After the birth of my daughter I think I was high on life. She was such a good baby, she slept well, fed well (after 2 traumatic weeks of trying to establish breastfeeding) and was just in my eyes the best thing ever. It was hard work but I just loved it and felt so lucky. In fact I’ve always felt lucky in terms of everything to do with pregnancy and my daughter.
Falling pregnant the month after I married was a shock. I expected it to take years. Like years and years. My parents struggled with falling pregnant so just assumed I would probably too. In fact it was my closest friend who told me to buy a pregnancy test (as we are in sync) and I said “no, no, no, I feel like I’m going to come on”. I tested the next day and it was positive. Just like that I was pregnant. Magic.
I had the best pregnancy and enjoyed everything about it. Loved that my body was so clever. Loved how it changed to grow my child. Loved having boobs (so did the hubbie). As I’ve said before I felt lucky. I also felt grateful, I’m not really sure why but I did.
When my daughter was about 4 months old I confided in my closest friends that I felt ready for another one. They looked quite shocked and it made me think actually that maybe is a bit crazy. Maybe it was the hormones making think like that. Maybe it was just because I felt my daughter was the best thing ever. Maybe my body was trying to tell me something.
We decided not to try at that point, to wait until I returned to work when my daughter was one.
I often think about that time and how I felt. The feeling of desperately wanting to try again. The what ifs. What if I had tried when I had that feeling. Would I have fallen pregnant? Why didn’t I listen to my body? Should I have just followed my instinct? It’s hard to say but the truth is I do regret that decision. I know I’ll never know, no-one will ever know but I feel I missed my chance at being pregnant again.