Some days are harder...

Another month and no conception. It's been nine months of trying now. It seems strange to me that if Ben and I had conceived the first month we started trying, we would nearly have a baby right now. As it is, we won't have a baby this year. Some days are harder to accept that than others.

I don't talk about my struggle much on Facebook. It's not something I like sharing and I also don't want to have some cheese with my whine. I did the other day, though, when I found out we weren't pregnant again. I tried not to be heavy handed about it, but did express my frustration and said that things were hard. I got a lot of positive support, which I was very grateful for. Several friends said that it would happen when it is meant to and not to get discouraged. Several others offered listening ears. I am so lucky to have supportive friends and family.

I had a hard enough time talking about it on Facebook and an even harder time deciding to make this blog public. It's not that I don't appreciate the feedback and offers to swap tales of frustration, I do appreciate it. I pray and tell myself every day that it will happen in it's own time and that I should stay optimistic. Most days it works. Some days it doesn't. As strange as it sounds, I would rather not talk to others who have struggled with conception. I don't frequent message boards on the topic, nor do I seek it out in general conversation. Seeing and hearing others who are having trouble discourages me. It makes me think it will never happen for us. I want to stay positive and discussing negative things challenges that positivity.

However, I have not experienced a miscarriage (that I'm aware of) and I have resolved that if I ever do, I will need to talk to people about it. It won't be something I think I could handle privately. A friend suggested to me that I not announce my pregnancy until after the first trimester in case I do miscarry. I completely understand her logic, but I would NEED the strength of my friends and family at that point to help me through. I can't internalize that much sadness.

Ben has been wonderful these past nine months, really like always. I see that he is happily ready to start a family with me and shares my disappointment when we find out that we didn't conceive that month. I tend to take it harder than he does. But, if we were both blubbering messes I doubt it would be very helpful. It's good that he is strong when I am weak.

The doctor said when I was there a few months ago that I needed to wait until we'd been trying for a year before they'd do fertility tests. I was thinking about it the other day and as hard as I think it would be, I will probably wait until it's been 13 months to make an appointment, for multiple reasons. First, to ensure that an entire year has passed and that it won't finally happen in the next month after a year (especially since depending on who you talk to, birth control use can inhibit fertilization up to a year and I was on birth control for more than a third of my life). Second, Ben is going to be taking the bar at the end of July and studying practically from graduation until that time. We probably won't see each other hardly at all during that time, much less be able to find some free time we could attend an appointment together. So, if I wait until August, assuming we still haven't conceived, we will have thirteen months under our belts as well as a more forgiving schedule. I'm not terribly happy about it, but I think it will be for the best.

Until then, some days will still be harder and I just have to put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

Take your time

I can't help but wonder: are you in there? It is crazy to think that you might be. I try every month not to get my hopes up, but it's no use, I always do anyway. I know that you're waiting for just the right moment to show up, and I can respect that. You will be amazing, and amazing things often need time to happen.

So, you take you're time. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you're ready.

We need to talk

I had somewhat of a meltdown yesterday. I carried the weight of almost eight months now of trying to conceive...I seethed in frustration that my body can't decide when it wants to menstruate and when it doesn't...I have tested my ovulation hopefully, only for there to be (seemingly) endless days of negative results...I reflected ruefully at the quantity of our attempts at conception, though never the quality--never, never the quality. I told Ben we needed to talk. After a few minutes of getting things off our chest in loud voices, we were able to start having a real conversation.

We were honest with each other and realized that we had both come to resent the process I had created--the ovulation tests and the fertile windows and the pressure it put on us. I said that I felt like if I didn't do everything I could to try to conceive and we didn't conceive, it was because I hadn't done enough. He said that he didn't feel he was a part of the efforts anymore since I had started tracking and testing. He felt like a baby-making tool and not a husband. I felt like a science experiment and not a wife.

So, goodbye ovulation strips. Goodbye fertile windows. Goodbye science experiment. Goodbye pressure. Hello accepting things as they are and as they are meant to be. Hello enjoying ourselves in the process. Hello inner peace. How I've missed you.

Saying it out loud

Trying to have a baby is stressful...especially when your body refuses to cooperate. I know there are still more things I can do to “help” the process along, like using the ovulation strips that have been taking up real estate in my cabinet under the bathroom sink. Part of me just wants to give up. Part of me is fed up with being disappointed month after month. Part of me wonders if my body is trying to sabotage any chance I have at getting pregnant, because lately I’ve had more days per month that are “unfeasible” than not.

I’ve started having bad dreams. If I dream at all, they are scary or just plain strange. I’ve dreamt of being caught in a flood (I've had that one twice), of being shot at, of being threatened, of my dad's house being on fire (I've had that one twice, too). It’s been weeks of bad dreams now and I wish I could have a happy dream for once. I would even settle for a neutral dream. One where I don’t wake up in a panic or depressed.

It doesn’t help that I worry about what will happen once Ben graduates law school. We’ve talked about options, but it’s three months away and all we’ve got is options. Even if he got a job flipping burgers, I would feel better. I would never want him to work fast food with a Juris Doctorate, but if that’s what it takes to keep our bills paid...

Something’s got to give. A friend told me that I won’t get pregnant if I’m stressed. Unfortunately, if not being pregnant is part of the stress, it’s just a vicious cycle. She suggested I let it go and find a happy place. Does anyone have one they can let me borrow for a while?

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.