These Are The Days

Navigating my way through parenting & accepting the fate of my ovaries

Reading Time: 7 minutes

I’ve secretly wanted 3 children for almost my entire adult life, but the practicalities of having 3 when you already have 2 daughters and 3 dogs and run your own home-based business are not as straight forward as they might sound. I accepted ‘my lot’ a couple of years ago when I finally realised it was going to be highly unlikely that I’d ever birth a child again. I consoled myself with how damn lucky I was to have been able to bring two daughters into this world at all, especially when I know so many women struggle to conceive or suffer miscarriage and baby loss. That knowledge has certainly repositioned my view of things and helped me feel even more grateful than I was already for having my two darling girls, Eska and Leanora, in my life. But that doesn’t disqualify me, now that I’m a little older, from mourning the knowledge that I’ll never experience pregnancy or give birth again. And just lately, I can’t shake the idea from my head of the absolute brute finality of this.

Whilst I absolutely appreciate not all women desire to become a mother – I don’t think I’m generalising incorrectly by suggesting a great many do. We’re conditioned from an early age to believe that this is a normal, healthy route in life to take. Some of us can’t wait to become parents and try early, some of us fall into it by accident at a young age, others, like me, leave it until later. I was 30 when we started trying for a baby – up until then, I felt quite strongly about gaining experience and just living my life a little first. But like with so many others, it felt like I did a u-turn on those feelings overnight, when my maternal instincts awakened. I purchased all the books, and I mean all the books and threw myself immediately into taking my temperature daily and holding my legs akimbo in the air after sexual intercourse. Yup, I was that person and that desperate to be a mum.

Whilst I don’t claim to be perfect at any of it, I adore motherhood. My first child, Eska, arrived 11 days late after a text book perfect pregnancy and slightly complicated 40 hour labour – but that didn’t matter. When she was positioned onto my belly like a soft, slimy little mermaid, my life changed in an instant. I felt I had purpose. I learned what it feels like to love someone so much you know you’d literally kill for them. Eska was born 2 months after I turned 31 and we’d only been trying to conceive for 3 months.  We were exceptionally lucky.

Our second daughter, Leanora, was conceived after almost 12 months of trying. My second pregnancy was quite different to the first; it was fraught with heavy bleeding for the first 18 weeks – the bleeding first started before I was even 5 weeks pregnant and was accompanied by great pain. Naturally, we thought I was experiencing an early miscarriage. I was in so much pain in fact that I was ambulanced to hospital and advised whilst waiting in A&E to prepare for news of miscarriage. But I knew better. Call it instinct or what you will, but I knew I still carried life within me. I had to stay in overnight and was admitted to the early pregnancy unit for scans the next morning. I vividly recall being sat in the waiting room with my husband who had gone into some spiritual kind of meditation as he held my hand and made an attempt to visualise and connect with the little life-force inside me. Thirty minutes later, we were watching  a tiny heartbeat flickering away in the form of an ultrasound scan. A teeny tiny little digital pulse on a screen that would come into our world in a few months time. Incidentally, she arrived a month early after my waters had actually broken a full week earlier.

My children are 12 and 7 now and watching them grow and flourish over the past few years has brought me untold joy. Yes of course, there have been times where I’ve wanted to tear my hair out at their bickering and untidiness, or made myself feel sick with guilt (and physically sick with stress) as I’ve struggled with the often soul-crushing sense of overwhelm in trying to balance it all. But these challenges have been eclipsed entirely by the indescribable sense of reward that parenting can bring; so many beautiful memory making opportunities; that sense of being adored, needed, idolised even, the levels of pure compassion as a child develops their empathy. Being on the receiving end of 100% unconditional love.

Last week, my little girl was admitted to hospital with some nasty viral infections. Staying with her for 3 nights in her little room gave me a chance to do some deep thinking.  I watched her as she lay in her sleep, breathing heavily and wheezing gently – her little 23.9KB body battling away like a trooper inside to fight the viruses affecting her respiratory system. And I suddenly felt very aware of her vulnerability and absolute dependence on me. The feeling brought with it a wave of warmth and motherly instinct and I covered her little forehead with the lightest of butterfly kisses for a good 10 minutes. And then after this, I sank back into my bedside camp bed and fell into a state of anxiety about how fast she’s growing up, how quickly I’m losing ‘my baby’ and what on earth I’d do in a few years time when both my girls would be be in their teens and at secondary school.

