Josa Young has 2 children aged eleven and eight. She’s now 41 and has discovered she’s expecting again. Here’s the first 10 weeks of her pregnancy diary.

Since my son was born in 1992, I have kept babies at bay by using purely natural methods. This has been simple because I have a very regular 34-day cycle, and always ovulate around days 17 to 19. However, a certain recklessness might have crept in latterly. We are both in our early forties, and there was an unspoken sense of now or never, and we had always kept the door slightly ajar. This is not to say we were doing anything on purpose at all – I wouldn’t dare. Our lives are not so secure as to make more babies a consequence-free venture. But something funny happened – an egg rolled down the shute a few days early I believe, and bingo . . . And Professor Lord Winston says that 50% of women over 40 are already infertile.

Pregnancy is dated from the last menstrual period – referred to as LMP. My last period started on 19 April. When you watch your cycle closely, any blip is very obvious. There is no doubt that, towards the end of the cycle, I did begin to feel slightly odd.

For the days between LMP and around 8 or 9 May, I wasn’t of course pregnant at all. But as soon as the ovum is fertilised, while on its way down the fallopian tube, things begin to happen very fast. Seven days later (week 3 LMP), it reaches the womb where it drifts around, dividing all the time, for another week (week 4 LMP) before coming to rest and burrowing into the lining.

I was peeing a little more than usual. I couldn’t believe anything had happened – I didn’t remember taking any risks, but I chucked the cheapest pregnancy test into my supermarket trolley as I happened to be passing. I did the test the next day, when I was four days late. The result was unequivocal – a deep magenta spot appeared almost immediately. I felt surprise, and oddly, embarrassment. ‘At my age!’ I thought. ‘What will people say?’ I was already five-and-a-half weeks LMP.

The next thing was to tell my husband Thoby. He came home from work quite late. The children were asleep. I walked down the stairs towards him and said, ‘I’m pregnant.’ His whole face lit up; he was completely thrilled. We both come from large families, and he had been exhibiting symptoms of broodiness for years – far more than I had.

I worked out the dates – and the baby was due on 24 Jan 2001. In the past, I have had two early miscarriages as well as two lovely children aged eleven and eight. These early miscarriages, occurring before ten weeks, are sometimes called blighted ova – although apparently malfunctioning sperm can just as easily cause them – but that’s right, blame the woman. This is where the egg is fertilised and begins to divide, but fails to develop a heartbeat or any other human characteristics. As I didn’t feel any breast tenderness or queasiness, I decided in a self-protective way, that it was another blighted ovum. So when I went to see the doctor around week 7 LMP, I asked if I could have an immediate scan.

‘No’, he said. ‘Why?’ I asked, beginning to sob. ‘Because there is no clinical need,’ he answered. I was really crying by this time, and telling him I didn’t want to spend the next few weeks thinking I was pregnant when I wasn’t. I had awful memories of spending a Christmas being virtuous about soft cheese and wine, before finding there hadn’t been any point a week or so later. The last blighted ovum had hung on until week 10, when I had a scan, which revealed no heartbeat. I had had to have it surgically removed by dilation and curettage. A depressing and painful experience – but also a relief that time, because I wasn’t ready for another baby then.

He relented and, deciding there was a need after all, telephoned a friend at the local hospital’s scanning department. I was booked in for that afternoon. Once behind the curtain, I lay sadly on the bed. The jelly was applied to my completely flat stomach, and the probe began to move across it. I peered at the screen: just as I thought, a kidney-shaped black hole with nothing inside. I was busy making myself feel nothing, just relief that it would be over quickly, when the ultrasonographer said, ‘You are quite wrong, you know.’ She pointed at the screen. There at the bottom of the womb space was a tiny fluttering movement – a beating heart. I let out a cry of pleasure and relief and burst into tears once more. Any ambivalence about this pregnancy vanished, particularly when I saw the kindly beaming faces of the people lined up in wheelchairs outside, waiting for less positive scans.

Check up on Anastasia Brien's pregnancy diary up to the ten week mark.