It took seven and a half years for our miracle daughter to enter our lives. Seven and a half years of heartache and heartbreak. Of soaring highs followed by crushing lows. Of black holes, so deep and so dark, they nearly suffocated me, I thought I’d never see the light again.

In seven and a half years, I had 7 first trimester miscarriages and multiple chemical pregnancies. In seven and a half years, I came to accept and expect that wonderful news that sent my heart soaring would be followed by devastating news that would crush my heart and my hope in an instant.

These things which I have explained are hard for some to understand, you have to be more than infertile to get this, you have to have suffered multiple losses to understand what I’m trying to explain.

Since hearing that we’d been selected by a birth mum, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to fall. Everyone keeps telling me not to be negative, but seven and a half years of infertility & recurrent loss has taught me that after something good, something happy, always comes something sad, something hurtful.

The 60 days while we wait for the final consent, is a form of torture for me like no other. I have to physically work every single day to force the “what if’s” out of my mind. When I voice my thoughts and my fears I get shot down. I get told to stop being stupid, to stop being negative, to trust that that won’t happen. From my family, to my friends to our social workers.

But nobody understands. After seven and a half years of the same shit over and over and over again, its very hard for me to just sit back and say oh everything will be just fine because in the past it wasn’t just fine!

Roll on Monday, 15th February!