I can hear the bells tolling loudly for the death of my ovaries as they basically shrivel up and die. And that, I’m not coping quite so well with.

I’m 43 and turn 44 in September this year. When I turned 40, I went through a weird ‘hell I’m getting old’ thing, though it didn’t last long and I soon got over myself.  Honestly, life has been the best it has ever been in the ensuing years. I feel fitter, healthier, sexier, wiser and more grateful than I ever have before. Who was that gin swigging women in her 20’s who thought she was quite useless?  I didn’t have the faintest idea. As I get older, I genuinely give far fewer, if any shits about what people think of me or my age. However, when I silently utter the age ’44’ in the deep recessions of my mind, I can hear the bells tolling loudly for the death of my ovaries as they basically shrivel up and die. And I’m not sure I’m coping quite so well with that.

Part of me, the more rational, sensible part, is shouting ‘GET A GRIP! Some of your friends can’t have babies at all! Some have had to spend thousands on IVF! Shut up and be happy you ungrateful twazzock!’. I truly understand this and acknowledge the place it comes from too. In that respect I am one of the lucky ones and hand on heart, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t thank my lucky stars that I got to be a mummy. It’s an incredible blessing, a dream come true. But I don’t think that excuses me from the gamut of emotions that comes with being a parent. And these days, those emotions seems to dominated with a fear of the impending, inevitable redundancy I dread as a parent, as my children grow older and will need me less.

My children have outgrown their baby and toddler years; one of them is becoming more independent by the day as she navigates her way through secondary school and social media, and the other leaves me wishing I could hit the pause button on a daily basis with her sweet and funny little malapropisms – I don’t correct her because those charming little mistakes will correct themselves as she grows up – there are teachers at school to do that. For now, they are a lovely little reminder of how young she still is.

I wouldn’t have felt this way five years ago, but I’m more conscious than ever these days of my impending 44th year of life and what that means for my fertility. And, I just don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to knowing that I’m capable of making babies just yet – even if there are absolutely no plans at all to set the conception cogs in motion. There’s almost something in the symmetry of those double digits that has become symbolic, like two little crosses parading at the funeral of my precious reproductive organs. And it makes me want to cry.

There are certain events in life that there’s absolutely no getting out of. Birth, death! ….and the inevitable ageing process and all that it brings with it.

I try to make every day count and pause to soak it all in and be grateful for the normality and ordinariness of it all, because I’ve become all too aware that these are the days.

I want to remind you of what I said earlier; my 40’s have been great to me so far, I genuinely have never felt more in love with life – but I think that’s part of my issue. The fleeting preciousness of everything has become so enhanced – I’ve become so much more aware of the magnificence, mystery and absolute miracle that is being alive, and I’m so much more conscious of my mortal existence. I try to make every day count and pause to soak it all in and be grateful for the normality and ordinariness of it all, because I’ve become all too aware that these are the days. Those days we take for granted now will come to mean everything in due course. For the most part, they might be mundane and event-free, but I know that these are the days I’ll  look back on in years to come, wishing I could have even the tiniest slice of being back there again amongst the ‘every day’ of it all, folding my little girl’s tiny hands within mine, stooping to kiss the forehead of my 12 year old as she reluctantly agrees to go brush her teeth, bursting with pride as she performs with her classmates at the school concert, tidying the soft toys and teddy bears into neat little piles and watching my little ones tickle and tease each other into fits of giggles. I want to grasp it all and hold onto it with every bit of might I have, before boyfriends and house parties become all too distracting and, dare I even say it, my babies become old enough to fly the nest and live their own lives.

But it’s not all doom. As my children grow older, I sense the loss of each magical phase of their lives, but I’m also learning that through loss, there is an opportunity for regrowth. And through regrowth, you learn to adapt based on your experiences so far – you become stronger, more resilient, more grateful, loving, compassionate and open hearted. I’m trying to view this regrowth as the heralding of an exciting new chapter. Adventures await.

My fertility might be diminishing to the point of no return, but I’m learning that life is one constant pattern of loss and regrowth, loss and regrowth. Acknowledging the inevitable loss of something even if it plays such an important role in how I identify as a woman is important, so that I can fully embrace the newness and opportunities that will follow in the regrowth stage. My relationship with my children isn’t going to end with the death of my reproductive abilities after all. It will simply change and evolve. I’ll say goodbye to one era and welcome in another.

