It's been six months, going on seven months

My husband jokes that if I had my way, I would be pregnant YESTERDAY. That's been the joke since our wedding two years ago. But, not three months after we got married, he was accepted into an accelerated law program. He wanted to wait until he was done with school before we even started trying. That was just NOT going to work for me. So, in the spirit of compromise, we agreed that when he had a year left, we would begin trying for a baby. It's been six months...going on seven months.

Six months since the knot of worry in my stomach that shows up every time I take a pregnancy test switched from "Will it be positive?" to "Will it be negative?" I had decided from the beginning that for the first six months, I would let things happen if they were meant to. THAT was the longest six months in recent memory. Six months...going on seven months.

In the last six months, several friends and family members have announced pregnancies. I smile because I really am happy for them. I fight back tears because I ache with jealousy. I curse under my breath (in public) and at the top of my lungs (in private) at whatever it might be that we've been doing wrong. I pray that next month will be OUR month. It's been six months...going on seven months.

Though, six months ago, we had just moved into our newly-bought house. Five months ago, Ben was neck-deep in an externship that demanded the majority of his time. Four months ago, all my extra energy was devoted to ovarian cancer awareness events. Three months ago, we were finally getting back to being somewhat normal. Two months ago, we got our hopes up when I was three days late and Ben realized how ready he actually was to be a dad. One month ago, I made up my mind that it was time to start tracking my ovulation and be more deliberate in our efforts. So, it's been six months, going on seven months, and now we mean business.