**CHEEKY LUCK**
“Mum, there’s only one way left for us to have a baby—IVF. Me and Jeremy have made up our minds. Don’t even try to talk us out of it. Just… get used to the idea,” Emily blurted out all in one go.
“IVF? So, I’m getting a grandkid… from a test tube?” I could barely believe my own daughter was saying this.
“Mum, call it whatever you like. We start the procedures tomorrow. All the tests are done. The doctors warned us—it’s going to be a long, unpredictable road. No guarantees. Just… please be patient,” Emily sighed deeply.
I didn’t know what to say. I should’ve comforted her, given her hope, helped—or at least not gotten in the way.
Our conversation happened over the phone. Probably better that way—this wasn’t exactly an easy topic to discuss face-to-face.
Emily’s first marriage was to her childhood sweetheart, Oliver. She thought their love was straight out of a fairy tale… until the wedding reception, where Oliver, after one too many, ended up in a *very* cosy embrace with the bridesmaid. Emily found them in a less-than-romantic setting—a dusty supply cupboard.
Oliver tried to mumble some excuse, while the bridesmaid grabbed her things, draped a flimsy wrap over herself, and bolted, never to be seen again that evening.
Emily filed for divorce. Me and my husband begged her not to be hasty—
“Em, slow down. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. That bridesmaid probably dragged him in there! He’s a good-looking lad, and she fancied a bit of mischief. Forgive him, love. You’ve got your whole lives ahead of you. You’ll regret this.”
“No, Mum. I won’t. Ollie stung me, and it *hurt*. But I won’t start a marriage with lies and betrayal. At least it happened *before* the honeymoon—less suffering for me.”
Oliver begged for forgiveness, swore he’d change—no luck.
…A couple of months later, we found out Emily was pregnant. She quietly had a termination without telling me. If I’d known, I’d have begged her to reconsider.
Time passed, and Jeremy—*Oliver’s best mate*—proposed. He’d fancied Emily for ages but never dared make a move while Ollie was in the picture. Now? Perfect timing. Emily didn’t say yes straight away—once bitten, twice shy. She made him wait three years. Jeremy didn’t give up. Finally, she caved.
“Jeremy, that proposal of yours… still on the table?”
“Absolutely, Em! Wait—are you saying yes?” He kissed her hand, grinning like he’d won the lottery.
She nodded.
Jeremy threw a wedding to remember. Everyone was there—except Oliver. He did send a massive bouquet of lilies, though. Emily handed them straight to a single friend.
She was 28; Jeremy, 33. Two years into marriage, no sign of a baby.
“Emily, is there a plan here, or is it just… not happening?” I prodded gently.
“Not happening, Mum. I’m worried. Jeremy won’t talk about it—I think he blames himself. We’ll wait another year, then…” She trailed off, avoiding my eyes.
“Then *what*? Adoption?”
“Time will tell. We *will* have a baby. One way or another.” She gave me a mysterious smile.
“God willing! Your father and I are *dying* for grandkids,” I ruffled her hair.
Another two years of *trying* later… Emily dropped the IVF bomb. I fought it tooth and nail—
“Love, people say these kids don’t have souls, that they’re sickly, unnatural, that they can’t have kids of their own—*test-tube robots*, basically.”
“Mum, the method’s been around for *forty years*. It’s *everywhere* now. Loads of couples struggle. ‘Science babies’ grow up just fine. It’s just… *hard*. You’ve no idea the toll it takes. Just… brace yourself for grandkids. Might even be twins! Fun fact—the first IVF women had kids naturally later.” She was desperate to convince me.
But the wheels were already in motion. All I could do was hope.
…The process was *expensive*, exhausting, and gruelling. Emily only got pregnant on the fourth attempt. The hormones made her gain weight, Jeremy lost his from stress, and the mood swings—oh, the *mood swings*—drove them both mad.
“Mum, I’m scared to *sneeze*. What if I lose it? I can’t do a fifth round. I’m *done*. And all because of that first termination. Was I supposed to keep it? Now I’m paying the price,” she wiped away tears.
They *had* to take two beach holidays. Emily was at breaking point—she nearly jumped out a window once. Jeremy stuck by her, a rock through it all.
“Jeremy’s my anchor, my safe place,” she confessed. “I’d never have survived this without him.”
…Eight months of hope, despair, and waiting later, *our* Lily arrived—a tad early, like most IVF babies.
The family was over the moon. Well, most of us. Jeremy’s mum took one look and whispered:
“Son… *are you sure* she’s yours? That nose isn’t yours, and the ears stick out. Yours lie flat. Maybe the hospital mixed them up…”
Lily grew into Jeremy’s *double*. Only then did his mum relax about the nose and ears.
“Test-tube babies” aren’t accidents. They’re *wanted*. *Prayed* for. They’re loved *fiercely*. Lily’s childhood was sunshine and daisies—she was coddled like a precious gem.
They *had* to move. One day, I was pushing Lily in the pram when the local nurse called out:
“Hello, mums! And a *special* hello to the ‘IVF granny’!”
I wanted the ground to swallow me.
“Are you *mad*? Shouting that for the whole street to hear? *Tactless* woman!”
Everyone *stared*. The nurse blinked like a startled owl.
“Oops! Sorry, I thought *everyone* knew Lily was… well, *special*.”
“You’re right—she *is* special,” I snapped, steering the pram away.
After that, the *entire* neighbourhood had *opinions*. Nosy questions, prying stares. Emily and Jeremy *had* to tell Lily her story—but not yet. Let her grow up first.
…So, they sold the flat and moved across town.
Lily’s five now. A whirlwind of mischief, wit, and cheek. She *loves* nursery, bossing the other kids about, and fibbing (badly) to her teachers.
Health-wise? Allergies (strict diet), a slight lisp (speech therapy), and short-sightedness (glasses). Nothing *normal* kids don’t deal with.
Most importantly—Emily and Jeremy got their dream. Their *miracle*.
And me and my husband? We can’t imagine life without our giggly little Lily.