Let’s not forget, that parenting never really ends. That part of life keeps on going forever, even when those little birds have flown far from their nest. Now is the time for me to gracefully bereave the slow but very certain disappearance of my fertile years and prepare myself for new adventures with my girls. Just because a part of me won’t be working any more, my love for them will still grow stronger every day; loss and regrowth.

I’d love to know your thoughts.


Main image by me, taken on a family walk in January this year


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  • What a beautiful post Annabel. I’ve only discovered A Life Loved very recently, so felt I had to stop and comment.

    As a Mum of one through adoption, who is teetering on the brink of 40, your feelings and words really resonate with me.

    There’s so much ahead with the little ones we have in our lives and our love can only grow. I’m going to spend today being thankful for it xx

    • Thank you so much Karen, I’m so pleased you’ve stumbled across our site. I’ve been wanting to pen something of my feelings for a little while now and feel a sense of relief and being at peace that I finally have.

      It’s wonderful to hear you have adopted! I would love to explore more about adoption through A Life Loved. We have big plans to develop our parenting content.

      Thank you so much again Karen – have a lovely day feeling thankful for all the joy your little one brings into your life.

      Love Annabel xx

  • What a beautiful piece Annabel. I am a mum of one, we always said we only wanted one and I’m so very happy with my one. But I do get very sad at the thought of never being pregnant again, and I don’t think I’ve ever really expressed that before because, like you, I know I’m very lucky to have experienced it once already.

    Your post helped me to understand that sadness over not getting pregnant again isn’t the same thing as wanting another child, and instead of being scared that one day I’ll look back and regret not doing it while I had the chance, I’m going to own my decision and fully immerse myself in my one, beautiful little girl’s life. Thank you x

    • Thank you Charlie – I just said to a friend that I believe that bereaving the loss of something that made us feel so valid as a woman, mother, wife, child bearer – is vitally important to acknowledge. It changes the perception of ourselves and our roles in this life and that’s no small thing. It’s taken me a while to feel ‘OK’ about publishing these words when I know so many others are struggling so hard to conceive and become parents at all but it feels good to have been so honest about it.

      Thank you so much for your very kind words xxx

  • That sounds like a great plan! I’d love to see more conversation about adoption; if you ever do explore the subject, then I’d love to give some input. Xx

  • So beautifully expressed Annabel and I can relate to this so much. We have one child, born when I was 40 and she is loved beyond any love I ever thought possible to feel. I’m now 47 and suffered a miscarriage a few months ago. I’m left knowing that was probably the last chance I have to go through the process of having a child again. Time is ticking and I’m approaching my fifties and a very different decade lies ahead. It scares me and intrigues me in equal measure. There are so many emotions to unpick I barely know where to begin.
    But as you say, there’s a beauty in living your life in the moment, connecting to the days and events in turn and cherishing them, The adjustment will take time and I suspect it never really settles completely, life after all is constantly moving forward. But your example of finding some peace through it all is inspiring and uplifting. Sending you love ❤️ xXx

    • Thank you so much Cat. I can of course only imagine the devastation you must have felt miscarrying 47, what indescribably devastating twists and turns life takes at times – I’m so, so sorry.
      I feel just like you, I barely know where to begin unpicking the whole gamut of emotions and life changes your 40’s bring you, but want to do my best to try to face it all with positivity and bravery and confidence. Knowing I’m on this journey with friends by my side helps a lot.
      Sending love back you way xXx

  • Annabel thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings. I think they’ll resonate strongly with lots of us. I have 3 kids and life is amazing and exhausting in equal measures. At the tail end of last year the 3 of them were under the age of 4. Last year was a loooooooong but quick one- you’ll know what I mean by that.
    Like you, there are moments where I wish I could hit the pause button. I love the stages they’re at at the moment. But I try not to be sad that they’re passing and, instead, enjoy their changes and growth. It can be hard though. I stopped feeding Finn just before Christmas and that’ll be the last baby I’ll feed. That was an occasion tinged with sadness but also relief that my nursing bra days were over ha!
    What a funny feeling to know that if you’ve done a good job you’ll make yourself redundant! The cruel irony of parenthood! But really, I’m 35 and still need my parents, just in a different way. We still holiday together and that’s my goal- that my adult children might still like to go on holiday with me!
    I’m so glad you’re wee girl is on the mend x

    • Hi Kara, you are so welcome. I have friends with 3 children under 4 and have seen how tiring (if not rewarding!) it can be raising a family so young. Hats off to you!

