When Don and I hooked up, I was utterly adamant that I did not want any more offspring. All of my pregnancies have been, to understate it, perfectly hideous and I’d suffered, again to understate it, a fair bit of depression when Joan, Joe/Frank and Bessie were wee, small things.
Don, on the other hand, was rather keen to be a father, and really, he’d be an amazingly wonderful one. But, knowing my views and after many long discussions, had resigned himself to never having any children of his own.
But then, late last year, something happened. I don’t know what it was, but I started becoming very clucky indeed, thinking babies were rather sweet and not the horrible smelly, screaming, soul-sucking creatures I’d previously thought. That wee clothes and tiny things were adorable, that a year off work sounded quite nice and, after all, that I really wouldn’t mind having one about.
And verily, we decided to think about the possibility of having a baby and what we’d need to do to make it happen.
First, we’d have to take into consideration that I was rather elderly on the maternal scale so we couldn’t muck about time-wise. But also factoring in was health insurance (we weren’t covered for pregnancy) and other financial considerations (being monetarily prepared for a year off work, being reduced to one income &etc).
With factors being what they were, we could do nothing until April – we had to serve a qualifying period with the Health Fund and figured it would be prudent to wait until paid maternity leave was introduced. In the interim, while we we decided to give the whole exercise very serious consideration, I organised IUD removal and started chowing down on folate (required at least three months before conception) &etc.
And so, for the past couple of months, we thought …
And thought …
And thought some more …
To sum up, it’s been a long four months of mucho thinking, because it is very, very soon or never.
And I am going to leave you hanging for a wee while.