Let’s back up now to the very beginning of my fertility journey. In the fall of 2009, I married the man of my dreams. Marrying Kyle is the best decision I’ve ever made in my whole life, despite what my crazy parents still think.
We told ourselves that we would simply be married for a year before we started a family. We listened to our cousin Catherine who told us that it would be difficult enough just getting used to living with each other in the first year. Your marriage needs to be strong first, she said, and after all, you have plenty of time to have babies.
Plenty of time. I hate that phrase. It’s similar to You’re young. That kind of s**t is both patronizing and in most cases completely wrong. Telling me I’m young and I have plenty of time is meaningless when I have one ovary full of sh**ty eggs and another ovary that gave up the ghost on IVF #3.
But I digress.
On our one-year anniversary, Kyle and I went out to dinner and shyly brought up the baby-making topic. We realized that we had both been ready to start a family long before the year was up. We went home and started trying immediately.
That month, the very first time I ovulated, I got pregnant. Kyle didn’t believe me at first because the home pregnancy test was one of those First Response ones with the super-faint pink lines. I knew it was right, though, and I figured he’d believe me soon enough. Two days later I took a second test and that double pink line practically jumped off the stick the instant it got wet.
I bought What To Expect When You’re Expecting, Kyle bought a baby brain development book, and we read them in bed together every night before we went to sleep. I joined a September Due Date forum and signed up for an online baby newsletter that told me my baby was the size of a kidney bean. I started making lists of potential baby names.
At 8 weeks we had our first ultrasound appointment and we saw our little baby’s heart beating on the monitor. I remember saying, “There’s really a baby in there!”
Kyle immediately forgot that we weren’t supposed to officially announce the news until the end of the first trimester, so in the car after our appointment, he called all 8 of his immediate family members. Then he went back to work and told everyone there. Meanwhile I went straight to lunch with a good friend who oohed and aahed over my ultrasound pics. A week or so later we had my parents over for lunch and gave them mugs declaring them “Best Grandma” and “Best Grandpa.” My dad figured it out before he even saw what the mug said, but my mom’s reaction was priceless. She stared at it for a moment, her wheels turning, and then her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. For a split second I thought she might faint.
My mom and I had some good times swapping pregnancy stories. I’d experience some pregnancy symptom and I’d call her up to ask if she’d had the same thing. It was fun to have something to talk about again. Our relationship had been strained since I married Kyle.
My morning sickness was debilitating; I hadn’t heard of the anti-nausea medications like the ones Princess Kate took. I spent a lot of time in bed. Kyle eventually got irritated that he had to do so many of the household chores; ooh, poor husband. Not exactly a perfect spouse moment.
At 12 weeks I figured I was almost at the 13-week first trimester mark, so I told a few friends at a party. I also felt it was important to break the news to my friend Lena, who had been struggling with infertility for 3 years. She was happy for me but later admitted that she had hung up the phone and cried.
The very next day I started spotting, signaling the beginning of the end for me.