Twenny weeks. In the words of the immortal rock god and greatest power ballad belter to ever grace my treasured ’80s ghetto blaster, JBJ – We’re Half Way There…

And by jingoes it feels bloody good, don’t it.

This means I can now finally part with the three (yes three of the fucking things) basal temperature thermometers – for those unaware of what these contraptions are, basically you shove it up your hooha first thing in the morning, before you’ve even breathed and get your resting temperature so you can more easily guesstimate when you’re meant to ovulate – that have resided in my bedside drawer for the past five years. I’ve can also now part with the thirteen ovulation kits, my whopping POAS stash, plus the boxes and boxes of spare progesterone pessaries, ovulation stimulants and other cycle controlling palava that has taken up far too much real estate in my already-too-small bathroom cabinet thank you very damn much. Halle-for-fucks-sake-lule-jah!

It also means I can finally delete the bitchfuck annoying app on my phone that insists on reminding me with a very loud and stupid sounding jingle to ‘check my temperate’ or ‘feel my boobs’ and ‘monitor my mucous’ (and clearly not for my own sexual gratification) every afternoon at three fucking pm. Good riddance you painful reminder of how little control I’ve had over my life for the past five years.

It means I can put away the little rose quartz fertility goddess that’s been tucked in a box in my bedside table, as well as the Nepalese Buddhist Monk-blessed fertility stone from under my bed.

I no longer have to prick myself to buggary with umpteen gazillion needles. I no longer have to visit the hospital (at least for the next three months) to have whopping great cannulas stuffed into my unwilling veins…

To have made it this far. To actually be half way through a pregnancy at 42, I honestly never thought would happen is like taking home the Academy Award and a VMA on the same night. I’ve been asked many times these past few months how I did it and you know what…? Looking back through all we’ve been through – thirteen failed rounds of IVF, an early miscarriage, my ovaries induced to within an inch of their pruny little lives, umpteen general anaesthetics, two surgeries to clean out my internal lady parts, dye being run through my pipes (oh that shit was hella fun), dozens of intralipid infusions hooked into my veins, steroids, stimulants, herbs, natural remedies and gulping pills the size you’d only usually see being used to sedate horses, thirteen hundred-odd needles distributed throughout my lower abdomen and surrounding areas and living a real life torture game of cat and mouse between am I or aren’t I for nigh on five years, I’d have to say no fucking idea. Nope, none.

Sure, when I look at all we’ve been through now it’s a fuckload, really it is but at the time, I was so damned determined nothing could have stopped me – unless of course I let my fear get bigger than me.

It’s easier to say, ‘I could never go through that, I couldn’t do what you’ve done’ if you’ve never had to. I’m nothing more than anyone else except determined. And maybe a pinch of ‘tough ol’ bird’ for good measure.

That’s what keeps us going. The perpetual hope of a happy ending.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been through something that’s an even bigger grief and fear than most of us could imagine and it’s given me the courage to face whatever comes up at me with a whopping great axe tucked behind my back to tear it down. Years ago, when I was first widowed, I’d get told the same thing ‘How did you do it, how did you survive? I couldn’t cope, I’d just die,’ well you can’t and you do. You just cope. You pick yourself up and you keep going for those left who love you and need you.

And would I do it all again, the IVF I mean? Well, not willingly perhaps but to have this teeny lil’ precious being wiggling around inside my belly is absolutely nothing short of a miracle. Of love. Of blessings. Of kindness and of how if you have enough strength to keep fighting, eventually hope will find you and reward you.

Here’s her little appearance at our 20-week scan yesterday…and if this ain’t the sweetest lil’ button nose you ever did see…

and just incase you’d like to see a lil’  beanie baby doing her jiggy widdit here you go…

She’s not the biggest fan of the camera – preferring instead to shove her lil arm across her face every time we’d try to take a 3D image and she does insist on using my bladder like one of those in-ground trampoline pillows you see in the park but I’ll take anything. All the niggles and pinches, the aches and cramps, the mood swings and lack of sleep, the swelling and the fact my thighs now touch. The stretch marks, breakouts, hugemungous boobies and constant fear of losing her, I’ll take it all whatever gets thrown my way to get my beautiful angel in my arms. Keep baking away in there my most precious lil’ jellybean, we’ve made it this far. Lov’n’hugs, LadyMamaG xoxo