Monday, September 2, 2013

On Babymaking: I Cried

Post originally written December 21, 2012, the fourth month I was hoping to fall pregnant and in fact, did not.  You can read earlier posts from our Babymaking Journey HERE.

I don't care about TMI today, so Dad, stop reading.  Today, I am sad, and today I am telling it how it is.

Yesterday, Mother Nature came for a visit.  A few days earlier than expected, and after I really thought this month might be our month.  Without getting in to to many technical details, I showed some real signs of possibly being pregnant during the dreaded wait between sexytime and pregnancy test time.  (I realize now some of these potential signs were probably in my head, and that makes me feel silly and stupid.)

I really felt positive this month.  I also really wanted to be able to tell my Handsome Husband I was pregnant on Christmas morning.  I daydreamed a few more times that I'd like to admit about what a beautiful moment it would be with us sleepy-eyed on the floor of our new home rejoicing about the fact that our family was soon going to grow by two little feet.

And now that won't happen.  Not this month, at least.  And I cried about it.  It was the first time during this process that I've shed a tear about it.  Which is sort of unlike me being that I'm kind of a three-year-old stuck in a 24-year-old's life in that I cry about just about anything that doesn't go my way.

I'm starting to wonder if something is wrong with us, if we will ever get to have a baby.  I know that's rash, and there are people who tried way longer than this that are laughing as they read this, but here's the thing: I'm not desperate for a baby.  I'm really not.  Would I like one?  Obviously.  Am I overjoyed when I think about the posibility?  Absolutely.  But am I desperate for one?  No.

What scares me is each month that I don't get pregnant, I wonder if something is wrong.  If there's a reason I've always been so scared of infertility - if somehow I always knew.  I suppose only time will tell.

The silver lining is that a huge bottle of champagne and an even bigger hangover are now calling my name on New Year's Eve.

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