My journey to having my son.

We kissed in the middle of a dance floor and two months later we purchased one way, open-ended airfares and travelled the world.

He knew my medical history. He knew everything about me. He loved me anyway.

Somewhere between the coral beaches of Mauritius and the cobbled streets of Paris, something unexpected happened. An internal clock came to life. A yearning began to build. A need so raw, so instinctual it was impossible to ignore.

I wanted a child with this man I loved and I knew I had to ask my body to do the very thing I was told it never could.

Listen to Restart. Motherhood is an inescapable part of womanhood, whether you have children or not. Some people happily have kids, and some happily don’t, and then there are the ones who want to but can’t. Post continues below.

And so began another journey.

There was more poking, prodding, injecting, cutting and scraping.

More specialists to see, more tests to run.

More doctors who told me no.

My body was failing me again.

My thirties and our two-year deadline for conceiving, was coming to an end.

Our final round of egg retrieval resulted in just 12 viable eggs.

Only half the eggs survived the insemination process.

Of the six inseminated eggs, only two developed into embryos.

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