7lbs4.5oz and on the 19th percentile, Isabella Grace Marks 💕

Huge thanks as always to all the incredible staff at Musgrove – in particular the midwives who cared for me during labour and post birth; Daisy, Millie and Eleanor (who I had actually had at the start of Cameron’s birth!) as well as my fab community midwife Lisa. We are incredibly lucky to have such fantastic staff at MPH – everyone is super lovely, kind, caring and friendly. Even if Daisy wouldn’t let me have any drugs!

Pregnancy and a toddler

I haven’t done an honesty post in a while, so here’s an update. I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m looking to remind everyone that life is not easy!

Toddlers, are HARD. Pregnancy, is HARD. Pregnancy with a toddler, is INSANE. I have felt exasperated and have cried on more than one occasion over the last few weeks. I feel like a bad mum, I’ve no energy, I feel like I’m constantly telling Cameron off or telling him “no”. I’ve felt extreme anxiety as I’m so worried he’s going to be snatched – as his inquisitive little mind is always on the escape. He’s managed to get out the front door without not only myself, but 2 other adults not noticing on more than one occasion (serious amendments have been made to our piece of shite front door!!). If I let him run in an open space he will do literally just that and not stop, not come back to my calls and [understandably given he’s not even 2] have no understanding of the danger he could be running towards.

Cameron is next level crazy. He has endless energy and we’ve no idea where he gets it from as he has never been a great sleeper or eater. Eyes in the back of my head would NOT be enough for him. I need spare eyes on every available space on my body that isn’t usually hidden under clothes for this one! And in 8 weeks I’m going to start doing it all over again. From what I can feel of bump 2, this one has no less energy than big brother. 

I often remind friends that if it wasn’t that we needed IVF in order to conceive, and the potential that we have another 2 to conceive (🤞🏾) in the freezer, plus the fact that I’m not getting any younger – it is unlikely we would be pregnant again now. I know how lucky we are to have even been able to conceive, thrice, with two pregnancies making it to term (well, nearly there anyway bump!). Don’t get me wrong – I want (all!) the babies, but 9 long months of pregnancy to get them whilst running after an absolute lunatic is hard! I know I won’t be alone in that sentiment; IVF or not. I know I’ll hopefully get to do it again too, but it’s not all bouncy castle fun and swimming pool games. It’s mostly exhaustion, tears, and counting down until naptime from the second he wakes. It’s looking forward to dropping him at his childminder for the day and going home to rest but also missing him when he’s not around. It’s being disgusted at how grubby our house is but unable to find the energy to clean it (I neeeeeed a cleaner, please!!) and being unable to find the energy to cook anything for dinner. It’s feeling guilty that you’re mostly resting but never feeling rested whilst your husband’s working days are absolutely manic and he still has to come
home to no food, an exasperated and exhausted wife, and a bonkers toddler who said wife literally relinquishes control of the second you walk through the door.

I feel like I could sleep forever but it still wouldn’t be enough!

I have, however, today managed for the first time in weeks (months?!) to cook. Paella that I’m craving. And… CAMERON IS EATING IT TOO 🥳 (wish I’d snuck some spinach into it now!!)

Early Miscarriage/Chemical Pregnancy

Baby loss awareness day 💕👼🏻

This is the “baby” we lost. That little white dot in the top photo (fainter in the bottom one) is our blastocyst in its embryo glue as it was transferred into me.

A loss is a loss – no matter how it comes about.

We found out on the 30th October 2019 that we had lost IVF baby #2. Cameron’s sibling. And now Isabella’s sibling. I’m pretty sad about it. I really never thought we’d lose any and that we’d just have all 5 of our IVF babies in some kind of absolute madhouse.

Yes, it was “just” a blastocyst, essentially. It was still our baby. It wasn’t an egg and sperm separate. It was a fertilised possible Cameron or Isabella, just like our 2 left in the freezer. And we lost it. I lost it. They say most miscarriages are unavoidable but I am sure, if I had listened to my nurse and not gone ahead with that transfer [I had been very ill from the meds], we would have had that baby in June (In America we’d have had the chance to have known what gender it was already, although I probably wouldn’t have wanted to know!) and Isabella would still be in the freezer, waiting. We’ll never know. But it still hurts. We still lost it.

I’ve thought about that baby every day since then. So many “shoulda, woulda, coulda’s” and “what if’s”. Was it a boy or a girl? Before we had Isabella I wondered if it was our only girl embryo – don’t get me wrong – I’m happy with whatever gender all our babies are but hey who wouldn’t love to experience raising [at least] one of each? Would it have looked like Cam? Had a similar personality to Cam?

When we had our seven week scan with Isabella and found out her embryo had split and she was almost an identical twin I felt like it was that blastocyst, baby, trying again, trying another chance, but alas her twin also didn’t develop.

I’m grateful at least that we didn’t get further though. A few pregnancy tests were positive, and then suddenly they were negative. My bleed wasn’t horrendous – more a particularly heavy period with a large clot. That we didn’t have to go to our 7, or even 12 week scan and had to hear the heartbreaking news that there’s no heartbeat. Or to get even further along a pregnancy, bonding with our baby only to never know him or her. That would break me – I’m sure – and I am so saddened and sorry for those that have been through that in the past and continue to go through it. It’s not fair. A parent should never lose a child – that’s not how it’s supposed to work.. We’ve still lost a baby but I’d rather if it’s going to happen, that it happens earlier over later.

