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Hi.

Welcome to
my f word.
This is a safe space for
our fertility stories

maybe babies

maybe babies

What comes next, my maybe babies? Are you burrowing in, finding a home within me, or are you still out of reach, like some fluffy cloud floating in springtime skies?

We are content to have made it this far. Transfer was a thing of wonder, a shooting star, (maybe) once in a lifetime. I am not twisted up in knots waiting to hear; I am some thing of peace, I am soft and pliable to the universe, travelling with it as it takes its twists and turns. Even in your (pre)sence, you have washed quiet over me and I feel soft waves lick at my sandy toes.

In eight days, we will hear whether you have chosen us this time. If you have, so will start a careful watch, a long furrowed brow of nine months, as we await whether we can bring you home from your unreachable dimension. I have never been pregnant, but infertility brings with it caution, the knowledge of other people’s losses, a group empathy that builds bridges between us but also walls of self-preservation. I know that if you grow within me, I will tread so lightly along that path, that each day with you will be a blessing anew.

And if I find next Monday that you, my maybe babies, are too small, too fragile to wrap yourself up in my womb, if you will be expunged as mere ghosts, the traces of a life, I will mourn you like I have each fighter embie abandoned in the lab. You are all the shadows of my children.

This quiet time, of dull ache and magic. Maddox, our pug puppy, scratches at my chair; his face is screwed up because he is frustrated at not being allowed on my lap. My mum guiltily sips champagne just out of my view. I hold off replying to that job interview. These are the tiny sacrifices we all make as we await news of you.  The sun gently heats my back and I start to feel healed again, whole again.

So what then, if this isn’t our time? We know your brother awaits us in Harley Street, frozen in time. You, my maybe babies, have given us confidence to put our confidence in him anew. If he can survive the thaw, we will try to ignite life in him and I will nurture him just as we have you.  Through this cycle, we have learned that he is bold and resilient and rebellious, that he has shown himself to be courage itself by simply surviving, and so we must be courage for him.

And if none of you come home? But no, I’m not ready to take that step just yet. I know we have reached the limits of my eggs, that I cannot rip them forth from my body again, but that’s all I know. Beyond that there is uncertainty and possibility, sci fi and silence, and in time it will unravel for us. For now, I have Pete and my mum and Maddox; I have springtime and the sun. I have the possibility of you my maybe babies and of pathways that may or may not be ours. 

burn

burn

The steel girders of my life

The steel girders of my life