I tried for four years to get pregnant. The first two years I spent on waiting lists for surgeries I probably never needed. The final two years I went through twelve iui cycles (intrauterine) with no luck and was ready to give up. No one knew why I couldn’t get pregnant.
I was married to a partner that couldn’t decide if they wanted to be a parent. I get it. It’s a terrifying decision. And the world we bring these wee ones into, is not one of rainbows and unicorns (even though at night we read books and fill their head with such romanticism).
But I had decided that life without children wasn’t what I wanted. That I believed we could change the world for the better. I convinced my ambivalent partner that we could do this together. But you make this huge decision and then take this huge step. Get the referral, do the treatments, attend a million doctor appointments, and then nothing.
In the twelfth month, I took my twelfth pregnancy test and tested a twelfth negative. I was heartbroken. I needed my life to be more than waiting and hoping and I needed to move on. Get my brain healthy. Stop obsessing. I could think of nothing else.
And then because of some weird universe fuck-up, the test was wrong. A week later I called the doctor to explain that something felt really wrong. “What now?,” I thought. She said, “You are probably pregnant”. And I was.
And so Baby Allie twinkled into existence.
Since then all my careful planning has gone by the way side. Nothing has prepared me for being a parent. I love it. I love the chaos and the cacophony. I love the challenges even when I’m in tears because nothing I say can persuade a 4 year old to do what mummy says (when it counts the most). And I love getting better at it. Or at least not worrying if underpants are on heads instead of on bums.
My partner is long gone. She’s a mama now to my son, but not a roommate, or partner. We live separate lives and it’s better this way. We are both better parents for not being together even though I miss her.
And I’ve moved to a new city for a fresh start and new friends. And I’m happier. Happier enough to date, enjoy meeting new people and polyamory after 8 years of monogamy. Meet myself again and embrace this new me, and how I define myself in this little family of two. It’s cacophony and carrot sticks. It’s rambunctious good times, complicated politics and parenthood survival.