I consider myself very lucky that I’ve never had to worry about fertility. In fact, it’s almost been the opposite. Bee was born when I was 17. (A bit of an accident, although very handily she was born at the end of July, which meant she fitted very nicely into the summer holidays between the first and second year of my A-levels.)

Belle was born when I was 24, conceived in the first month after I came off the pill, thinking to myself ‘I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if I was pregnant at some point in the next year or so.’

It was weird though second time around, as I felt so old, and yet clearly I wasn’t. I was, (and still am – that’s how time works), the youngest in the group of friends I met when Belle was a baby. The extra difference being that they were pretty much all having their first child. None of them had seven year olds in tow.

There is a downside though to all of this.

Because I’ve never really had to think about my fertility, I’m rubbish when it comes to periods. I’ll happily just bumble along through the month, totally oblivious to my own body, until one day I suddenly feel tired and sad, and like I want to stab someone with a fork.

It kind of scares me.

‘Oh no!’ I think to myself. ‘This is it! There’s something wrong with me, I’m going to be sad forever!’

And then the next day I get my period.

Ohhhhhhh! View Post