It’s Tuesday. According to my Fertility Friend, I’m past my peak ovulation time for the month and should be able to find out in the next 2 weeks whether or not we’re pregnant. Tim and I were arguing over the weekend and didn’t BD on Saturday or Sunday, which I’m really hoping didn’t screw us up. I know obsessing over this isn’t going to help but I REALLY want to get pregnant. And truthfully, I’m getting sick of the whole, “It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen” bit. I know that. But ever since the miscarriage a day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about the fact that I’d have a beautiful baby bump right now and I’d be due in 3 months. I’d know whether I was having a little boy or girl. I’d have the nursery set up. We’d have a name picked out. I’d have a cute little belly for holiday photos and my father would be so happy. Tim and I would be so excited.
But now we have to start over. And I’ve already had to wait. And be patient. And “let it happen”. I don’t want to wait anymore.
We were just discussing how we’re both still struggling with losing our first pregnancy. The more time that goes by, the more I think about it. How sad it was. How difficult it was to try and be strong for me, and for Tim. How that was probably the most heart break Tim has ever felt in his life, and at the time he was petrified of even being a father. There is a lot of apprehension that comes along with us trying again, for the both of us, but I also think that the trauma of it brought us closer together. It helped us realize how desperately we want to be parents, and how we’re willing to do whatever it takes to get there.
So, 2 weeks. If I don’t have my period Yule, I’m testing. Fingers crossed.
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