With just ten weeks left until my due date, sometimes I can’t help but stop and wonder at the amazingness of it all: me? Pregnant with our first child? A baby boy, no less? When I look back at the long and winding journey to get to this moment, I can’t help but be filled with wonder, awe and gratitude. This is my journey of pregnancy after infertility.
When you marry your high school sweetheart, it just seems so natural, so next-step, to have children together. When Larry and I were on our honeymoon in Walt Disney World five years ago, we joked about all the strollers parked in front of the rides. We got giddy at the thought of having children together but knew we wanted to wait a couple of years before we started trying.
But we never got that chance.
Through a series of other random medical issues just after our first wedding anniversary, we learned I had infertility issues and that having genetic children of our own just wasn’t possible. My infertility diagnosis was such a devastating blow to me personally, my husband and our sense of everything we had planned and hoped for as a married couple. My doctors told me the only way I’d ever be able to get pregnant was with the help of an egg donor. We were crushed and grieved the child that would have been half-me, half-Larry.
We spent the next four years reading and researching our family building options and saving up the money to begin fertility treatments. We had discussed pursuing anonymous egg donors when a friend of ours amazingly offered to be an egg donor for us. We were floored and moved by her generous offer and after a lot of late nights talking through all the possibilities, we decided to take the plunge.
Fast forward six months later: through our friend’s extraordinary efforts including taking multiple daily hormonal injections and traveling between multiple fertility clinics, I got pregnant via in vitro fertilization (IVF) on the very first try. We were incredibly lucky and deeply humbled by the experience and the kind generosity of our friend. After all this time, all our waiting, all of our hopes, fears and worries: I was actually pregnant.
I was finally going to get to be a mom.
Those first few months of my pregnancy were nervous ones: after becoming a leading voice within the infertility blogging community over the past four years, I was all too keenly aware of what could go wrong. We took my pregnancy day by day and then slowly, week by week.
The day we heard our baby’s heartbeat, I cried. I squeezed my husband’s hand as we listened to the soft wubwubwub sound on the fetal Doppler, a little choo-choo train-like sound we had been so eager to hear. When we learned we were having a boy, I marveled at the idea of raising a son: planning a bris, buying trucks and robot toys, learning about all of the things that come with parenting a little boy.
These moments of wonder continue to unfold as each week progresses closer to my due date. Larry recently started commuting to work by train and now that the weather’s getting nicer, I like to take a walk to meet him at the train station. Recently, he said to me, “I can’t wait for you and our son to meet me at the train station in just a few months.” It’s such a wonderful thought to picture and every time I think about it, I can’t help but smile.
I realize too, that as we countdown closer to our baby’s arrival, I’m counting down to the end of this very special pregnancy and that soon I’ll be feeling him in my arms rather than kicking at me from the inside. And every time I feel his little kicks, see my belly jiggle with each swift, tiny kick – I can’t help but be amazed by it all, to navel-gaze at the wonder of this incredible miracle we can’t wait to meet.
We’ve waited so long for you, little one – it won’t be long now until we get to meet you.