      The cruel irony of parenthood indeed. That’s one of my life goals too, that my adult children will always want to hang out with me for fun times and come to me first when they need support. I’m working so hard on laying those loving and crucial life foundations now.

      Sending so much love and thank you – my little girl is feeling much better thank you xXx

  • A really lovely post, Annabel. Thank you. Very thought-provoking (and tear-provoking!) I could relate to all your feelings, particularly having two fantastic daughters of our own, who, with our son, have given us so much joy and pride, amongst hair-tearing moments! And your post made me realise, particularly recently, that I haven’t been able to recognise life’s pleasures so much as time flies past, but your view made me remember my own good fortune. I am some way ahead of you now: our eldest daughter will be 20 this year, our younger, 16, and our son, 14, and I would just like to say that, looking back, it almost gets better, if you can believe that! I remember, when they were all young, the older parents who would say: ‘Make the most of these precious moments – they grow up so fast’. But I was always negotiating each day’s struggles, and felt I couldn’t stop to really see and value what I had. Now, I can see better how incredibly they’ve developed – how aptitudes have become potential careers; how self-aware they have become, and aware of the world around them. And, brilliantly, even though they see that the world can be a frightening and sad place, they are prepared to take it on! So, thank you so much for posting this, and I’m so glad I read it. It was just what I needed to ‘hear’… X

    • Thank you Stefanie,

      Oh I’m sorry I made you cry! In a comforting way I hope 🙂

      I absolutely *can* believe it gets better. This is one of the fears I think I’ve just about overcome of late. Knowing that as our children get older, our lives can only be enriched with more experiences, memory making, shared moments and love. I really do believe it can only get better and more fulfilling, I have to, even if I know I’ll miss those early years like crazy.

      I know exactly what you mean with your comment about making the most of the precious moments – I too spent quite a bit of my eldest child’s early years focussing far too much on work, getting highly stressed and not really focussing on the beauty that was unfolding before me – something I hugely regret and have been very aware of as I raise my younger daughter. I wish I could go back and change that but, as you get older, you become wiser I suppose and my nearly-13 year old couldn’t be loved any more than she is now. I adore her to her bones!

      Thank you for your very kind words.

      Love Annabel xXx

  • This really touched me and hit on something I’ve been feeling for a very long time. This year I will be 53 and I cannot believe how time seems to go faster the older one becomes.. how does that make sense?!

    When I was 39 I was diagnosed with breast cancer and told the tumour was growing fast and there was no time to lose. I was operated on immediately (thankfully I am still in tact and didn’t lose my breast) and then had 6 months of chemotherapy that blasted my body so hard I thought I’d never get through it. Initially I had absolutely no clue this meant I would never menstruate again. When the surgeon casually pointed this out I just stood there with my mouth open… and went into ‘third person’. It was more upsetting than the cancer itself.

    I was already a Mom at this point. At 21 I had had my first child and then in relatively quick succession two more… thank goodness as it turns out. I was always worried I’d been stupid because all through my twenties I saw my friends jetting off around Europe and living it up while I was exhausted and stuck at home.

    I hadn’t necessarily decided that I was or wasn’t going to have any more children.. but all of a sudden cancer made that decision for me. I felt like someone had taken something sacred from me without my permission. What if I wasn’t quite ready to give up my fertility just yet? So many things in life are out of our control of course as you so eloquently said and we do have to be grateful for everything precious we have… and children are the greatest gifts there are. In fact it saddens me that society doesn’t value family life and the job of being parents more.

    My children were terrified they were going to lose their mom but I was determined that they were not (!) and fought my hardest. I am so incredibly lucky to have been given the chance to continue my life and see my children grow into adults.. there was a real doubt that I would at one point.

    The most beautiful sentiment in your piece Annabel is how you cherish being a mother and relish every second of your time with your children. Yes life is a fragile gift and nothing ever stays the same in this mysterious and powerful cycle of birth and death..
    We don’t always get everything right, especially as parents. There is no such thing as perfect just being a loving person.

    I guarantee you will enjoy each stage of your daughters’ lives however hard they will be. They may detach a little in their teens (it’s entirely normal and necessary for them to work out who they are away from you) but they do ‘come back’.. I’m closer to my 31, 29 and 26 year old kids more than ever.. and it makes life so well worth living and so well loved:-)

    • Oh gosh, Diane, I am only just catching up on comments today and have just read this. I had no idea of the trauma you’ve been through. I can only imagine how crushing it was to have been told that such an important part of you had been taken, with no warning. HUGS.

