This story deals with miscarriage and could be triggering for some readers.
My sister and I are just over two years apart and as we have a great relationship, I thought this would also be the perfect age gap for my children.
I wanted my kids close in age in the hope they would become good playmates, and so I would get the early years of parenting done before I was too old and tired.
I had my first son Toby in September 2010 when I was 31 years old, and I was pregnant again in early 2013 with baby number two.
Watch: The things people say before they have kids. Post continues below.
My life plan was on track - until it wasn't - and I had a miscarriage. The same pattern happened when I suffered another loss in 2014 and again in 2015. I felt devastated, frustrated and uncertain.
I also felt annoyed by random people asking when we were going to give our poor 'only child' a sibling. Especially because, pregnancy loss aside, we enjoyed life as a family of three.
Toby was at school, my freelance work was going well, and holidays were becoming less tiring and more fun. But the biological urge for one more child kept gnawing away at me, and so we decided we could both handle one more try at conception which happily resulted in my final pregnancy.
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