This is a guest post. Introducing MJ from Bumpy Road To Bubba. MJ writes beautifully about her road to motherhood and beyond. She shares a piece of her journey here.
Becoming a Mumma wasn’t a choice for me. It has always felt like the sole reason I was put on this earth. That being said, my path to motherhood was a bumpy one, and not quite the traditional path I had always imagined.
At 30 I was madly in love, having spent the better part of the previous decade in back to back long term relationships. By 32 I was single. Fast forward a few years and – despite attempting every form of dating there is: online, speed dating, referrals through friends, and a request for assistance to everyone I know entitled the 7 year itch (that’s a whole different story) – I was still single.
Somewhere around my mid 30s I started to say that if I was still single when I was 37 that I would have a baby on my own. Then it was 38, then 39. You know, I just wanted to give myself that little extra time in case Prince Charming was in fact just around the next corner or about to show up when I stopped looking for him. I could tell you what I’d like to do to the next person who gives me the pity stare and that speech, but then you wouldn’t think I’m such a nice girl. (Which I am!)
So I find myself 39 years of age. Really, how the hell did that happen? With a history of polycystic ovaries and endometriosis – and considering how close to the big four zero 39 is – it was time to stop talking and start doing. So I had all of my tests, found some issues with my blood, spent a few months sorting them out, then it was off to the clinic for me.
I set some parameters for myself. I’ve heard of people going mildly crazy when attempting via IUI or IVF to have a baby. I really didn’t want to turn into that girl. I gave myself 12 months to become pregnant. Whether that was one attempt or five, 12 months was my timeframe. I couldn’t afford more than 12 months of treatment. And I didn’t want it to consume me and become all that I am. But I did want a baby. Desperately. Oh, and I’d really love a girl. Are you listening Universe?
The selection process was fun. It’s like internet dating, without all of the awkward first date bits. And you’re guaranteed to receive what you need to make a baby – as long as you have a reasonable sized bank account! I chose a few baby daddy potentials, then invited a selection committee (a few friends and family – single, married, parents, non-parents, straight & gay – a good cross section!) for wine and pizza and asked them to read the 10 page profiles and choose their top three. Interestingly enough, two of my top three choices got the most votes. I was always going to go with my selection, but it was nice to know we would all have chosen the same person to be part of our family.
My first attempt was a very positive one in relation to the clinic and the whole process, but unfortunately wasn’t very positive when I peed on the stick. Even though I’d known the odds were stacked against me, I was devastated. It had been a huge roller coaster ride (and not the fun kind), so I decided to give myself a break for the next month, and then try again.
In that month I tried to be as calm as possible. I exercised as usual, I ate healthily, I did a little yoga, I had fertility specific acupuncture, I spent a lot of time cuddling my dogs (they’re such natural calming forces) and I got myself in a better headspace.
Lucky really, because when it came time for the second trip to the clinic, they called me 24 hours before my appointment to say there’d been a mix up and they didn’t order the correct donor’s sperm. Ahem. WHAT THE? I may have had a little meltdown. In the middle of my (open plan) office.
After many phone calls and them telling me I would just have to wait another cycle (hell NO), it seemed that my second choice donor from my first attempt was available.
Fabulous. Start defrosting him!
My experience this time around with the clinic – including the nurse saying “I’m just going to try that again, I’m not convinced that was your cervix” (I kid you not) wasn’t positive, but my blood test and the symbol on the little stick were!! Oh joy. Rapture. Insane feelings of elation. After I throw up that is. Yippee, I’m going to be a Mumma! Oh, I really don’t feel so good. I should feel okay in the second trimester? Waa hoo!
Then at my 19 week scan I heard those words I’ve been dreaming of for as long as I can remember: It’s a girl? Wait, did she really just say it’s a girl? Really? Oh joy. Rapture. Insane feelings of elation. After I throw up that is. Yippee, I’m going to have a daughter!
Remember I was supposed to feel better in the second trimester? Well, I still really didn’t feel so good. And the third trimester too. I felt not-so-good right through my pregnancy, but with every wave of nausea I reminded myself I was one wave closer to being a Mumma! Being her Mumma.
Delivered by emergency caesarean (not my birth plan of choice, but the reality is I wanted a healthy bubba and a healthy mumma) at 38 weeks and 3 days, my tiny little daughter was perfect. She is the absolute love of my life, and the reason I was put on this earth.
Even when the road has been bumpy; or she’s teething; or my baby who slept through the night from 10 weeks to 10 months suddenly wouldn’t sleep at all (I removed wheat from her diet and she’s back to sleeping like a dream); there is nowhere in the world I would rather be, in any of those moments, than with her. Holding her in my arms, comforting her, just being her Mumma.
My journey to motherhood was in no way, shape, or form what I would have anticipated at 20, or even at 30. But there is not one moment of it I would change. It’s the best job in the world.
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