Our daughter is a blessing, a precious gift of life. From chubby faced babe to giggling girl. One day a grown woman, a strong leader and perhaps a wife. In her we see such potential, exciting possibility. As she passes through each stage of youth, we see glimpses of the woman she'll one day be. Her natural gifts are blossoming with encouragement and praise. We guide her through the toughest times, tears, terrors and tantrums. She shines light into our days. Our baby girl still really loves cuddles and bedtime stories. Yet, she's always had an independent streak, needing both space and reassurance from her worries. We've picked her up, counted to ten when she has grazed an elbow or a knee. We sing to her, ride bikes, climb trees, put on fashion shows and funny plays. This child of ours has exhausted us. She is a complex, clever girl. We teach her morals, patience, integrity, new words, geography listen to music from 'round the world. We give to her all we can. Love, time, finance too. It's tempting to spoil, indulge her every whim, but she must learn restraint, respecting what is right and true. We're instinctively protective of our beautiful, zany girl. Our pride and joy, who we adore, is blossoming her character beginning to unfurl. But our darling child doesn't share my DNA. She was created in your womb. You gave birth, you gave her life. But we're both mothers in a different way. We have so much in common, but it's hard for you and I. We're strangers, tense, distant, yet connected, this special child is the reason why. I've sacrificed a lot to raise your daughter as my own, but no gracious word, nor acknowledgment, no reaching out to the other mother of her second home. I too have rocked your baby in my arms when she cannot sleep. I too have cleared up sick, brushed hair, designed menus, played hours of hide and seek. So I ask you to sit and talk with me, show respect, not apprehension, take an interest in my role. Let's establish solidarity, banishing this pointless tension. I'd like for us to demonstrate what love can truly achieve. For our daughter to feel a sense of joy as her mothers display the real love in which we both believe.
Still no sign of a baby, Still all barren and bare. No bun in the oven. No anything, anywhere. Still empty and waiting. Still counting the days. Endless frustrating Baby shower parties. Still pretending not to notice A billion mothers walk past. Suppressing the ache With a terrible, fake laugh. Vitamins and potions, Tablets galore, Bonking my husband Like a desperate whore. Another month gone And still full of grief For the life that I wanted But couldn't conceive. Losing my faith And along with it hope That it'll ever happen. It's a really sick joke. A test of a marriage For better or worse. We never expected The infertility curse. The worry of age. My biological clock. Terrible thoughts of using Another man's cock. Losing my grip On these whirling emotions. Crying in Waitrose. Causing commotions. My femininity in question. A redundant, duff womb. An incomplete woman An imposter, a loon! Ignoring friend's babies For fear that I'll crack. If I held one a moment I may not give it back. Flippant remarks, And unhelpful words. Just no idea Of this ongoing hurt. "Don't think about it." Said so ignorantly. Years of my life thrown right back at me. A change of direction. That's what's required To boost my morale, Be re-engaged, re-inspired. An action packed life. I'm managing things well. Counting my blessings When my friends speak of hell. Of persistent insomnia Of nights without sleep. While for me, it's a bonus A blessed relief. I can lie in til 10 Or siesta at two With no threat of tantrums Drool, sick or poo! I look on the bright side, Am thankful for a lot. I learn not to forget To ‘enjoy what you've got’. Then all of a sudden, My chest starts to ache. Another announcement That’s all it takes. Again all alone. Trapped in this cycle Of endurance and fatigue It's physical and mental. I want to hear mummy, And a new baby's cry To have my child with me Not a week then goodbye. I want to know motherhood Present a child to my mum. A way to say thank you For the friend she's become. Phone calls at midnight A calm, listening ear Plenty of hugs To soothe the raw fear. More prodding and poking, Appointments and queues. Undignified positions. More time in loos. More peeing on sticks, More far Eastern cures, More consultants and nurses What more to endure? The worry, the stress, The fear and confusion. Starting a family? It's just pure delusion.
Excuse me, can I ask you, how you have your sex? I don't think that we're doing it right and it's making me feel quite vexed. I'd like to conduct a survey to uncover your toppest tips and find out if we're using them right (you know, all our jiggly bits!) I didn't pay much attention to biology back in school which really is quite unfortunate as now I can't have a clue at all. For if I were a genuine 'sexpert', I'm sure it wouldn't be such a struggle to pop another human out without getting in such a muddle. Everyone else seems to manage it. It's not a silly saga for the rest. So, what have we been doing wrong? We've been trying our very best. Maybe it's all about the angles or perhaps the temperature. Should we perform a special ritual before each jiggy-jiggy adventure? We use the correct biological bits. I've double checked, so I am sure and from the umpteen books I've read, we've run out of options to explore! So reader, that's why I need your help, to explain this confounded mystery. Answers on a postcard please. It would mean an awful a lot to me.