I was reading through some old diaries the other week (actually looking for some photos of my Dad, but that’s another matter) and I started to read through a few of my entries. I used to keep a daily journal – it was part of the preparation for my Masters degree – and I so I have a whole stack of Collins desk diaries, day-per-page, filled with line upon line of neat black writing. (Pen of choice: Bic Medium biro in black. There is no other that competes. Apart from when the pen starts to bobble and splot ink blobs onto the page, but that’s usually only after you’ve been going for an hour or so.)
Anyway, reading through my memoirs-to-be (ha!) it struck me that the whole trying for a baby episode of my life took up seven whole years. Seven. At the time, in my late twenties and early thirties, when I should really have been enjoying my social life and focusing on all of the amazing opportunities that were coming my way, all I could think about was having a baby and why it wasn’t happening for me.
Not that I’m trying to downplay the emotional hardship of trying – and failing – to conceive; it just suddenly hit home quite how soul-destroying and disruptive that part of my life was. Although thankfully, at the same time as manic-shagging and weeing on ovulation sticks like some sort of barmpot scientist, I was throwing myself into starting up and growing this website. A Model Recommends. Which was a brilliant distraction and I think that I would have driven myself crazy had I not been able to devote every waking hour (that I wasn’t straddling Mr AMR like a depraved lunatic – “IT’S TIME! IT’S THE RIGHT DAY!”) to doing something that I truly loved.
I was filled with a great sadness, actually, for the years that we kept on trying. It’s painful to think back on it but I tried not to dwell on the bad bits so that I could sensibly – and quite cheerily – film a video about it. Though it’s rather unstructured and more of a preliminary discussion than anything else – I’d welcome any questions so that I can make a follow-up version. The whole infertility subject is such a minefield; I almost don’t feel qualified to talk about it, or entitled to talk about it, because I have two beautiful children and – in the end – I didn’t have any sort of intervention or treatment. So was I infertile? Or was my body just biding its time? If I was infertile, how to explain the babies? There are many people with more poignant stories, who have tried for longer or had to face proper medical hurdles or, sadly, have been unsuccessful and I think it’s this that has put me off filming my own story for so long. But people ask, frequently, and if it helps just a few people to listen to my own ramblings on the matter then I’m glad. When I was struggling along, feeling alone and miserable, there weren’t really any stories out there – Youtube hadn’t quite hit its Peak Overshare Moment – and I do wish that there had been more things to read or watch.
So here – two videos. One about infertility, which strictly belongs on my baby and family blog, The Uphill, but has ended up here, and the other slightly more light-hearted but nevertheless related. It’s about my wedding rings and the reason I have two.
If you’re interested in baby and family videos, they are all on my separate Youtube channel, The Uphill, which is here.