Give me five

There is nothing I would change about my life. I love having five kids...

...says the woman washing down the Zoloft with what's left of the bottle of white wine. 

And to be fair to this half shittered mad chick, she does speaketh the truth. At least she's a happy lush. And at least she can see the beauty in the life around her. After all, the beauty around her is biologically half hers.

I think I must be that type of drunk who swaggers over to the friends of friends I've met only 30 minutes earlier and gushingly declare my love. I looooove you sooooo much. You're sooooo fucking amaaaaaazing. We should go on a cruise or something. Maaaate, I looove you. 

My kids, all five of them, are awesome. I'm awesome for having five kids. White wine is awesome. I love the magic of white wine. It turns horrendous little buttholes into perfect little angels. It even works on husbands. All hail the vino.

I wasn't meant to have five kids. I wasn't meant to have any or so I was told. Fertility drugs and weight loss after years and years and years of trying produced Campbell and Ella, seemingly happening when we grew tired of the constant thinking about babies and temperatures and laproscopies and hysteroscopies and herbal concoctions to promote ovulation. We decided to get a cat instead. This, people, is my answer to infertility - buy a cat. It guarantees pregnancy almost instantly. 

Llewyn, fertility expert. 

After Ella, I became very ill resulting in doctors telling me I would need a hysterectomy to prevent further illness. IVF was not an option, I was told. It simply could not and would not work. The safest option was to remove my baby-making oven.

Eight years after not choosing the hysterectomy, Tim and I looked into IVF. Five eggs taken, one egg survived the first two days, and out hatched two baby girls eight months later.

Our family of four was complete.

Enter Scarlett.

Scarlett wanted to be here. She's not our 'mistake'. She's our 'surprise'. I'm convinced she was the little jelly bean on the screen without a heartbeat a few months before. I'd never fully understood the emotional blackhole that is miscarriage until my Jelly Bean's heart had stopped at 7 weeks. That blackhole gets deeper when you still need to carry it for another two weeks, aching boobs and nausea, body betraying you until it is gone.

But give me five kids. There are many many days when I'd love to throw them through a wall or leave them on the side of the road because they've shit me beyond belief in the car - but what mum hasn't had those days? 

It's easy for me to say. I'm three sheets to the wind.

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