After five years and £40,000 of IVF I'm having a baby on my own at 49

Times

15 hours ago

Most people would describe me as determined. I've always been headstrong and I've always found a way to make things happen. I bought my first flat in Notting Hill in London at 25, with no help from anyone else, and would do ten photoshoots on a shoestring budget while I was the beauty and style director at Marie Claire magazine, where I worked until recently.
That same determination has shaped every chapter of my life. And now, at 49, it's brought me here: seven months pregnant with my second child after four rounds of IVF, parenting my eight-year-old daughter, and doing it solo, by choice.
Did I plan it exactly this way? Not quite. I always hoped to meet someone. I even dated while I was going through IVF, and met kind, interesting men. Some stayed friends; others couldn't handle my journey. I'd love a man by my side — but he would have to be the right one. Some days I long for someone to hug me, tell me it's going to be OK and make me tea. Yes, I'm strong and independent but, like anyone, I crave comfort.
• One child in every school class is an IVF baby, data shows
But life rarely turns out according to plan, and if there's one thing I've learnt, it's this: don't wait for the perfect moment. You build the life you want with what you have.
I consider myself to be a nurturing person. I've always had the instinct to care for something beyond myself, but that only deepened after becoming a mother at 40. I found myself longing to give my daughter a sibling; not just a playmate, but a lifelong companion. I grew up in Gloucestershire with two siblings and 11 cousins, all of whom I saw and played with on a weekly basis. Our house was full of noise, laughter — glorious, joyful chaos — and we all loved it. That sense of community shaped me. I always imagined creating something similar.
My daughter's dad and I separated when she was a toddler and from that point I was navigating life as a single parent while working as a journalist — a job that doesn't exactly lend itself to downtime. It wasn't easy. But over the years we've made it work. He's a brilliant father and we co-parent our daughter in a way that's respectful, supportive and centred around her.
My mum has been instrumental too. She has helped to raise my daughter with such steady, understated strength — doing the school runs, ferrying her to gymnastics, circus school, swimming. It's the kind of day-to-day care that builds a child's world. I know I will lean on her again in the early days with my second. She's happy to be there for us and I'm grateful beyond words.
This, to me, is what a modern family looks like. It may not fit the old definitions — the traditional nuclear family — but it works. Family doesn't need to follow convention. It just needs to be rooted in love, intention and commitment.
I had always imagined a bigger family — I used to say I wanted four children — and the longing for a second never faded. If anything, it grew stronger after having my daughter. I dated and I was honest. I told people what I wanted. But I never met someone who said, 'Yes, let's do this now.' I'm realistic and do understand that it's a big ask. But I also knew I couldn't keep waiting for some mythical Mr Right to appear. I was tired of putting my life on pause — and I was running out of time.
So, at 44, I made the decision to go it alone — not because I had given up on love, but because I wasn't willing to give up on motherhood.
IVF, as anyone who has gone through it knows, is rarely smooth sailing, and the statistics are brutal. According to the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority, success rates using your own eggs drop to 4.3 per cent after the age of 44, and to under 1 per cent beyond 45.
• We're in a 'global fertility crisis'. Does this woman have a solution?
I began the process with that warm glow of hope. But then the pandemic hit, stealing nearly two precious years as fertility clinics shut down or scaled back services. For women in their forties that wasn't just a delay; it was a seismic blow in which the hope of a family may well have been torn away. For me, it meant recalibrating and doubling down on what I knew I wanted.
Cycle after cycle, setback after setback — through four egg collection rounds — I held on to an unshakeable belief that I would find a way. To date, it has cost me about £40,000 — each round bringing consultations, medications, scans and procedures. None of this is unusual in the fertility world, but it's still a significant physical, emotional and financial commitment.
And it worked. At 49, I am now seven months pregnant.
Sometimes I say those words out loud, just to feel their full weight. I stare at my bump in the mirror, still slightly in awe. Because even now, with this baby growing steadily inside me, it feels extraordinary to have done something so against the odds — but never against my will.
The reactions have been incredible. My friends cried tears of joy when I told them — they have been with me through every setback and every fresh cycle, cheering me on. I couldn't have done this without them. My family has been incredibly supportive too. And my daughter— she is overwhelmed with happiness. She has been reading bedtime stories to the bump since the very start, and I've seen a new kind of confidence in her that I hadn't seen before. I worried that this might change the special bond we have, but it has only brought us closer.
Now, my determination presents itself differently. I want to talk about my experience, to contribute to conversations with women who, like me, want families but are in more challenging situations. Women who have done the same have been invaluable, saving me from isolation and confusion during this experience through chats on social media and exchanges at school gates. I have discovered a sisterhood of those who are learning about the nuances of later motherhood, solo motherhood and IVF journeys.
