(Warning: this post is kind of long and kind of personal. And by “kind of” I mean extremely.)
As a girl (and I apologize because that’s all the experience I’ve got) it seems like your life is series of when‘s.
When do you get your license so you can drive us to the mall??
When do you turn 21 so we can go meet boys????
When is he going to pop the question?
When‘s the big day??
And while these questions all warrant multiple question marks, they have all been reasonably simple to answer, or at least provide rough timelines. Then came the other question that people start asking, basically the minute you get back from your honeymoon…
When are you going to have a baby?
This one. This one wasn’t so easy to answer. First, we were never in a hurry. As I’ve explained before on this blog, we are
kind of selfish people who are 100% aware of the fact that we like our lives how they are. We like TV, going to dinner and eating at the bar, laying around on Sundays watching football and HBO and leaning giant mirrors against walls without worrying someone will pull it over on top of themselves. He likes his xbox (some days I think more than me) but hey, I’ve got my vices. Y’all know how I feel about wine. But as the first few years of wedded bliss passed by, I started getting that dull ache in my belly as I saw friends, family, hell even strangers, snuggling and kissing on their own tiny little humans that they created together. I would catch myself inhaling that sweet baby smell just a few seconds longer. Smiling the widest of smiles when they would wrap their little hands around my finger. Feeling like I swallowed the sun when my nephews would hug me and say “I love you”. So with some hesitation and eventually mutual agreement, we decided to make a baby.
…Two years ago.
Like I’m sure many other women have, I always had this feeling I would never be able to have children, long before I ever started even wanting them. Yes, I am known to be a bit of a worrier/hypochondriac/crazy person, so this was nothing out of the ordinary. So as months went by, boxes and boxes of pregnancy tests and ovulation kits ninja kicked our bank account (that shit is expensive), I read every “TTC” (Trying to Conceive) forum I could find, I tried every method of charting and I took every supplement I read about to try and calm my fears and get some results. Still. Nothing. Then finally after about a year and a half, and kind of an “off” cycle, I went to see a fertility doctor, completely ready to accept my fate as fertility impaired.
Not only did I feel better just talking to someone, but as we started charting my cycle with their preferred method (NaPro in case you’re interested), things started to finally make sense. Like the fact that I had horrific, debilitating cramps randomly, almost 20 days out of the month. Or that I had excruciating pain from exercise and other activities that should not cause pain. A month of blood tests every other day showed my hormones were jank, and I was a ball of stress because of it. An earlier test I’d had done when we started this process showed blockage in both of my tubes (yay!) so as you can imagine, that puts a wrench in things. And as we continued to navigate through each month, there was a reoccurring theme that continued to come up with my fertility nurse, and certainly explained a lot of what I was dealing with. Endometriosis.
To be continued…