Hello ICLW-ers and welcome to We Are Learning To Make Fire. I know, I know, it’s a mouthful. It comes from a poem by the incredible Margaret Atwood. You can read it here.
Some quick facts about me:
- For much of my life, I was positive I didn’t want kids. I was vocal about it. And then, sometime around my 31st birthday, I completely changed my mind. The universe seems to think this is hilarious.
- I turned 35 this past summer, which means that the inevitable “when are you starting a family” questions are now followed by “you know you’re not getting any younger right”. Riiight. As a side note, I would like to thank all the well meaning folks for clarifying this for me. WHAT WOULD I DO WITH OUT YOUR WISDOM?
- My husband is 2 years younger than I am. We met 9 years ago. We’ve been married for 2.
- We are currently in the middle of our second IUI cycle. It’s not going so great.
- While waiting (and waiting and waiting) for this baby stuff to happen we shower all of our parental affection onto this little guy. We love him to pieces.
This is Bear. He is awesome.
Thanks for stopping by!
We have been trying to get pregnant for a year and a month. If you had told me, back in June 2011, that this is how our year was going to pan out I would have given you the crazy eye. Women in my family are notoriously fertile. My mom got pregnant after a tubal ligation – twice. My sister got pregnant on birth control. It is a running joke in my family. You never know when you might get pregnant! Ha ha.
Because of this legendary fertility, we waited to go off birth control until we were 100% positive we were ready. We made sure we scheduled in a trip (our last trip before baby!), we finished up all the lingering home renovation projects and sold our condo (to search for a bigger, baby friendly place!). The first few months we were so excited and hopeful. Every holiday felt like a milestone (our last Thanksgiving with out a baby!). We were reluctant to make any travel plans for fear that I would be too pregnant to fly during that time. We put our lives on hold. We waited and waited.
Sometime around January I started to feel like maybe, something was wrong. My doctor ran a battery of tests on both of us, including an HSG. All was normal. Relax, she told me. Most couples get pregnant within the first year. So we waited some more.
And here we are. One year and one month later. We started seeing a Reproductive Endocrinologist at the start of this last cycle (mid July-ish) and I’ve spent the last 3 weeks being poked, prodded and wanded, hoping for some answers, terrified of what it may be. Fun times.
When I was 15 I watched my sister give birth. It was an accident, mostly. I was standing nearest to her when her contractions got bad and she secured a death grip on my hand making it impossible for me to get away. Believe me, I tried.
Whoever tells you that birth is a beautiful experience is a liar. I remember blood and screaming and not being able to close my hand into a fist for the next week. Beyond that, I’ve tried really hard to block the details out. If I could have fainted without pissing my sister off, I probably would have. A woman in labor is not someone you want to cross.
For years I held this horror close to my heart, convinced that there was no way I would put myself through that. I diligently took my birth control; cheered every month when the signs appeared telling me that I was, thankfully, without child.
And then I met a boy. He wasn’t like all the other boys that had come before him. He got me thinking that maybe – maybe – a baby wasn’t such a terrible idea. In 2010 we got married. A year later we started trying to get pregnant.
We’re still trying.
Irony is a real bitch.