The Beginning

The beginning was about a year ago.

Paul and I sat on our front stoop and said, "Lets spawn!"

No?

Ok, no that's not really how it went. We were on our front porch but our conversation was a lot more deep and contemplative. We discussed money, emotions, money, some fears, money. In the end it was decided we were good.

Because of my type A personality I read and learned all about fertility. Purchased a basal body thermometer and set my alarm for the same time every morning. I bought ovulation predictor kits because my desire for control and instant gratification was/is intense.

Except it wasn't so instant, nothing was.

Fall flew by us.

Winter creeped up and before we knew it was gone as well.

I counted the months and started to feel discouraged. Everyone was knocked up. People ON BIRTH CONTROL managed to have one on the way.

Yet, us with our perfect planning and cushy outlook couldn't manage it. I was starting to feel like a failure. Broken. Damaged.

I'm CATHOLIC for crying out loud. This is what I was put here to do!

We were barrelling into Summer and it was time to face the facts. One of us was damaged.

We finally made the appointment and went to an OB. She ordered a blood test for me and a semen analysis for Paul. All good all clear!

Then I had to do the HSG, or Hysterosalpingogram. Oh Sweet Baby Jesus. The wonderful sweet beautiful Internet friends I had made on this journey swore it wasn't that bad and to take a Tylenol. Maybe if your tolerance for pain is equivalent to Superman's. I took a vicodan and it was B-A-D BAD. I cried.

Tubes were clear. The OB couldn't do anything further and we were off to the Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE) in July. On my birthday no less.