Well, its been 3 months (who’s counting?) since my last post about the struggles of infertility, and suffice to say, life has done a 180. Last week, we finally let everyone in on a little secret we’ve been keeping: I’m pregnant!

Allow me to play catch up here…

We made it through the holidays, bittersweet though they were. In January, I suffered another disappointment when I learned that my second round of Clomid hadn’t worked; blood work showed that I hadn’t ovulated that month. I was really starting to feel defeated, like maybe pregnancy wasn’t in the cards for us. We were in the very preliminary stages of researching adoption, but I felt like I needed close the chapter on conception, first.

Brendan and I really disliked the OBGyn that we had been seeing for our infertility consults. At best, he had the personality of a wet blanket. At worst, I found him to be insensitive, aloof, and a little condescending. (I realize that bedside manner does not a good doctor make, but a little empathy goes a long way in my book!) I wanted a new doctor and a second opinion, so I made an appointment with a new practice for the end of January.

Brendan was out of town the day of my appointment, so I met with the new doctor by myself, and I liked her immediately. She was incredibly sweet, sensitive, and she actually took the time to address to my concerns. Based on my records, she was in agreement with all of the steps that had been taken so far. She said that I could safely try one more round of  Clomid and if I still didn’t ovulate, she could refer me to a specialist to discuss IUI/IVF.

Both Brendan and myself were pretty adamant that we didn’t want to go down the road of more invasive fertility treatments. Aside from the cost, I honestly wasn’t sure that I had the emotional resilience to go through it. For us, we decided that we’d rather put money towards adoption than take a gamble on IVF. We had always planned to adopt when we were older and had one or two of our own.  If the last round of Clomid didn’t work, we figured it was a sign that we were supposed to adopt sooner than we planned.

That night, I remember pouring a glass of wine, taking a bath and having a good cry like I had done so many times over the past year. Only this time, it wasn’t tears of sadness and frustration. It was a cleansing cry that you let escape when you’ve grieved enough and it’s time to let something go. I accepted that I might not ever get pregnant, and I might not ever know why, and that would be ok. It was time to stop hating and blaming myself, and start moving forward.

That Friday, I was supposed to get my period. I was waiting for it anxiously because I needed to start my Clomid 5 days after the beginning of my cycle. I was ready to take this last round, close this chapter, and proceed with adoption if it didn’t work.  On Sunday, we watched the Super Bowl and I complained about having PMS; I said something like, “I really wish my period would just start already! My boobs are killing me!”.

Monday, still no visit from Aunt Flo and yet I never once thought that I could be pregnant. I just chocked it up to my irregular cycles and made a mental note to call my doctor that week so ask whether I should take progesterone to get things moving. On Tuesday morning, I went to grab something from under the bathroom sink and I saw a box of pregnancy tests. Only then did it dawn on me that I probably should take one before I called my doctor to ask about progesterone. I took one, and braced myself for disappointment.

The plus sign showed up almost immediately.

Brendan was in the bathroom getting ready at the time, and the scene went a little something like this:

Me: HOLY SHIT!  <hands him test>
Him: Wait, what does that mean?
Me: It’s positive!
Him: Take another one!
Me: I can’t! I don’t have any pee left in me!
Him: Drink my water!

He left for work, and I took another test. Same result, same disbelief on my end. I went out and bought a digital test, just to be sure. No confusing blue lines, just one word, clear as day: Pregnant.

A week to the day after my infertility consult, I called my new OB’s office to schedule a pregnancy checkup.

I’m not sure how it happened, but it is a miracle. Obviously, I know how it happened, but I mean against all odds, why did this happen to us? I’m burdened with guilt as well. I’ve lamented with so many other people who can’t get pregnant, why is it that we are the lucky ones? What did we do to deserve this gift when so many others are still heartbroken? For so long I would see  pregnancy announcements and my gut reaction would be jealously and grief;  my heart aches for anyone reading about my joy and feeling their emptiness more profoundly.

I still haven’t cried about it, though I’m sure that day will come soon enough. We wanted this for so long, and now that it happened, I’m still in a state of disbelief. I think I haven’t let myself fully believe it because I’m still afraid that I’ll wake up one day and the dream will vanish like smoke. The nausea and exhaustion have felt real, but my brain still can’t comprehend that there is a life growing inside of me.

We had our first ultrasound last week, and thought surely things would sink in once I saw it on the screen and heard the heartbeat. In a way, it did, but yet I’m still in shock. I get the feeling that sometime in October, a nurse is going to put a newborn on my chest and I’m going to say, “Whose baby is this?”.

I’m so happy and so afraid all at once. But I guess this is what it means to be a mother: to be completely overjoyed, and yet feel completely terrified all at once.