I wrote a post each month of the year we were trying to get
pregnant except for the first five. This was written recently so it is an
account of my memory of that time and not as full of emotion as the posts to come.
Shortly after my 30th
birthday, John and I talked about that next step of our marriage… children.
Since both of us were ready for that step, we agreed to start trying the next
month when my birth control prescription ran out.
It was an exciting time for
us. We joked a lot about practice and baby making batter. I was living in two
week increments. Two weeks until ovulation and two weeks until my period was
due.
Immediately that first month I
downloaded an app on my phone to help me identify when that fertile time of the
month was going to occur. The second month I started taking my basal body
temperature every morning to more accurately pinpoint when I would ovulate.
Why yes, I am a type A. How’d
you know?
I even started a list of names
during these months and began writing the blog post announcing the pregnancy in my head.
Each month was hopeful. Though
they all ended in disappointment, I wasn’t too bothered by it because my doctor
had told me it could take an average of 3-6 months for a couple to conceive.
Since I had been on birth control for a few years, I figured we would be on the
later end of that average.
Like I said, it was an
exciting and hopeful time as we dreamed of the child we tried for. The months passed quickly. When people would ask if (or when) we were going to start having kids, I would smile and give some noncommittal answer as we didn't feel comfortable telling anyone and everyone that we were trying.
But I would imagine what it would be like to give that question a different answer.
But I would imagine what it would be like to give that question a different answer.







