32 months ttc. Not sure why I still count my ttc duration in months. I get annoyed when parents insist on counting their 3 year-old's age in months. "How old is little Sally?", I ask. And mommy replies, "She is 39 months." Perhaps I'm just agitated because I am then required to do the month-to-year conversion in my mind.... which is really a lot of work for someone who does not enjoy mental math.
32 months ttc. For those of you too agitated to do the month-to-year conversion, I'll help you out. 32 months trying to conceive = hundreds upon hundreds of years!! At least that is what it feels like most days. The 'me' that existed before this infertility rollercoaster began seems like a hazy memory from years ago.
32 months ttc. During those long 32 months I have encountered such hopeful highs and despairing lows. Each month ia a new chapter from a story that has gone on far too long.
Month 1 - ah... month one. Such a beautiful time. The month when my Catholic School upbringing led me to the ironic conclusion that, without a doubt, I would be pregnant the very first time I had unprotected sex. Ha! Ha! and double Ha! I laugh at the untarnished naivity I possessed in month one. If I didn't laugh I would cry as I remember thinking, "I don't want a Christmas baby so I probably shouldn't have unprotected sex in March" or "I can't buy any new pants. They won't fit my belly soon." Ha! I miss that cute little innocent month one girl. So hopeful, so idealistic, so optimistic.
Months 2-6 - During these months, I learned so many things.... how to use CSI-type tactics to analyze my bodily fluids and determine whether or not their color and consistency matched the whites of eggs... how to stare at my breasts and wonder whether perhaps, just maybe, the areole looked a little bit bigger or darker than they had the day before.... how to ritualistically and compulsively pee on little white sticks.... and, of course, I learned how two weeks of waiting could feel like a lifetime.
Month 7 - the first time I laid eyes on a pregnancy stick with two lines on it!! I guess that's not true. I had probably seen other double-lined sticks as facebook profile pictures on my friend's accounts (gag). But two lines created by my very own urine. That was unprecedented. After developing my disturbing POAS addiction during the previous 6 months, I could have filled an Olympic size swimming pool with all of the single-lined sticks I'd peed on. I thought my eyes were deceiving me as that long-coveted second line magically appeared. A BFP. I was shaking with joy and disbelief.
Month 8 - I felt exhilarated, scared, uncertain and amazingly blessed all at once. I couldn't decide what to do first. I googled the top 100 baby names and subscribed to some website that sent weekly postings about the size and development of your growing baby. I allowed myself to get excited. Obviously too excited. Sadly, these feelings were shortlived.
Month 9 - miscarriage number one. I still remember the look on the ultrasound technicians face as she stuck the now-all-too-familiar dildo cam inside of me. Initially she told me that my DH could come and look at the images of our beautiful growing baby as soon as she had a good view... but she never invited him in. Instead, she just looked at me with a hauntingly sympathetic look in her eyes. She told me that the doctor wasn't available so I should just go home and wait for a call. I pleaded with her to tell me why the doctor had to call me, but, in my heart, I already knew. Waiting for the doctor's call were four of the most excrutiating hours of my life. Even though a small part of that idealistic month-one-girl died that day, the girl from month nine was still pretty strong. Still had hope. And faith. Being pregnant once meant that it could happen again... it couldn't be that hard, right? Have I mentioned... 'HA!'
Little did I know then... my story was only beginning.....