Pregnant Again at 42 after Miscarriages .

Here’s Where I Actually Am.

I wrote this several weeks ago, before Mayari existed. It still feels true, so I’m sharing it now.

I’m Sara. I’m 42. I’m five weeks pregnant. And I have absolutely no idea how this is going to go.

That sentence would have felt completely normal a few years ago. But after three miscarriages in the past year, it carries a weight that’s hard to describe. Joy and terror, sitting right next to each other, every single day.

I’ve decided to write about this journey, not because I have it figured out, but precisely because I don’t. Because I looked for stories like mine and didn’t find enough of them. So here’s mine.

The past year and a half

We’ve been trying for about a year and a half. It wasn’t strict or clinical in the beginning. More of a hopeful, relaxed let’s see what happens. Then the first miscarriage happened just over a year ago, and something shifted. It was sad in the way only loss can be, not just grief for what was, but grief for what you suddenly realised you really wanted.

That loss made it clearer than ever. I wanted another baby. So we kept trying. And we lost again. And again. Three miscarriages in total over the past year. Each one early enough to be considered, by clinical standards, uncomplicated. Each one anything but.

What made it harder was that this wasn’t my first experience of loss. Before my successful pregnancy I had also lost a baby at eight weeks. At the time it was devastating, but when I went on to have my son I quietly filed it away as a one-off. Something that happened, something I moved through. So when the miscarriages started again after him, it genuinely shocked me. Somewhere in my head I had assumed that carrying a healthy pregnancy to term meant the hard part was behind me. I really wasn’t expecting this.

After the losses I went to get checked. The results suggested the most likely cause is simply my age. Chromosomal abnormalities become more common as you get older and there isn’t always a reason beyond that. I also had my AMH levels tested to explore IVF. The results were on the lower end but my follicle count was right on the border, enough to potentially make it worth discussing with a specialist. That referral hadn’t happened yet when I got a positive test. The IVF question is still one I’m sitting with, not answered and not closed.

Finding out. Five minutes staring at a test at 5am.

A good week before my period was due, something felt different. I was hungry in a way that wasn’t normal, even for me. Sore boobs. Little stitches in my womb. I’ve had hints of this before and it came to nothing, so I tried not to read too much into it. But something was a little off, in the best possible way.

I mentioned to my partner, as if I needed his confirmation that this level of hunger was not normal, that I was unusually ravenous. He said, maybe you’re pregnant. I said, yeah, maybe. So I went and bought a test to have ready, and then somehow managed to not use it immediately, which if you know me is basically a miracle. I waited until the actual day my period was due. Those days felt like they lasted three weeks.

First thing in the morning. Test in hand. Counting the seconds. And there it was, a positive line. Not super dark, not faint either, but clear enough. That feeling is just something else. A strange mix of I knew it and complete disbelief at the exact same time, excitement and happiness all colliding at once. You stare at it with the clock beside you, willing it to be real. And it was. The best feeling.

It was around 5am. I wanted to wake my partner instantly but I’ve learned from experience that waking him from a deep sleep produces a confused, grumpy half-asleep response that is not quite the reaction you were hoping for. So I waited, going absolutely mental, another hour and a half. When I finally told him, he was genuinely excited. Quietly, fully excited. Which was exactly what I needed.

Positive pregnancy test showing two lines, one control line and one faint test line, on a dark scratched surface.

Joy and terror, sitting right next to each other, every single day.

Our boy, and why we want to do this again

Honestly? Before I became a mother I wasn’t sure I’d love it. I was worried it would be relentless, that I’d lose myself, that my life as I knew it would disappear. I love my time to myself. I love travelling, being spontaneous, going out for a nice dinner without planning. It’s actually one of the reasons I became a first time mum relatively late in life. I expected the worst, but somehow knew I still wanted it anyway.

Birth was awful, by the way. I had a natural birth but nothing about it felt natural, and I remember genuinely questioning why women are expected to go through that and how it is even possible to do it more than once. But that’s another story. What came after felt like the most natural thing ever. Like I just knew what he needed and could fit him right into my life, of course with some very happy tweaks.

Yes, having a child is exhausting. Some days you’re running on empty and patience is the first thing to go, and you find yourself counting down to bedtime just so you can finally switch off for five minutes. But he has brought us so much joy. He’s made our little unit feel like a real family. My partner and I feel closer because of him. Our boy is genuinely a star and just the best ever, as all parents say of course, and I say that as someone who tried very hard not to become the kind of person who says things like that. That is actually not true. I say it all the time.

I grew up as an only child. I always quietly longed for that sibling relationship, the bickering, the bond, the person who just gets it because they were there too. A sibling for our boy feels like the last piece. The final touch to make this family feel complete.

Adult hand gently holding a child’s hand outdoors.

Where I am in life right now

I’d be painting an incomplete picture if I only talked about the pregnancy. Because everything around it is also a lot right now.

I took time off work last year due to burnout. My job was incredibly demanding, the kind of role that requires you to give everything and more every single day. And I was trying to juggle that with pregnancy brain, which is absolutely a real thing I found out the hard way, while also wanting to be a present mum, a good partner, someone who goes to the gym and eats well and still carves out some time for herself. And then the miscarriages, one after another. At some point something had to give, and that something was me.

I’d always had compassion for people going through burnout, but I genuinely thought I was immune to it. I was not, and that was hard to accept. I asked to drop to part time to help manage things better, but that wasn’t possible in my role, so I stepped away. It was scary. It was absolutely the right decision. I don’t regret it. But being between jobs while pregnant brings its own particular kind of middle-of-the-night anxiety. Will I find something? Will anyone hire me once they realise I’m pregnant? How will we manage financially? These are the thoughts that show up reliably during my obligatory night wees, right on schedule.

But when I come back to the daytime version of myself, I think we’re actually okay. We’re healthy. We have people around us who love us. Things have a way of working out when you face them with intention. I’m holding onto that.

After a few days of obsessively reading every article I could find about miscarriage odds at 42, I made a decision. I decided to let go of what I cannot control. I can take my supplements, eat well, stay active, rest when I need to. Beyond that, the worrying doesn’t change anything. If I were to miscarry, the pain would be just as real whether I spent this pregnancy in fear or in joy. And if this is my last pregnancy, I want to actually be present for it.

If this is my last pregnancy, I want to actually be present for it.

So here we are

Five weeks pregnant. Exhausted. Excited. Swinging between super positive and super negative sometimes within the same hour. But so happy and grateful to have another shot at this.

If you’re in a similar place, trying after loss, pregnant after loss, over 40 and figuring it out, I’d love for you to follow along. Leave a comment, share your story. We don’t have to do this alone.