Dear Bel,

I am 28 and trying for my first baby. My husband of almost two years is 30. We’re both healthy. I wouldn’t say that I got married to have children but I have been broody for years and have always been sure I would have a large family. I took on a well-paid job with flexible working hours for the sole reason that we wanted to start a family, and we even bought a larger house. Sadly, we’ve learnt that my husband has a very low sperm count, and while I appreciate that couples with fertility problems still conceive, it is particularly difficult when the problem lies with male infertility, not to mention very costly. I have tried so hard to be supportive, and I couldn’t imagine my life without my husband, but at the risk of sounding obsessed I can’t help feeling that if I’d made a better choice perhaps I’d be having my baby. I hate myself for thinking this and know that my doubts are sometimes apparent to my husband, but the thought of never experiencing pregnancy and never having our own children makes me so depressed.

I’m also anxious that the rest of our married life will be consumed with doctors’ appointments and fertility treatments and we’ll never be as happy as we used to be. I’ve already noticed that our relationship has changed. Most of our friends have started to have families and so the countless questions of when we’ll start are getting harder to deal with. My husband refuses to tell anyone about this, not even his parents. It’s frustrating that people assume that it’s my fault but I certainly do not “blame” my husband. However, I do respect that he wants us to keep this to ourselves and he has started to make every effort to improve his fertility. He has stopped drinking alcohol, is eating only healthy food, exercising and taking all the recommended vitamins and minerals. I love him so much but I’m scared that if I don’t get pregnant I will start to resent my marriage. How can I deal with this realisation that my dream of a large family may not come true? Isabella

Hold on! Spare yourself the heartbreak and depression for a while — please! You are writing as if the childless future is a fait accompli, but it certainly is not. The first thing you have to “deal with” is your single-mindedness. It will do you no good.

Although you say you did not get married to have children, it’s clear that you did — but there is nothing wrong with such a normal dream. But what about the line between dream and expectation? Most of us take huge risks when we plan out our lives — it’s something I’ve never been able to do, because I don’t believe in tempting fate. For example, I often say I’d like to be a grandmother (and indeed I would) but I know this is not a “given”, so draw the line at secretly designating a room in my house for the unborn. So I feel very distressed for those women who write to me devastated — even affronted — that their daughters have not produced, like so many laying hens. All of us should beware of assuming that we’re all on the same road, leading to the same destination.

People who have rigid life maps are often incapable of taking detours, thus missing out on countless moments of beauty and interest along the way. Their misleading satellite navigation leads them into cul-de-sacs where they cause damage because they’ve lost the art of independent driving. You are not the first woman to define the route to her future in terms of motherhood, but you have to concentrate on the present, do a swift, tight U-turn while you can, and return to thinking of yourself as a wife and lover. Self-confessedly obsessed as you are, I won’t hear you say you can’t do this. It is the only way forward.

The worst thing you can do is make your husband feel a failure, and that is where you are leading. I assume that you have investigated the British Infertility Counselling Association (www.bica.net), and Infertility Network UK (www.infertilitynetworkuk.com).

But gaining as much information as you can must not prevent you from living a happy, loving, everyday life with the man you married. He isn’t a sperm donor (although a long way down the line you could even consider something radical like that) any more than you would want him to view you as an incubator. He is the wonderful person you fell in love with because he had all the qualities you looked for in a man — and this only two short years ago. I want you to make a list of all the reasons you love him, and focus on them. Yes, for the purposes of argument, you might have married a man with the fertility of a prize stallion, but he might have been horrible to you as well. That line of thought is nonsensical, so you must stop it.

If you were 35 instead of 28 I could understand your desperation, but at this stage in your life you should be concentrating on being married: growing and developing as a partnership, doing fun things together. Are you going to allow this terrible anxiety of yours to spoil everything? One thing is sure — it could harm your chances of having a baby, just as much as a low-sperm count.

The nosey if well-meaning questions and comments from other people are harmful to a couple in your situation and I wish they would shut up. Can I issue a heartfelt public plea to everybody reading this not to pass “helpful” comments-disguised-as-questions on the lives of others? No — not “When are you two going to get hitched?” or “Isn’t it time we heard the patter of tiny feet?” Believe me, there’s far too much of it about. Next time why not tell them flatly that you have decided to wait a while so that you can enjoy time together. It’s not true, but they’re not to know it — and psyching yourself into that frame of mind will help you. Concentrate on being healthy and happy and loving your life with your husband. The rest will follow — in what ever form is fated — in time.

Dear Bel,

The man I loved died 11 years ago. Since then I have met no one with whom I felt I could form a mutually deep attachment. I have, in ghastly modern parlance, “moved on” emotionally from the time of Peter’s death and the long, desperate period of mourning. I’ve had two sexual relationships since then, but wonder why I’m finding it so difficult to establish a meaningful relationship? A lot of men have a semidetached view, seeming to want sex without emotion or a casual, extramarital affair compartmentalised off from their family lives.

I am 62, vibrant and attractive, and definitely not at all “needy” or desperate. I have a full life, a nice home and lots of good friends. But still I feel that there’s a piece missing. I know I have so much to give as well as receive. Maybe I should accept that I’ll be single for the rest of my life. Do you think I am living in a romantic fantasy in still actively seeking a life partner? Rachel

Those who have loved so deeply have it as their yardstick; you know what’s possible and so it is natural to hope you may enjoy it again. It isn’t “romantic fantasy”, but your experience of real life - and in that you’re so fortunate. I see nothing wrong in living in hope, as long as you don’t become overanxious. If “actively seeking a life partner” means going out, taking part in activities where you know you may meet new people (joining the Ramblers’ Association, to give but one example), taking care about how you look, and so on, then I think this can only be good. If, on the other hand, it means communicating almost predatory keenness to men you meet, then I’d counsel you to step back. But I don’t think it does in your case.

The hard truth is that one of the reasons why it’s difficult for women in our age group is because men the same age often end up with women 20 years younger. Nothing to be done about that. I should cultivate your women friends, go on living your full life, avoid the men who think they’re doing you a favour - and always remain open to infinite possibility.

DO YOU NEED ADVICE?

Do you need advice about your relationships? Email your problems to: bel.mooney@thetimes.co.uk or write to her at: times2, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1TT. Details such as your age are helpful. Please include your real name, but we will use your chosen pseudonym if you wish. Bel Mooney reads all letters but cannot enter into personal correspondence

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