Dear future babies,
I am writing this to you on a Saturday afternoon, your daddy is downstairs watching the football on tv, and I can hear his excited cheers as his team is clearly winning. One day I imagine you watching the football with him, in his team colours with our surname on the back of your little shirt. One day.
Next month marks three years since we started our journey to meet you via assisted conception with a referral from our gp to the local hospital. You see, we always knew it would not be easy to have a family, but my goodness we could never have imagined that it would be so hard.
Twelve months ago we had to abandon our second ivf cycle as I wasn’t responding to the hormones. It was then that we were ready to accept a different path to meet you, and that we would need the help of an egg donor. We had been preparing ourselves for this slowly, as donor eggs had been mentioned to us many times throughout our first cycle, which my some miracle we managed to fertilise and transfer one glorious embryo, half daddy and half me. We felt like the luckiest people alive when we had a positive pregnancy test, but sadly that ended at 10 weeks with a missed miscarriage. It took me a long time to feel strong enough to do another cycle of ivf, but I knew that I had to keep fighting for you little one. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t our time and the cycle was cancelled. Although we accepted that donor eggs would give us the best possible chance at a family, it was very hard to hear that you would be made of one half daddy and one half an anonymous egg donor.
When I tell people we are planning on using donor eggs they often tell me not to worry. That I will still love you, bond with you, that you’ll still be mine because you will grow inside me, and by some wonder my genetic material will be passed to you in pregnancy. I usually smile and nod, because they mean well. But, the thing is, I already love you. I already know that you are mine. The fact that you will be made in the most magical way, with a totally unique set of genetics only makes me love you, and accept you, as the brilliant and special human being you will be, even more. You will be YOU! You were always meant to be ours little one, please don’t ever question that.
It’s hard to explain the ways that I feel sad about not being able to use my own eggs, because I don’t really understand them myself. They are now a dull ache where once they were a burning and frustrated anger, and I do think that one day that dull ache will fade away completely. So, even though I do feel sad about it, it doesn’t effect how I already feel about you. It’s more about the fact that it’s yet another way to be disappointed by my own body. Something else that I just can’t do. Ultimately when you are here I know in my heart that it won’t matter that I couldn’t make the egg that you grew from. None of this will matter one bit.
I hope you will have your daddy’s eyes, his cheeky smile and his dark curly hair. I hope you will be kind and generous like he is, and more level headed than your fiery tempered mummy who has a tendency to speak before she thinks. I hope our journey will teach you patience, to be determined in your goals but flexible in how you achieve them. I hope my optimism will help you light up the darkest of times. I hope you will always believe in miracles.
I hope we will show you right from wrong, and prepare you to make your way in the world as a happy and confident individual. I hope you will know that you are capable of great things. I hope that we will always be where you feel most safe and secure, most at home.
We will always be open and tell you the truth about how you came to be. Knowing that helps us to navigate this rocky and frustrating path with positivity and grace, because we know that our story will become your story and we want it to be one that you are proud of. We love you dear future baby, and yes, before you even have to ask, you were totally worth the wait.
you can follow Claire over on Instagram @mrs_secretsquirrel and @readyandunable