Yes

     I had a wonderful weekend. I celebrated my first Mother's Day and it was everything that I ever hoped it could be. Over and over again I was reminded of how grateful I am that I get to participate in this amazing adventure called motherhood and as always, my thoughts inevitably drifted to how close I came to missing out. I watch my son, now 10 months old as he crawls, climbs and takes his first tentative steps toward walking and I am amazed by how much my life has changed from the years that I spent trying to get him here. Those days are never far from my memory and that is not by accident. Nor is the day that I finally saw my first glimmer of hope that it was my turn at last.

     Two and a half years into trying to conceive I had all but given up. Well, given up in the sense of a woman still actively trying to conceive in spite of losing all hope or joy in the process. What that looks like is still temping and charting daily, still timing sex but not enjoying any of it and not getting excited anymore at the end of a cycle, even one that looks promising. I had gotten pretty good at predicting when my ovulation was going to happen and pretty sick of sex so Jim and I only did the deed once that month and I was excited to see that it was right on time. I had a beautiful temp drop that month followed by a huge temp spike, which is basically the holy grail of charting. Even so, we didn't feel very hopeful. We had been trying for so long that we just didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel anymore and we hadn't done the baby dance since the month before due to the overall distaste for sex that comes from a long period of time spent trying to conceive. The sperm we used were likely old and dead by the time they even got into the game. I had actually asked my doctor if we should feel hopeful that month due to our perfect timing and was told that, “no, those sperm were likely too old to fertilize an egg.” Better luck next month. So we settled in to wait for the end of yet another unsuccessful cycle.

     By this time, the concept of actually getting pregnant seemed like a distant possibility at best, so on the fringe in fact, that it was no longer a concrete part of our future life plans. I decided to use the money that I had been saving to give myself a maternity leave from work and remodel our bathroom instead. We began the complete and total destruction of our home's one and only bathroom and I started looking at paint and tile options.

     We stayed busy that month attending the wedding of two of our friends and my nephew's second birthday. While there, my cousin announced exciting news. She was pregnant. I was absolutely over-the-moon thrilled for her and her husband. They were going to be amazing parents and I couldn't wait to have another baby in the family. But I would be lying if I said that my tears were purely joyful. In my mind and in my plans, my cousin and I were always pregnant together. We had always been more like sisters than cousins and were so close in age that we shared a lot of our life event's with one another. It had seemed only natural that we would leap into this important life milestone together as well. This was it. The thing that I had feared so much over the past few years was becoming my living reality. I was really going to watch everyone around me have their babies and start their families while I sat on the sidelines just wishing and waiting for my own. It was happening. As much as I wanted to, I honestly didn't know how I was going to sit around and discuss baby names and nursery themes with her. I didn't think I had the strength.

     The Monday following the birthday party I called my doctor. I was finally ready to find out what was wrong with me and deal with it. My fear had always been that they would tell me something really bad, like there was absolutely no hope. How would I handle that? But the tearful car ride home from the party had revealed to me something important. I was already grieving that loss. I was already there. If that is what the tests had to reveal, then I was already living it. I needed to know if there was anything more that I could do.

     My doctor was wonderful. She didn't want to waste any more time. At my age I should have started fertility testing after about a year of unsuccessful trying. We were already a year and a half behind. My husband was scheduled for a semen analysis and I was scheduled for a hysterosalpinogram which is a series of x-rays taken of the fallopian tubes and uterus and a trans vaginal ultrasound. My first test would happen on the day before Thanksgiving. The thought of getting bad news over the holidays killed me. I was terrified about what the test would reveal and I was heartbroken. Absolutely heartbroken. In my mind, all that I could picture was going through invasive, expensive procedures and still ending up with empty arms as so many couples do.

     I was at a point where every single night I would cry while in the safety and solitude of the shower. I would ask “why?” Why was this completely natural act something that I was struggling with? Why was I not worthy to be a mother? I felt completely worthless.

     I contemplated what testing would mean for us. I already knew from my chart that I was ovulating, so that wasn't the issue. I was using my progesterone cream. Often, couples struggling to conceive don't even get answers as to why. I braced myself for the coming frustration of undergoing countless tests only to be diagnosed with unexplained infertility. Tell me something I don't know.

     Regardless, I used my progesterone cream religiously. If nothing else I could continue to work on a good dose for myself. I spotted one day, but just a little seven days after I had ovulated. Implantation bleeding? I felt that familiar pull of hope, but quickly squashed it. I'd been there many times before. Too many times to fall for it again. As the days passed however, I felt my feelings of hope begin to grow without my permission. No bleeding at 8 DPO (days past ovulation), 9 DPO, 10 DPO, 11, 12... I passed the window! For the first time since March I had passed the window! My luteal phase was long enough this month! Implantation was absolutely possible. Could it be? I thought about taking a test, which usually causes my period to start immediately. Nothing... I went out and bought a pregnancy test. This almost always caused my period to start. Still nothing... I decided to take the test on Halloween since it is my favorite holiday and at that point I would be able to get a clear and accurate result.

     I didn't make it to Halloween though. I woke up a few days before and my temperature had dropped. Not a lot, but enough to cause significant concern. If I was pregnant, my temperature should still be high. I ran to the bathroom. Still no period. I decided to take the home pregnancy test that was waiting for me in the closet. If nothing else, taking a pregnancy test ALWAYS made my period start immediately. With tears in my eyes I filled my little pee cup with shaking hands. I had become a real champ when it came to peeing in cups. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back and both eyes closed.

     I placed one test in the cup, counted to 5 and laid it flat on the floor in front of me. I sat in silence in my bathroom alone, crying and praying. “Please God.” I allowed myself hope for the first time in a year. “Please God, let this be it.” I opened my eyes and saw that my digital test was still flashing the symbol indicating that it was working. I closed my eyes again and continued to pray. My emotions were running rampant. I could never even imagine a positive pregnancy test. It was the illusive, mythical creature that I never expected to catch. It was my Unicorn. My yeti. But as I sat there in my bathroom, walls falling down around me due to the impending remodel I finally realized just how much I actually wanted this to be it. And the feeling was overwhelming. Tears ran down my cheeks. The thought of opening my eyes to anything other than a positive result was too much to take. This had to be it. I never wanted anything more in my entire life.

     I opened my eyes again and through tears, I saw it. A blurry “yes.” A small word but how huge it was to me. I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed and thanked God and then I used the pee still in my cup to take a second test because I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. Two “yes” results. There are not words to describe my feelings that morning. To this day, it was one of the top two moments in my life, second only to the birth of my son, Archer 9 months later.

     Over the next few weeks I looked back over my chart and discovered that I was actually one day pregnant at my nephew's birthday party. It is ironic that the day that I felt the most hopeless was actually the very day that my luck had changed, I just didn't know it yet. I'm grateful for that experience, however. On that day, my little Bean taught his mama her first good lesson of motherhood... Some day's seem pretty crappy on the surface, but the beauty is in the details.

     Following my positive HPT I promptly canceled my fertility tests and shifted my focus from getting pregnant to being pregnant and regretting my decision to destroy my one and only bathroom right at a time in my life when I needed to pee every five minutes. No matter what else happens in my life, I will never forget my struggle to conceive as long as I live. I allow it to always be close in my memory to remind me to be grateful when I feel frustrated and to be patient when I feel overwhelmed. I'm including my chart from that fabulous month for the other charters out there who like me, enjoy obsessing over someone else's chart. In two and a half years it is the ONLY one I ever had that looked normal, so I'm pretty proud of it. Enjoy, and lots of baby dust to you! I pray that next year, it will be your first Mother's Day that we are celebrating!