Page 63 of So Thrilled For You

A uterus that just shrugs.

A question mark where my Sophie the Giraffe mould should be.

It breaks my brain. Everything in life can be explained, surely? That’s why Google exists. And I’ve been manifesting my family since I was a child myself. There was no present I’d want for Hanukkah that wasn’t a doll. I even picked my degree, and career choices, around what suits being a mother. I didn’t even sleep around before I met Seth as I was so scared I’d catch chlamydia and it would damage my fertility. Even then, when I slept with boyfriends, they’d have to do two STD tests, at two different sites, before I’d sleep with them, and even then they’d have to still use condoms. Honestly, it’s amazing what boys are willing to put themselves through in order to get laid. Steffi always asked if I worried I asked for ‘too much’ from my boyfriends when I was blue-ballsing them before the results came in. But, if anything, she asks for too little. I know she thinks it’s her child-free stuff that stops men committing to her, but it’s not. She doesn’t truly value herself and they smell it. Steffi acts like she values herself, with her amazing body and amazing career and life and friends andhave you seen this thing at the theatre that is impossible to get tickets for.She’s so seemingly happily independent, but the smell is there. Even through my phone screen. She doesn’t doesn’t know her True Worth. She doesn’t believe in it. And men sense it and therefore treat her like shit. I’m only five-foot tall, very ‘high maintenance’ and make men do multiple STI tests before they sleep with me. Do they mind? Never. Because I know my worth and that makes you magnetic. Not that finding a glorious husband has helped me become a parent.

It’s still amazing to me howcockyI was about becoming a mother. When Seth and I first started trying, I was even deluded enough to make us wait until December to conceive so our baby would be born in September. I had to balance the lifelong benefit of them being the eldest in their school year against the fact maternity wards are their busiest then, and I would therefore more likely have a negative birth experience, which impacts maternal mental health and therefore the long-term outlook for a baby. Also, I factored in the additional year of childcare to our costings but still found, ultimately, the benefits of a September birth were worth it.

‘This baby is so lucky,’ Seth said, after I’d shown him my spreadsheet and costings. ‘What an amazing mother you already are.’

I was in my element initially. Fertility tracking was likecrackto me. So much to read up on! Fertile windows and predicting ovulation and taking my basal temperature and monitoring my cervical mucus. It seemed insane that some couples just stopped using contraception and assumed they’d get pregnant. When you’re only fertile for five days each cycle. And then the egg you release has to be good enough quality. And then the sperm has to meet that egg, and that sperm needs to be good enough quality too. Seth and I went teetotal for three months before trying. I set up a chemistry lab in our en-suite, peeing on ovulation sticks the day my period started, sometimes three times a day. When the first strip confirmed I was ovulating, I was almost too excited to have sex. I kept dancing around in my knickers, waving the strip about, telling Seth about how great my mucus was. ‘It has an egg-white consistency,’ I told him. ‘It’s perfect! And look how dark this line was.’

In two weeks’ time, I justknewI’d be seeing another two dark lines, this time signalling my pregnancy. Manifestation was such an important part of the conception process. I’d read that your body and mind needs to bereadyto conceive. If you’re in too much of a fight-or-flight state then your body senses the stress hormones and doesn’t fertilise you.

We did everything right. We had sex at the right time, multiple times, over the important days. I ensured Seth used my bullet vibrator on me afterwards so I could orgasm, because the shockwaves actively draw sperm further into your vagina. I was already taking folic acid – of course – and following a diet rich in fertility foods.

‘We just made a baby,’ I whispered, the first time Seth and I had unprotected sex. ‘I just know we’ve made a baby. I just know it.’

Seth kissed my fingertips. ‘I feel it too.’

He tried to kiss me on the mouth but I shimmied around to put my legs up against the wall. This isn’t a clinically proven method to help conception, but sometimes you need to use common sense, and gravity is as powerful as manifestation. I lay upside-down for half an hour, eyes closed, not letting Seth talk to me while I did my visualisations. But Isaac Newton andThe Secretfailed me, two weeks later.

‘This is clearly an error,’ I said, when the test told me I wasn’t pregnant. It was written in actual words because we still used Clear Blue tests back then. Seth’s a hedge fund manager, but soon, I was taking two pregnancy tests a day, for at least seven days, every cycle, and the cost quickly added up. As things got more desperate, we downgraded from Clear Blue with word results, to Clear Blue with a two-line display. Thenwe slid down to Boots own-brand tests, until, eventually, I was bulk-buying pregnancy tests in the pound shop. I researched it online and discovered they’re just as effective.

You don’t worry for at least a year of trying,I knew this. I’d read this a million times. It could take a couple of cycles. Totally normal. Nothing to panic about.

‘Our baby is going to born around Christmas if we get pregnant now,’ I’d told Seth, on our fourth attempt. ‘Nobody likes to have their birthday around Christmas. It will be a headache for buying presents, and party date clashes. Shall we hold off a month?’

And, stupidly, Seth agreed, and we wasted a precious month not trying.

A year later, with not one positive test, and not one late period, I couldn’t believe my previous arrogance. I’d take a baby born on August 31 and just hire it a tutor. Sex was no longer something enjoyable we shared because we love each other – but a desperate chore. Doing it every day, for five days in a row, every month, because we knew we had to, really lost something for us. Seth is very well trained in sexual emotional aftercare, but he’d started getting up to shower afterwards while I used my vibrator to come, rather than trying to share the experience with him. I wouldn’t even mind, I was trying so hard to orgasm. Sometimes I’d be there for fifteen minutes, my bullet on its highest setting, but unable to climax because I knew how important it was and I was already picturing another blank pregnancy test. I initially resisted getting us fertility tested as I wanted to trust the process. I couldn’t comprehend that something might be wrong. Not when I was supposed to be a mother more than I was supposed to be literally anything else.

‘Now, Charlotte,’ Seth had told me, the day I finally agreed to go to Harley Street, his large hands wrapped around mine like scarves. ‘These aren’t tests like in school. They’re just exploratory things about our biology, things we can’t change about ourselves – that aren’t our fault. They’re not something to pass or fail or get a good mark on.’

I’d laughed. I was excited by the tests now. They would find a simple issue with a simple solution. By the end of this day, I’d know why we couldn’t conceive and what would definitely solve it. I had my fingers crossed for a non-cancerous ovarian cyst. A simple operation would flick it out and there you’d have it. ‘You don’t know me at all,’ I’d joked.

‘I saw you cry after an eye test once.’

‘That was only out of frustration. They ask you to read all these letters and then they won’t tell you if you’re right or wrong. It’s maddening.’

He kissed my forehead. Seth kissed my forehead a lot those days rather than on the lips. Anything remotely sexual felt like a chore. ‘Come on my lovely little Type A. Let’s scan the shit out of ourselves.’

Blood tests. For everything. The nurse just kept swapping vials as it poured out of me. A full sexual health debrief with the expert doctor, who nodded approvingly at my strict condom use. A pelvic ultrasound which was basically like a dildo with a camera on the end.

‘Any cysts?’ I’d asked the technician, even though they weren’t supposed to tell you the answers in the room.

‘Nothing yet.’

‘A polyp? Is that thing a polyp?’ I pointed at the screen, heart racing with excitement when I saw a dark patch.

‘No, that’s your ovary.’

‘And, does it have a cyst on it?’

‘Doesn’t seem to . . .’

‘Well, let’s check the other one. Fingers crossed.’

He gave me a weird look and proceeded to find nothing wrong with my other ovary either.

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