There's something that's been weighing on me for awhile now and I think it's been blocking me from actually being able to come to this space that I love and write. Because it felt like I wasn't being honest about life or about what's going on with me. And now, I've made a promise to my pal Mia that I was going to get back to writing. Writing for me, and if anyone is interested in reading my words, writing for you, too. But it feels like I can't do that until I'm honest about where I'm at.
The thing is, B and I have been trying to get pregnant with baby number two since last August.
It feels good to type that out. To admit it. Especially when I haven't admitted it to many people in my life. A few of the people who ask us when baby number two is coming have gotten the honest answer that "we're working on it", but I haven't said much more. But now it's starting to weigh on me, especially as the creator of a magazine that is all about honesty.
So I wanted to admit it. I wanted to get it out there. I wanted to tell you that I'm frustrated and sad and frustrated some more.
We got pregnant with Henry within three weeks of me being off birth control. He was definitely planned, but we didn't quite expect it to happen that quickly. Especially since doctor's always tell you it can take awhile for the birth control to work itself out of your system. So he was still a surprise to us.
This time we weren't ready, and we weren't ready, and we weren't ready. And then one day we were ready. I stopped birth control at the end of July 2016. I didn't expect it to happen right away, but I figured by the end of the year we'd be pregnant. But it didn't happen. And then it continued to not happen.
March came around and I turned 34 and that month I was convinced I was pregnant. So convinced that I wanted to have a "last celebratory glass of wine" before I took a test. I was so convinced that for the first time when I got my period, I was very sad about it. And that's when we decided to actually start trying. Before we had just been going about our business, assuming it would happen and not putting any thought into it.
But now, I'm starting to do those things that the doctors tell you to - tracking ovulation, watching what I eat, all of those things that are supposed to help you get there. But month after month, it's still not happening. And now the frustration is kicking in.
We've had the "what if Henry is the only one" talk. And my answer is, I'm okay with that. I so love our family of three. But at the same time, I can't help wondering what life would be like with four of us. I know Henry would be an amazing big brother, and I want that experience for him. And truth be told, the more time goes on, the more I want to see him in that role.
When we had Henry, I didn't think he would be our last, so I didn't take those mental snapshots that maybe I should have. I didn't take that snapshot of the way his little head fit so snugly into Brandon's hand. Or the endless nights of rocking him back to sleep when all else was quiet in the house except for the squeak of the chair. Or the last time that he fell asleep on my chest, as I rubbed his back. Those are all things that I want to experience again. Just one more time.
So now I'm putting it out there. We are trying. We are trying for baby number two. And maybe letting go the burden of not admitting it out loud will allow it to happen.