NEW CHAPTER

I started this blog about a year ago with the purpose of it being a TTC blog. That stands for "trying to conceive," for all you fertile readers who have no need for super-awesome infertility acronyms. I had hoped it would swiftly transform into a pregnancy blog, and then again morph into a motherhood blog.

I figured that if we had trouble conceiving, it would be a good spot to vent and sort my feelings. But you know, I really didn't think we'd have trouble conceiving. I was scared to death we would, but I didn't think that would actually happen. We're so healthy. I get my period every month. Almost everyone else we knew had conceived like gangbusters. And I had been charting my cycles for nine months by the time we officially started trying. I was so educated. I knew exactly when to turn on my charms of seduction.

But here we are, 15 months after taking the big leap, childless as can be. We've bought our nest, saved our pennies, paid off our loans and spent years investing in our relationship. We've taken dream trips and checked big achievements off our bucket lists. We love Jesus, and we eat healthy, balanced meals. I think we'll make pretty kick-ass parents, except for this one nagging problem.

I try to avoid posts like this, where I'm just rambling about my feelings, but we're at a bit of a precipice now, anticipating our first appointment with the fertility clinic. To me, it's a great white flag, an admittance of defeat. To Philip, it's a firm concrete step, hopefully toward answers. I'm ready to go, and I'm deeply thankful that we have the financial resources. But I just can't believe that I'm one of the infertile ones. My desire for a child of our own flesh and blood is practically suffocating, and we just can't do it. We keep trying and trying, and we have an army of people praying for us, but at the end of every month, it's the same heartbreak. It's helpless and awful. It's always in the back of my mind, often the front. I put up with well-intentioned but bad advice and stories of friends of friends of friends that have nothing to do with me or my reproductive system. I wrestle with shameful feelings of envy and resentfulness toward my friends. I fret over the future. I wrestle with God's hand in all of this. I worry that I don't deserve children.

On the flip side, I lead a very exotic life. This year alone, I've been to St. Kitts, Nevis, the Dominican Republic, Los Angeles and Savannah. In my lifetime, I've set foot on five of the seven continents. I've trained my body to run for miles, and I've lost 15 pounds. I have friends all over the U.S., and I eat lunch with some of my closest girlfriends every day. I get to be creative at my job, and I have a husband who is my dream man. I cuddle my cats at night, and I'm never bored.

So, it's weird.

It does feel like a chapter is closing, and a new one is opening. We're done being just a couple trying to have a baby. We are officially diagnosed as infertile (even though I've felt infertile since we started trying, and I do try to avoid that word). So now we are starting the Fertility Treatment chapter, full of appointments and meds and blood tests and a whole new slew of acronyms. Will it end with a pregnancy or just a drained bank account? Will we pursue adoption if we fail? Who knows. Philip tells me not to think about it, so I try not to.

I can't control the outcome, so it's better to focus on things I can control, one of which is this blog. In case people are finding it who don't know me, I've added a photo and a little welcome note on the right-hand side. I've also added a page about our full fertility journey this far, in case any of y'all need a refresher. I've been reading more and more fertility blogs, and goodness knows I want the photo and the back story. I'm an amazing blog creeper, as a matter of fact.

Thanks always for reading, and for continuing to come back even though I post only about once a month. Thanks for supporting us and praying for us and for not bringing up fertility; I promise I'll go there if I feel like talking about it. Thanks for continuing to invite me to baby showers and one-year-old birthday parties, even though I usually don't go. Thanks for caring and for trying to navigate this whole dumb situation with me; it can't last forever, can it?