Lying in bed asleep one night, I heard a voice whisper to me, ‘You’re pregnant.’ Waking up with a start, I told myself it was just a dream.
There’s no way I’m pregnant again, I thought.
Aged 36, I already had 11 kids – Victoria, then 21, Andrew, 17, Adam, 15, Mara, 14, Dash, 12, Darla, 11, Marvelous, eight, Martalya, six, Amelia, five, Delilah, three, and Donovan, two.
And I’d just broken up with my partner, but we were still on good terms.
Days later, my youngest, Donovan, was playing with my phone when he accidentally typed out – the hormone you produce when you’re pregnant – on my internet browser.
