When a couple first decides they want to have children, it's organic, isn't it? There are some traded smiles and hopeful glances while everyone waits to hear the good news that a baby is on the way.
Unfortunately, this wasn't the case for Michael and me. We tried to get pregnant for a year and a half and nothing happened. All the while, several friends started families and people began to ask the dreaded question, "So do you want children?". OF COURSE we wanted children, but it just hadn't happened for us. I can't tell you the number of times I held back tears and tried desperately to tear the topic of conversation away from babies. I remember dreading going to family events for fear that someone would inevitably bring up the issue that Michael and I had been married for several years. Didn't we want to start a family in the near future? Every forced smile seemed to cause yet another tiny tear in my heart.
After 18 months of trying, we decided it was time to see a doctor. The good/bad news was that nothing was wrong with either one of us. It just wasn't happening. I endured every (humiliating, painful) test in hopes of finding something we could "fix," but that just wasn't in the cards.
Finally, in February of 2015, I saw that glorious plus sign. The one that every woman "trying to conceive" longs to see. After waking up Michael with a hug and a smile, I immediately called my mom and my sister. They squealed and began to imagine a tiny Baudinet running around our country home. I called the doctor and they encouraged me to come in for a blood test to check my hormone levels. I did so and made a stop by the church to sit in the sanctuary to thank God for this amazing gift. Things couldn't be better.
Unfortunately, the nurse called to say that my hormone levels were surprisingly low. I was technically pregnant, but it didn't seem as if my body was responding as it should. She suggested I come back for another test in 48 hours. Oh sure, I'll just go home and wonder if this pregnancy is doomed to fail for the next 48 hours. Perfection.
In the second test, it showed my hormone levels were in fact decreasing. The doctors called it a "chemical pregnancy." I was absolutely devastated. I remember getting that call while Michael and I were sitting in church. I stepped out to take the call and as the doctor spoke, I just collapsed into Michael's arms. This was happening to us. I was that woman whose body couldn't support a pregnancy. Thus began my assumption that I must be "broken."
We decided to take a break. We needed a vacation. I was exhausted--from everything. From life. From getting my business up and running all while serving as the (volunteer) President of a local non-profit. We needed to have fun again. We needed to see the light and revel in the laughter.
Unfortunately, this wasn't the case for Michael and me. We tried to get pregnant for a year and a half and nothing happened. All the while, several friends started families and people began to ask the dreaded question, "So do you want children?". OF COURSE we wanted children, but it just hadn't happened for us. I can't tell you the number of times I held back tears and tried desperately to tear the topic of conversation away from babies. I remember dreading going to family events for fear that someone would inevitably bring up the issue that Michael and I had been married for several years. Didn't we want to start a family in the near future? Every forced smile seemed to cause yet another tiny tear in my heart.
After 18 months of trying, we decided it was time to see a doctor. The good/bad news was that nothing was wrong with either one of us. It just wasn't happening. I endured every (humiliating, painful) test in hopes of finding something we could "fix," but that just wasn't in the cards.
Finally, in February of 2015, I saw that glorious plus sign. The one that every woman "trying to conceive" longs to see. After waking up Michael with a hug and a smile, I immediately called my mom and my sister. They squealed and began to imagine a tiny Baudinet running around our country home. I called the doctor and they encouraged me to come in for a blood test to check my hormone levels. I did so and made a stop by the church to sit in the sanctuary to thank God for this amazing gift. Things couldn't be better.
Unfortunately, the nurse called to say that my hormone levels were surprisingly low. I was technically pregnant, but it didn't seem as if my body was responding as it should. She suggested I come back for another test in 48 hours. Oh sure, I'll just go home and wonder if this pregnancy is doomed to fail for the next 48 hours. Perfection.
In the second test, it showed my hormone levels were in fact decreasing. The doctors called it a "chemical pregnancy." I was absolutely devastated. I remember getting that call while Michael and I were sitting in church. I stepped out to take the call and as the doctor spoke, I just collapsed into Michael's arms. This was happening to us. I was that woman whose body couldn't support a pregnancy. Thus began my assumption that I must be "broken."
We decided to take a break. We needed a vacation. I was exhausted--from everything. From life. From getting my business up and running all while serving as the (volunteer) President of a local non-profit. We needed to have fun again. We needed to see the light and revel in the laughter.
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