Hayley, 40, thought she’d missed out on the chance to have a baby, then hope sprang from an unlikely place…
It was the early hours, and I was lying in bed in my boyfriend’s arms.
A smile spread across my face as I daydreamed about our future.
I’d spent my 30s building up a career as a TV producer and was dating the man I expected to be with for the future — not really knowing what that looked like.
But as he spoke, his words left my hopes in tatters.
‘You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife someday,’ he said.
Someone? I thought, alarmed.
In that moment, I knew he’d never marry or have kids with me.
And if he didn’t, I’d probably never have a family. Until that moment, I didn’t realise it was a deep lifelong hope of mine.
'It's OK, I need to get these emotions out'
I was 37 and didn’t have time on my side.
So, I swiftly ended things.
‘You should start dating, get back on the horse,’ well-meaning friends encouraged.
But I just wanted to hide.
Time passed, then, as the big fat 4-0 stared me in the face, I had a lightbulb moment.
I wasn’t going to hang around until I found the perfect man.
I would have a baby on my own.
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced it was the right decision.
After that, it was all systems go. To prepare my body for pregnancy, I took prenatal vitamins, then booked an appointment at a fertility clinic.
I had three rounds of intrauterine insemination (IUI), using sperm from a donor bank.
I was shocked when none of them worked.
I was fit and healthy, so I just assumed it would happen.
‘You’re socially infertile,’ the doctor said, advising me that IVF was my only option.
I translated from his harsh phrase that he thought I’d been left on the shelf.
Meanwhile, eight months had gone by and I was no closer to becoming a mother.
I felt as if I was grieving.
I’ve left it too late, I panicked.
I thought about asking male friends to be sperm donors, but they were all married.
One night, I was at my friend Kim’s house.
As her partner politely asked me about my future plans, I started to cry.
‘Please don’t get upset,’ Kim said.
‘It’s OK, I need to get these emotions out,’ I replied.
After that, something began to shift.
I knew I didn’t want to undergo IVF. In my mind, it was invasive, costly, and there was no certainty with it.
So, I started scouring the internet for alternatives.
One day, I stumbled upon a Facebook group, linking women looking for sperm with men willing to donate.
It had hundreds of members, but I wanted to weed out the ‘seedy seeders’, as I jokingly called them.
‘It’s like a dating site,’ I laughed to Kim and my other pal Cheryl.
I put together a shortlist and arranged phone calls with the men.
Frustratingly, no one seemed to be quite right.
Reaching the end of my list, I read what my final potential donor had written on his profile.
He was 40, had a family of his own and had helped a couple of other women have babies.
When I spoke to him on the phone, he had a friendly voice and sounded very knowledgeable about the process.
‘I want to help you,’ he said.
He wasn’t my type physically, but I was happy that he looked different to me.
I didn’t want my baby to be my clone.
'We were soon laughing and joking'
After weeks of talking, we arranged to meet in a hotel.
I was so nervous, I felt as if I was going on a first date.
What if he didn’t like me?
But I reminded myself I wasn’t there for a romantic connection.
When he arrived, I felt a mix of fear and excitement — there was a lot riding on this.
‘I need to chat to you for a while to make sure I’m making the right decision,’ I said.
‘I understand,’ he replied.
The hours flew by and we were soon laughing and joking over wine.
For the first time in a long while, I believed it could happen.
I could soon be a mum.
I’d booked a hotel room, where I wanted the process to take place.
Although he was a virtual stranger, this man could be the father of my child.
I didn’t want him to be a mere sperm donor.
I wanted to make the moment we shared memorable, rather than clinical.
As I shut the curtains, I pulled out a syringe and a cup.
‘It looks as if we’re doing a drug deal,’ I joked, both of us bursting into laughter.
The ice truly broken, he took the cup away to the loo and returned a few minutes later.
‘I’m ready,’ he said.
‘I have the bun gun ready too,’ I smiled, lying back on the bed beside him with the syringe.
By now, it was as if we were friends, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward.
I covered myself with the sheets and did what needed to be done.
With the task over, we spent the night chatting and laughing.
‘I’m going to put my legs up against the wall,’ I said, after reading it could help with conception.
‘OK, I’ll just order room service,’ he replied.
After a few hours, he had to leave.
‘I really appreciate this,’ I said, as we hugged.
‘I have a good feeling,’ he smiled.
Two weeks passed and my period was late.
I contacted my donor, who urged me to do a test.
Only, it was negative.
Five days later, I went to meet Cheryl for a coffee.
‘I feel as if my period’s started,’ I said, dashing to the bathroom.
I felt crushed, certain the procedure had failed.
Only, when I peered in my knickers, there was no sign of blood.
‘I’m taking you to get a pregnancy test,’ Cheryl insisted.
And after what seemed like ages, the stick flashed positive.
‘Yes!’ I cried, as Cheryl grabbed me for a hug.
‘I told you,’ she squealed.
I texted my donor excitedly.
I knew it, he wrote back instantly. I’ve got strong swimmers!
I didn’t tell many people until I got to 20 weeks, worried about their reactions.
But I also didn’t want it to be a shameful secret.
One day, I broached the subject with my mum Beverley.
She flashed me a look of shock, but seconds later, it turned to delight.
‘I’m going to be a gran!’ she said.
Soon, a scan revealed I was having a boy.
Luckily, I had a wonderful pregnancy and in time, my baby boy Remy was born.
I had Mum, Kim and Cheryl in the birthing suite with me.
Kim cut the cord and placed him on my chest.
He was everything I’d wished for and more.
‘My darling Remy,’ I whispered, stroking his pillow-soft skin.
When I called my donor, he was so happy for me.
Remy is such a sweet and strong-minded little boy.
He’s met his dad, we talk about him, and we have photos of him around the house.
My goal is to help other women who want to have a baby this way.
I call it becoming ‘accidentally’ pregnant with a lot of consideration.
Women are too busy looking for The One.
I think we should stop searching and work with what we have.
I never imagined that Facebook would help me become a mum, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
Hayley Hendrix, 46