I've been fairly open here and elsewhere in social media that we're trying to have a baby. Because I don't ovulate on my own, medical interventions have been required. It's a long, sometimes frustrating, process. It's an emotional rollercoaster ride, and if I'm honest I'm thinking about it most of the time.
The first day of each new cycle I have such pure hope. Anything is possible. I dutifully take my meds and track my stats.
As we proceed through the days and do everything just the way we're supposed to, there are tiny moments of worry and doubt. But mostly we just focus on hope and put our trust in the process. Once we've done everything we can to make it happen, I try my best not to even think about it for a couple of weeks.
Then I read the negative pregnancy test or experience whatever symptom arises each cycle to tell me we'll be trying again next month. My heart sinks hard and fast and comes to rest in the pit of my stomach. I feel stupid for having hoped at all. I knew the chances were small.
Recently I had a dream that the reason my mom was pinning kid-related stuff on Pinterest was because she was pregnant herself, but had avoided telling me because I was having so much trouble getting pregnant. Yeah, weird, and surprisingly upsetting. This isn't the post I intended to write about that dream, but I guess it's the one I needed to write.
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Content by Diana E. Lee.
DISCLAIMER: Nothing on this site constitutes medical or legal advice. I am a patient who is engaged and educated and enjoys sharing my experiences and news about migraines, pain and depression. Please consult your own health care providers for advice on your unique situation.