This month marked one year. One long year.
One year of unsuccessful baby-making. One year of peeing on sticks. One year of taking temperatures. One year of obsessing over cervical mucous. One year of a lot of hoping and a lot of disappointment.
My hubby and I had been married for just over a year when we decided that we were ready to make a baby. Looking back, I remember that excitement and feeling of "oh my god! We're really going to do this!?!"
We had spent over seven years trying not to get pregnant, so I kind of imagined that the first time we had sex without using birth control would be it. It happens to teenagers all the time, right?
I remained optimistic the first few months after confirming via lots of internet searches that most people do not actually get pregnant the first month (despite what sex ed had taught me :) ) but being that I'm quite a planner, type A kinda gal, three cycles was enough time to stop casually "trying" and get down to business.
Then came the ovulation predictor kits, the basal body thermometers, and the Fertility Friend.
The lab draws, the semen analysis, the ultrasounds.
This is not a story that I thought I would tell.
I come from a family of fertile females. My mom had babies at twenty-four, twenty-nine, and forty-one. I have too many cousins to count on my hands and feet. I have birthing hips!
I know people who have had fertility problems, but I never thought it would be my reality.
But here I am, one year later. Empty uterus.
...
I'm blogging because I don't know what else to do.
I'm blogging because I need to talk, but I'm not sure who to talk to.
I'm blogging because I have a story and I know you do too.