      What an absolute blessing you had your wonderful children already, I physically felt the relief as I read that part of your comment. But I can completely understand how you would not have been ready to give up on your fertility yet.

      Your reply has so touched me Diane, thank you. I love that you recognise the sentiment I was trying to capture through my words.

      My eldest is already detaching a little and sometimes I go off and have a little weep about that, but, it’s my job to reassure her, to let her know she is loved beyond words, that I will never judge her, always be here for her, no matter what. I tell her every now and then ‘now if you ever find yourself in a pickle, even if it is you that has done something wrong, and you need help, CALL. I will come and get you, wherever you are, no matter what time of day or night, whatever the matter is.’

      Sending so much love to you today Diane xXx

  • Oh wow. At 30 years old, I am still very much in the stage of feeling, “quite strongly about gaining experience and just living my life a little first.”, and am just expecting that that one day, my maternal instincts will kick in, and I will feel all the things that you feel when that time comes and be ready. I have to say, Annabel, after reading your post, that day may now come a little sooner than I thought! What a beautiful read x

    • That was exactly my reaction! I’m 29, 30 this year and my husband is 32. He has made it clear that he is ready for children whenever the time feels right for me. But 3 weeks ago he asked how I would feel about coming of the pill and starting to try. i haven’t dealt with it very well, but i’m slowly coming round to the idea and feeling more excited about the prospect of trying to start our own little family. This piece was a breath of fresh air and felt like a gentle nudge in the right direction. Thank you Annabel!

  • What a beautiful post Annabel, this resonates so strongly with me. As a single mother of one, I’ve always yearned for more children but made the decision in my head that I couldn’t cope with more unless I met the right man and knew there would be a second parent around. That hasn’t happened and now at 46 years old I have been making my peace with the reality that I won’t have another child. This has been a painful process as my daughter’s father went on to marry and have another two children. I too have to catch myself constantly and remember how lucky I am to have one healthy and happy little girl – but it has been a source of constant conflict between my head and my heart. Although you had a dreadful time in hospital with your little girl being so poorly – it is at these moments we get the opportunity to appraise our lives, mourn the losses and celebrate all that is brilliant in them. Whenever I am feeling a little blue about not having more kids in my life – there is a flicker of light I see in the distance and I realise at the age I am now what a beautiful concept this is….grandchildren xx

    • I got to the very end of this comment and shed a tear. I look forward to the day our first grandchild enters the world. I want to be the best Grandma ever!
      Sending love to you Lisa – thank you for taking the time to reply and share your own similar feelings xXx

  • I’ve loved reading this Annabel. It’s brought quite a few things to the surface! I have a beautifully bonkers 3 year old. He was the result of egg donation after 3 failed IVF cycles. We tried this time last year to have another with frozen embryos but it wasn’t meant to be.
    So he is my only child and will forever be my only child.
    I battle with thoughts everyday of how he will feel when he knows the full story of where he came from, I carried him for 9 months, gave birth to him and think that every inch of him comes from me, even if our DNA doesn’t match.
    Another one would have been life changing but he has already enriched my life in more ways than I think I’ve realised and your article has just made me more intent on making the most of every second spent with him.
    Thank you x

    • Dear Emily – thank you so much for your comment, it is a reminder to me of how much some women have to go through to become a Mummy, it makes me feel incredibly humble to be honest.

      A beautifully bonkers 3 year old sounds perfect! What a wonderful little partner in crime you have to navigate through life with. I’m so sorry to hear a second child was not possible for you, I can only imagine the heartache you have been through but it’s uplifting to read such positivity in your comment above. From one Mamma to another **HUGS** XXXXXXX

  • Such a beautiful post . I didn’t manage to meet ‘the right man’ until later in life and was so very lucky to have my precious daughter just a few months short of turning 39 . I knew I wanted more children but knew that age might not be on my side and that we would need to be speedy.
    Then when my daughter was only 16 weeks old I was diagnosed with colorectal cancer, I spent the next 9 months being treated for this. This meant that physically there were so many things I couldn’t do, and mentally I was not as engaged with my precious baby as I should have been. Once better I kept saying to myself ‘but when I have the next baby it will be different’ .
    Sadly 6 months later the cancer was back , but pelvic radiotherapy has destroyed my ovaries , it has also saved my life.
    At 42 I am in full menopause with all the fun that entails ;).
    My daugther will forever and always be my only one . I have to be ok with this. I will never be ok with the months of my daughters life that I missed.
    My daughter is 3 and a half and I am alive and here to see it . I want to be here for all of it and ,like another poster said , I shall so enjoy being a Grandma.