Any loss is still a loss, and it sucks. 💕

It’s not about being a martyr

As we approach 40 weeks of pregnancy, and baby’s rapidly approaching eviction date (please come out soon, naturally and nicely baby!!) I can’t help wondering what it’s going to be like.

I’ve said to my friends, midwife, consultants and anaesthetists time and time again that I want to feel it. The little I have on my birthing plan is not about walking in there and wanting an epidural straight away – although I don’t doubt for a second that my low pain threshold-self will rapidly change her mind and demand all the drugs. Others, including the common-known-“helpful”-stranger to us pregnant ladies, have told me not to be a martyr and accept all the drugs – ask for all the drugs! And to be fair, I’ve said myself that it took all the drugs to get the baby in, so I’ll happily take all the drugs to get the baby out!

But it isn’t about being a martyr. For me I’ve always wanted to experience pregnancy and labour – and I never thought I’d get the chance. Never for a second did I think anything would ever work to make me fall pregnant. And so now that it has, I want to feel and experience every last ounce of it. Of course I hope it will happen again – but there is no guarantee. But it most certainly isn’t something I’m saying light heartedly. I don’t want to be drug free to gloat about it – I don’t even expect I’ll manage to be drug free, but it is 100% not about being a martyr!!

Pro-Choice.

As a non-Irish woman, living in England, I don’t know what else I can do other than use my social media platforms to add to the right for #prochoice

I have never had an abortion. As a woman who, without the aid of fantastic fertility clinics and the development of science, would not be able to have children, it is unlikely I will ever be faced with what I can only call a dilemma as to whether or not to abort my unborn child. As a woman who is currently 26 weeks pregnant with our miracle IVF baby, I am grateful for this – because I honestly do not believe it is a choice I could ever make. But a choice which, would be mine nonetheless.

I describe abortion as a dilemma because, not for a second can I imagine that any woman would blindly enter into aborting her unborn child without a lot of reason, thought, and heartache going into it. Aborting a child won’t just end there – with the baby gone; I’d imagine that no matter what circumstances surround the need for abortion, that the knowledge of having done so will live in within you forever.

Physically, it might seem easy. Mentally; not so.

But, as a human being – who doesn’t believe herself to be particularly intelligent, but does pride herself on her common sense – I understand. I understand that whilst we can all be so similar, we also can all be so different, and thus, we need choice. I have never, ever understood why individuals find themselves so worked up and concerned with the matters of other individuals; it does not concern them. Which is exactly why I love this image – if you don’t like/want something: don’t do it. That is YOUR choice. Why does anyone feel they have the right to decide how another person – female or male – should live their life? Lesbian, Gay, Straight, Bisexual, Transexual, In need of an abortion, in need of a home, in need of medication to stabilise your health [i could go on] – by and large – who’s choice should that be but that of the individual(s) involved?

For those fighting for pro-life… I too, am pro-life. However, once more, that is, MY CHOICE. I have never been raped, and thus never fallen pregnant with a child conceived from rape. I am so, so thankful that I am not pregnant with an “unwanted” child. That I am not pregnant with a child so deformed it would not survive labour. I am lucky that I have not had to make the difficult decision of whether or not to abort a child, and I hope that is a decision I will never have to make. For me, the second we knew we were pregnant at 3 weeks 6 days, that was our baby. It was a life, one we had finally created. Our perfect, miracle baby. But, medically, it is deemed an embryo until 8 weeks, and a fetus until birth. Not a baby, an embryo, then a foetus. It is MY CHOICE to consider it our baby from the word go. It is MY CHOICE to consider it a life worth fighting for, or not fighting for. Choice, is what’s important here.

It’s 2018 for goodness sake – why can’t we get on with our OWN lives without consistently having to battle for such simple human rights; choice. At the end of the day, that’s all it boils down to. The same as the choice I make to run. To own, walk, look after and love a dog. To pop to the shops or not. It is my choice.

We are all so similar!

Having one of those rare body confidence/empowerment moments on the beach today.

There is a couple – foreign – who both look pretty good; slim, tanned and toned. Probably both around the same age as James and I.

I’m going to focus though, on the woman. As we women do, I’ve noticed her all week. Her body is what I would deem perfect. She is perfectly slim and toned – no “extra” fat. Her boobs (probably fake!?! I don’t think boobs are that perky unless well supported/huge and full of milk?!) are perky (although, they aren’t huge, so maybe she just has great bikini support). Her stomach is flat. She has a thigh gap (my fav, especially now that my thighs are gigantenormous!!) and generally, all round, just looks great. I don’t think anyone could deny that. Do not get me wrong – I am writing this from a point of positivity, and in no way trying to “shame” her – I think, what I am about to say, is brilliant, and a reminder that you can’t judge a book by its cover!

I just walked right next to her though, as I popped to the loo. She’s lying face down on her sun lounger sunbathing.

She has stretch marks on her perfect-shaped bum.

We are all similar!

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