Worth it all: My Sonny Jim
The first IVF baby was conceived on this day, 40 years ago (#IVFis40).
To mark the (rather amazing!) milestone, as a mama of an IVF tot, here are some rubbish things no one ever tells you about it…
- If you are a needle-phobe, it will either break you – or cure you.
By my reckoning, one cycle of IVF probably involves you getting stabbed about 70 times (in your belly, your thigh, in your bum cheek.) A lot of them you’ll have to do yourself, or get your other half to do. You’ll even have a special yellow toxic-waste sharps bin – like actual drug addicts on TV. Continue reading
A long time coming: Our little Sonny Jim
Two years ago, much of May was spent fretting about having a bit of an awkward conversation with my boss.
After almost a decade of trying for a baby, my husband and I were about to have IVF.
Six rounds of clomid and three rounds of IUI – despite there being nothing medically wrong with either of us – still hadn’t resulted in a baby, so we had finally been referred to Barts, St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London.
We were lucky. This was before the cut backs the NHS is now suffering. We were entitled to up to three rounds of IVF on the NHS. We didn’t have to face decisions like donating my eggs to fund our own fertility treatment. We just had to think about us. Continue reading
Snuggles with Sonny Jim
So, the little guy smiles! Proper gummy-I-could-be-a-seal smiles. He’s making noises that sound like a baby rather than guinea pig on speed. And (whisper it) he’s *actually* sleeping at night, but shhh don’t tell anyone, we don’t want to put the mockers on it!
Sonny Jim’s not a newborn anymore (whoa where has that time gone?!) but the mumma lessons are still coming thick and fast. Here’s some of the latest…
- No one really knows what they’re talking about… (Even those whose job it is to know. Your health visitor will tell you one thing and your GP the exact opposite. And your friend’s health visitor will say something different again.)
- …But everyone has an opinion. The woman behind you in the queue at Waitrose knows waaay better than you do why your child is crying. Obviously.