    • Oh Alice, I was moved to tears reading your response – I can only begin to imagine what you have been through. It makes me feel beyond lucky to have gotten through life so far pretty much unscathed. What an incredibly brave lady you are. Your daughter and husband are lucky to have you – and for the months that you missed, you have a lifetime ahead of making beautiful memories. I know that you will make every moment count.

      I have a friend who lost her daughter when she was 2 and the sense of loss has of course been indescribable, but from that loss, she has gained an incredible perspective on life; “I love MORE than I ever did before….i cherish each day so much more than I did before, little things, tiny moments that would have flittered past me have become extraordinary moments of deep happiness” (sharing these words of my friend’s from a post she shared publicly on Instagram >>

      I remember my daughter being 3 and thinking ‘this is the best phase childhood could ever offer!’. It was wonderful, but she’s 7 now and now I think *this* is the best phase – she’s wiser, more capable of conversing intelligently and is in love with her Mamma! Each of those early years before they reach double digits are so incredibly precious – document everything! Take all the photographs and fill your computer drive with a billion files. I do and I never ever tire from looking through them all and watching how she’s grown. My mantra is to make every day count and to know that when it’s time for me to leave this existence, my children will continue to feel my love every day.

      I’m so sorry to hear of the indescribable experience you have been through up to now but also smiling to know you are here and embracing life to it’s fullest now, your precious daughter by your side.

      Thank you so much Alice for your very kind words.

      Love Annabel xXx


  • I’m also in my 44th year, I have two children (6&4) and I’ve of late become VERY aware of the speed my children are growing up and the aging process that I myself am going through, those wrinkles are becoming more developed, those grey hairs are becoming more prominent and that feeling that I got monthly, that slight pain that indicated I was ovulating has all but disappeared, I’ve become very aware of this.

    I also wanted three kids, giving birth was by far the most wonderful, amazing experience of my life and every time I did it I immediately wanted to do it again, but life has a way of getting in the way of the best laid plans…

    So two children it is, and I busied myself away with parenting, working full time, living life and did not give it much thought and then my daughter started school in September. Prior to this she went to nursery at my work so I drove in with her and back, we spent a lot of time together, just the two of us, chatting, singing, laughing and then it stopped and I was alone with my thoughts and all I could think was this precious time is slipping through my fingers and I can’t stop it. I’ve found it hard and over these winter months the reality of the situation has made me feel old, sad and quite down and then I felt guilty for feeling this way when I have two of life’s most precious gifts.

    Then the moment came, the wake up call, the stop throwing a pity party and live life moment- a colleague the same age as me died of cancer, she had a three old daughter. I did not know this lady well but gosh her passing really affected me, I cried and cried for a day, for her, for her daughter, for the ****ness of life and then I realised how lucky I am, how lucky I really am and I don’t even really realise it and it’s time for me to stop lamenting what is past and embrace my future with my beautiful family.

    It’s also wonderfully reassuring and inspiring to read a beautiful article like this – thank you x

    • Dear Catherine,

      What a moving comment to read through. I can relate absolutely entirely to the first 3/4 of your reply – in fact, and I didn’t mention this in the feature as it might have sounded like I was totally losing my shit – but, there was one day where I physically just cried out loud, in acceptance of the fact that it simply was not going to be – a 3rd child would never happen. It sounds a bit bonkers, but, it felt like I had to say ‘goodbye’ to a little spirit I felt so strongly was waiting to be born in child form. Think what you will but after that experience, I felt much more at peace with things.

      The passing of your colleague has put things into perspective even for me. I no longer participate in the pity party either and wake every day feeling grateful for what I have. How lucky are we? How sad for your colleague – I hope her family and children were and will remain surrounded by love and support.

      Sending you a huge hug today Catherine. I can honestly say my 40’s have been the best decade to me so far but there is no denying they sure throw in some emotional challenges. It really helps to talk about it and normalise this kind of conversation – after all, what we’re all going through *is* perfectly normal.

      Much love xXx

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