… and then I got pregnant.
To say I was surprised would not be entirely accurate. In fact (when I tell people this, they immediately get this look on their faces that says, “Does not compute.”), for the first two days that I knew, I couldn’t get out of bed I was so depressed. My head was so full of information about my broken ovaries and inadequate eggs that I was absolutely sure I was going to lose it. It’s the ultimate inferiority complex. The infertility inferiority complex.
Fourth of July weekend, I slept on and off and bargained with the Universe as I peed on stick after stick. “Please let me keep it. Please let me keep it.”
That I’m married to an optimist eventually provided a very necessary counterpart to my world-class worry. Though, it wasn’t really until this week’s ultrasound that I started feeling like this was the real thing. I’d even started showing the week before. Still not real. But something about watching the little guppy bounce around in there convinced me that whatever odds were stacked against us, we really did beat ‘em.
I am forever grateful for all the messages of encouragement and all the hearts and thoughts and prayers that went out for us. I don’t know why we go so lucky – but I am so grateful we did.