I thought I wouldn’t feel my C-section – but it was like someone was rooting through a handbag, says Ruth Davidson
WHEN I was five, I was run over by a truck outside my home in Fife. All I remember is holding my big sister Rae’s hand as we peered around the parked cars.
I stepped into the road and this giant bumper came hurtling towards me out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to get out of the way.
My pelvis was fractured, my leg was broken and my lower body turned black from bruising.
I was lucky that Rae, then eight, called an ambulance straight away. Surgery saved my life, but due to the extent of my injuries, my parents were told I might never be able to have kids.
Mum dropped that bombshell when I was 11. I didn’t understand the magnitude of it at the time.
Later, as a young, gay woman, I wasn’t sure if motherhood would be on the cards for me anyway.
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When I thought about it more in my 20s, I purposefully didn’t have my fertility tested, as I didn’t want the possibility of motherhood to be taken away before I’d figured out if it was something I wanted.
But when I reconnected with my now-wife Jen (Wilson, 40, a marketing manager) in February 2014, things suddenly seemed clear — I wanted to be a mother and to share that journey with her.
We’d first met at a dinner in 2007 when we were both in long-term relationships. I was struck by how funny she was, but neither of us saw each other in a romantic light.
Jen then moved to Australia for work for seven years. The next time I saw her was the day gay marriage was approved in Scotland.
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It was like fate, as she’d just moved back and we were both single. Within the first month, we’d had the “baby talk” and decided I’d attempt IVF first as I was older.
Like any prospective mum, I was nervous going into IVF, but as a politician, I was also terrified of people finding out and would send Jen out to buy pregnancy tests.
I was 39 when we started the process, so opted for private treatment as it was quicker and meant we could choose an anonymous donor who had similar features to Jen.
On the day I had the embryo implanted in 2018, I had to fly to Afghanistan for work.
We were so fortunate our first round of IVF was successful. I always think about how much our son Finn, now three, must have wanted to be born, having gone over all those potholes with me in a Land Rover in Afghanistan!
During pregnancy, we were affectionate with the bump and I’d read to it. I suffered with morning sickness and once had to run out of the main chamber of Scottish Parliament to vomit.
Though I’d planned a natural birth, I’m glad we opted for a C-section. I’m only 5ft 4in and Finn was over 10lb when he was born in October 2018.
We thought doctors would just reach in and hold him up like Simba in The Lion King, but it felt like my stomach was a handbag being rummaged around in.
The moment I set eyes on Finn, I was infatuated. And I love that he’s part of my legacy, as I was the first UK party leader to give birth in office.
Like any prospective mum, I was nervous going into IVF, but as a politician, I was also terrified of people finding out and would send Jen out to buy pregnancy tests.
I went into motherhood with a plan — to take six months off work, then go back full-time. Jen could only take six weeks off, and we didn’t expect to feel such guilt when we put Finn into childcare.
I was doing 60-hour weeks and felt like I wasn’t doing either of my jobs properly.
In 2019, there was the prospect of a snap election and I couldn’t manage the campaign schedule and being away from Finn, so I resigned.
I now work for insurance company Royal London and sit in the House of Lords, which gives me more time to focus on Finn.
Last May, we moved from Edinburgh to a small coastal town where there are lots of kids and we’re always on the beach. I love it!
I never doubted quitting was right for my family. We’re raising Finn to be brave, and that’s what I taught him in that moment.
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As told to: Lydia Hawken