Maybe this blog will only last a few weeks. Maybe I'm jinxing myself by saying that. Maybe I'm being stupid and paranoid and spastic about this whole thing. Anyway, this is a tough time in my life in many ways. I want to start my family. I want to have a baby. It doesn’t help that it seems like everyone around me is having babies (my brother and sister-in-law’s daughter was born yesterday, I’ve been invited to two baby showers in the last few weeks, and two other friends are pregnant).
To go back to the beginning, L and I decided to start trying for a baby last December, 2007. I was stupid, as I usually am, and expected immediate results and instant gratification. L was patient, as he usually is, and slightly patronizing and told me that it was completely ridiculous to get upset after one month of trying. And he was right.
The problem is, I had started reading some infertility blogs (which I stumbled across for completely unrelated reasons), and they were making me a bit nervous. I had absolutely no reason to think I was infertile, but for some reason I just had a nervous feeling about it. I did a bit of research, obsessed for a while, searched the internet constantly, but managed not to get upset after a few months passed and still nothing happened.
My OB/GYN told me it was too early to worry around month 5. The few friends I told about our tries and lack of success so far were dismissive of my worries. I was still optimistic, slightly wary, but relatively calm.
Then after about 6 or 7 months, I started getting upset again. My sister-in-law was pregnant. My other sister-in-law (L’s brother’s wife) gave birth to their second (our second niece on that side). Several friends and relatives gave birth or announced new pregnancies. Why wasn’t it working for me?
We finally told my in-laws that we had been trying. They seemed almost embarrassed, but generally supportive. I didn’t tell my mom yet, but when I did, she was ok, too. I was a little surprised.
Around month 8, we started using OPKs, which were a pain. I hated having to remember to withhold liquids for a few hours, doing it at a rather inconvenient time EVERY DAY (often in the work bathroom in the afternoon, not very private), and having to be even more precise with timing.
Then my period was late. I started getting excited the day it was due. The next day, I was even more excited. The NEXT day, I went out for dessert with a friend and told her about how excited I was. I imagined going to buy a HPT after work! But then I got home and saw the blood. It sucked. I got upset. L got upset with me for being upset. He tried to talk me into going to see the doctor again – it was now 8-9 months of TTC. I was hesitant, and I didn’t know why, but off we went.
We did all the preliminary tests – u/s, blood and hormone tests for me, SA for him. Everything normal. That was great! Or was it? In some ways, I wished they would find something wrong, something simple, something easily fixable that would explain our problems. Something treatable. The doctor was even slightly dismissive, saying “you could even be pregnant right now!”
I wasn’t, of course. I went through the same horribly emotion-wrecking experience of being three days late, but AF arrived like a fashionable celebrity, knowing everyone was waiting for her. More OPKs. And here we are. One week to go until AF, on Halloween. I don’t remember the official date we started TTC, but we’re heading up to one year pretty quickly now.
One year means an official declaration of IF.
The thought of that … well. It makes me want to cry.
So that’s the beginning. And that’s where we are now. It helps just to write this all down. Maybe this will help me from getting my hopes up. I doubt it. I know myself too well for that. My hopes are always getting up and I am forever disappointed. Somehow, things seem all the more desperate because I want to avoid reaching that one-year mark.
I just don’t want to go there.