Tag Archives: fertility

Rebirthing Teatart – a bumpy new ride

When I first started ‘Teatart’ I had lofty ambitions of a blog that was relevant to women transitioning into their thirties. I wanted to share my experiences and anecdotes with brutal honesty and humour.

The truth is that this blog became much more than that.  It became my mouthpiece. When I felt out of control in a world that is essentially out of control, I turned to writing in a safe forum that helped me to make sense of how I felt. From my divorce and my short “wild-ish” stint at being single, to my depression and anxiety, losing my job, having a miscarriage and finally, a second marriage that at first just didn’t seem to be meeting any of my expectations, I wrote it all down.

And then something happened. I began to draw closer to God again (ok, stop rolling your eyes) and my life slowly started to represent a picture of normalcy – or at least as normal as any person’s life can be. I stopped needing my ‘Teatart’ crutch and my blogging gradually reduced to a trickle.

Now, while my life is not exactly a bed of roses, I can boast a good job and a marriage to a man I love with my heart and soul. One gaping hole remains in my life – our lives:  we are yet to start a family after three years of trying. My miscarriage early last year left us devastated and, followed shortly by a second early miscarriage, I felt bitter and angry at the world around me.

imageIn March this year, exactly one year after my first miscarriage at nine weeks, we took the brave and bold step to seek professional help. Thorough researching helped us to shortlist several leading fertility clinics in South Africa, and from there to choose a fertility clinic we felt was right for us.  And so began our infertility journey.

This is where I want to take ‘Teatart’ now. To rebirth my beloved blog with a new focus … at least for now.  I hope I can offer women and couples facing the Assisted Reproductive Therapy (ART) process an inkling of hope, support and precious, shared learnings.

It’s been a bumpy ride – but hopefully one with a healthy bump in sight :) Chat soon!

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Filling in the hourglass – the bust movement

What am I going to do with these puppies? No, I’m not talking about my pets – I’m talking about my breasts. I swear they’ve grown in size … again! Just last year, after reading an interesting article relating to the fact that the majority of women wear the wrong bra size, I decided to have my bust measurements taken. I was literally gob-smacked: I was no longer a modest size 36 B, but rather an intimidating size 36 D. I was convinced the spaced-out shop attendant had gotten it all wrong. So I marched off to a lingerie boutique to have my measurements taken again. This time, when she told me I was a 36 D, I had to face the truth: I’ve hit the thirties buffet.

It’s my own personal term for when a woman has completely lost that girly body in preparation for babies. Whether a woman wants to have a child or not, we cannot flip Mother Nature the bird. With or without our consent, our bodies will become more curvaceous in celebration of that fantastic phenomenon called “fertility”.

I can lament forever on the fact that I was a lanky size eight in my early to mid twenties, but alas, those days are a distant, rather pleasant, memory. In my frank opinion – and trust me, I have lots of opinions – the stereotypical woman has several milestones in body shape changes. The first significant change is at the age of 25 when the child bearing hips first make their debut. The second significant change comes at the age of thirty. Let’s not even go near the topic of cellulite, stretch marks and the rest of the goodie bag that comes with this landmark!

Now, as I’m sitting at the mid-thirty mark, my dimensions have taken on more of an hourglass formation, and my breasts have joined the party and upped the stakes. After last year’s growth spurge, I think the girls are planning a coup. This morning, while dressing for work, my husband lay in bed transfixed by them. “Wow, they’re massive” he exclaimed as I shouldered my boulders and coaxed them into a bra.

“Please, oh please”, I’m silently praying, “Let them not be a double-D”. Surely I need something to look forward to as I hurtle towards the next marker: the big scary 40?

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