One of the most powerful things I've discovered is the strength of women supporting women, from all ages and stages. Danielle Fox-Thomas, a former beauty editor and one of my peers, co-founded the supplement brand OVA with Kat Lestage after their own difficult fertility journeys. Fox-Thomas went through IVF for ten years, while Lestage experienced recurrent miscarriages.
Alongside the brand, they have built a thriving WhatsApp support group that has become a lifeline for so many of us. It's open to anyone navigating fertility, pregnancy or early motherhood. We share everything, from clinic recommendations to emotional support, throughout the rollercoaster of IVF. The stakes are high, the decisions life-altering, the costs significant. Having that collective wisdom and solidarity is an essential part of getting through it.
Another difficult element: the fertility world is a commercial machine. Not every clinic puts your best interests first. At a couple of clinics I tried I didn't feel like the care was really there, and that can mean wasted time, money and precious opportunities. I was lucky not to be pushed into unnecessary treatments, but the lack of support was disheartening. It can feel like a minefield, so networks of shared experiences with other women are essential.
• My sister died two weeks before my baby was born
Conversations that used to be private are now shared more openly — about IVF, solo motherhood, and everything in between. Most importantly, they say: you're not alone.
My previous job as a beauty and style director at one of the UK's leading glossy magazines meant that I was connected to an army of unbelievably supportive women, from colleagues to businesswomen. That said, publishing isn't always built to accommodate personal challenges — especially something as complex and consuming as IVF. I didn't tell anyone at work at the time. Not because people weren't kind, but because the structures just haven't caught up. Fertility journeys still aren't protected in the same way maternity is. There's no formal leave, no guaranteed flexibility, and speaking up can still feel risky — especially as a single woman over 40, without a second income to fall back on.
We're told to avoid stress because it affects conception, but few workplaces are equipped to support this.
Now I'm in my third trimester, some of the hurdles I've had to jump are starting to blur, but the emotional and financial stresses are still very real. When I first shared my plans, my dad and financial adviser went pale. Understandably so. Who expects a freelance single mother of two to shoulder this? But here I am, pulling off small fiscal miracles each month to keep us going. I'm launching a health and beauty YouTube channel before I give birth. If I can make it through IVF, I can build a life and business to support us — and I will.
My mum always taught me that financial freedom means working for what you want. She worked in accounts — steady, honest work — and I saw how much pride she took in earning her own way. I hope the women who come after me will have it easier thanks to people like Anna Whitehouse (aka Mother Pukka on social media), whose campaigning helped to bring the Flexible Working Bill forward. It's a crucial step toward accessibility for working mothers.
• Am I selfish for choosing to just have one child?
Physically, I'm doing really well. I don't think about my age. My body feels unchanged. That said, early pregnancy brought debilitating sickness and exhaustion for about three months, and now I often need a 30-minute nap in the afternoon. Of course the recent heat has been especially draining.
Thankfully, none of this really feels tied to my age — I feel strong and capable. Some studies suggest women who have their last child later in life tend to live longer, possibly because late fertility indicates slower biological ageing. For instance, a study of more than 1,200 US women found those who gave birth for the last time over 40 had noticeably longer leukocyte telomeres — a DNA marker of longevity — than women who finished childbearing earlier.
Another review reported that women whose final child was born after the age of 33 had double the odds of living to 95, compared to those whose last birth occurred by age 29. That said, experts caution that this doesn't prove late motherhood causes longevity. It might simply reflect that women who remain fertile later may already be more biologically resilient.
Risks rise, of course — gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia — but with good care, healthy outcomes are possible. Emotionally, I bring more now: perspective, calm, gratitude. I'm not alone. Look at Cameron Diaz, Naomi Campbell — women redefining motherhood in their own time, having children well into midlife. I've always taken care of myself. I try to eat as healthily as I can, though I won't pretend rounds of buttered toast haven't become a daily staple. The hardest part, honestly, is rest. It's the one thing I haven't quite figured out. Between work, solo parenting and preparing for the baby, it often feels impossible to carve out proper downtime. But I do what I can: I go to bed early and make sleep a priority — I need eight to nine hours just to function. I take slow weekend walks through the woods, and I try to make space for some peace and quiet where I can, but rest is the one thing I'm still working on.
I'll be fine; I always am. This baby, like my first, is loved beyond measure. I'm pregnant at 49 and I've never felt more ready.
Lisa Oxenham is wearing Ma+Lin Daisy linen dress in white; Vintage Gharani Strok in red