That day has come that I never thought I’d see again.
I went to a kids party on Sunday and found myself chatting to a mum cradling a three week old baby.
And then I felt a twinge in my ovaries.
Oh sweet baby Jesus, what is this – period pain, indigestion, wind?
And then it hit me…
Shit. I’m broody.
(Hubs, if you are reading this, don’t even think about coming home and looking at me in that sexy dance way. Read on first).
The boy is three next week and I’m still fat, traumatised and depressed. I feel like a terrible mum to him, so how can I give another part of my heart to a new baby?
We have a few huge decisions ahead as a family – nothing nasty, but we have reached a point where we can’t afford to live as we are, we don’t earn enough to live where we do, and it’s impossible with the rising cost of childcare for me to work anymore than I do.
Selfishly I also want to be a lot healthier before I carry a baby again – I really want to lose a good three or four stone to bring my weight into a healthy range and hopefully give myself the chance to experience a healthy pregnancy.
And then there’s my mental health; of course that’s a concern. I’ve recently been told I need to see a specialised psychiatric team for a formal diagnosis of what is believed to be a combination of PTSD/birth trauma and severe depression which manifests as general anxiety disorder.
We also struggled to conceive last time, it took over three years to fall pregnant and even then it was pure fluke; I’m scared to ‘want’ another baby to then be deemed infertile again.
My periods have stopped and my insides are mashed up from last time – can I even fall pregnant? I’ve been told with my current weight, unpredictable thyroid and PCOS it’s unlikely.
But I have those stirrings of broodiness and I find myself wanting another baby.
And again, it’s selfish, but what if the only way to get over the first birth is to have another? A healthy pregnancy and elective Caesarean at 37 weeks would be my best case scenario and that would be amazing.
I find myself rubbing my tummy and remembering those little flutters and kicks; and seeing my belly grow and stretch.
I wrote here about thinking that one would be enough, I was so sure it was. I have a lot of thinking to do.