On the outside we’ve looked like a happy family of three for some time, and I admit, I was doing my very best to accept that.
We prayed. For several years. God, if another child is not what you have for us…
Going public about choosing fertility treatments was painful for me. I knew some people would judge–why weren’t we considering adoption when there were so many children without families?
While we haven’t ruled out adoption for the future, this personal decision was based on a know-in-my-gut that if I do not get solid answers while I am in my early thirties, I will always wonder what could have been.
Getting pregnant the first time around was not unassisted for me, but for some reason the second time around was like admitting I was broken.
The first thing the endocrinologist told me was that if we did in vitro, because of one of my autoimmune conditions, we might get one or two good eggs out of thirty. On the flip side, someone with other fertility issues would have 11 or 12 good eggs out of thirty.
I left the office in tears.
The next month I was pregnant… sans in vitro and with just some prescriptions (after a year of trying RX’s from my OBGYN).
I stared at the two pink lines that first week and begged them to be true. I’d shot myself up with pregnancy hormone a few weeks before and it was still leaving my system, so the lines could simply be artificial.
The minute I got my blood results I called my mom, who I’m pretty sure stood up and shouted the news out the sun roof of her car. (Actually, it was more of a stunned silence.)
At week twelve, the nurse handed me this onesie. We graduated.
It hasn’t been an easy pregnancy. Thankfully the baby is great, but I’ve spent weeks holed up in a dark room vomiting and watching reality TV (probably the cause of my migraines??).
I’ll take it any day if it means I’m growing this little miracle life I knew was meant to be.