The glory days
My first three months of ttcing 'properly' were filled with a joyful glee. I'd wee on my little stick every morning, wait for the results, drink my coffee and announce to my husband what was going on. We'd try once in the morning and time it over the next few days, surrounded in a bubble of excitement and hope. I'd shower my nieces and nephews with affection when I'd see them and coo at strangers babies. I'd immediately get tips from my pregnant Mum friends and listen delighted. If it didn't work, oh well it never does this quickly for anyone, there's always next month. Then we'd maybe catch a late night show on TV or go out to our fave spot for dinner. I vowed never to be one of those people who were envious of pregnant people or Mums, they're all miracles and my time would come.
Six months in, I'm yelling at my husband "Come on it says it's a peak day we need to do it now or it won't happen I can't do that again. My egg will die in 12 hours!" As you can imagine, this turned him on so much he had no option but to make a baby with me. Not. We began fighting and finger pointing at times. You shouldn't of had those beers, I shouldn't of had that wine, you wore those stupid bike shorts, I ran my bath too hot. The self blaming and other blaming could happen at any time. It was clear, I had started to be possessed by the infertility demon. Being infertile puts a massive strain on your relationship.
Months went by, by the eighth month people with babies started to slowly piss me off for no reason. I locked myself in the women's toilet and cried after a girl at work announced her pregnancy. Acting like a teenager who's friend had the expensive trainers they wanted. Later on in our journey I couldn't bare to go to family events. Seeing the crowds of families sparked a deep pain in me, I felt so sorry for myself and my husband. Conversations about prams and milestones found us looking at each other solemnly so wanting to join in but not being able to. I'd beat myself up for feeling this way, I wish someone had told me it was just normal sooner.
My period or another negative pregnancy test would make me cry and break my heart into tiny little pieces each time. I hated being the one symptom spotting during the two week wait. Squashing and prodding my boobs to see if they had changed. Casually googling 9dpo symptoms at 1am because I swore you felt a twinge and crave doughnuts. My hope and optimism had turned to dust, but was somewhat still there.
Well meaning friends and family would hype me up with antidotes. Or stories to encourage me to stop my fertility diet, "So and so got pregnant drunk and on heroin so you don't need to follow your diet." Or even worse, "Just relax and it will happen." When this was said I would have to stop my head turning 360 degrees like the exorcist while screaming "YOU EFFING RELAX." The demon was fully on show.
Of course I understand that once I am pregnant, I will return to the glory days when I am filled with wonderous hope. I will appreciate this baby so much, and love the experience. My husband and I are closer through this and we are so ready for our happy ending.
Six months in, I'm yelling at my husband "Come on it says it's a peak day we need to do it now or it won't happen I can't do that again. My egg will die in 12 hours!" As you can imagine, this turned him on so much he had no option but to make a baby with me. Not. We began fighting and finger pointing at times. You shouldn't of had those beers, I shouldn't of had that wine, you wore those stupid bike shorts, I ran my bath too hot. The self blaming and other blaming could happen at any time. It was clear, I had started to be possessed by the infertility demon. Being infertile puts a massive strain on your relationship.
Months went by, by the eighth month people with babies started to slowly piss me off for no reason. I locked myself in the women's toilet and cried after a girl at work announced her pregnancy. Acting like a teenager who's friend had the expensive trainers they wanted. Later on in our journey I couldn't bare to go to family events. Seeing the crowds of families sparked a deep pain in me, I felt so sorry for myself and my husband. Conversations about prams and milestones found us looking at each other solemnly so wanting to join in but not being able to. I'd beat myself up for feeling this way, I wish someone had told me it was just normal sooner.
My period or another negative pregnancy test would make me cry and break my heart into tiny little pieces each time. I hated being the one symptom spotting during the two week wait. Squashing and prodding my boobs to see if they had changed. Casually googling 9dpo symptoms at 1am because I swore you felt a twinge and crave doughnuts. My hope and optimism had turned to dust, but was somewhat still there.
Well meaning friends and family would hype me up with antidotes. Or stories to encourage me to stop my fertility diet, "So and so got pregnant drunk and on heroin so you don't need to follow your diet." Or even worse, "Just relax and it will happen." When this was said I would have to stop my head turning 360 degrees like the exorcist while screaming "YOU EFFING RELAX." The demon was fully on show.
Of course I understand that once I am pregnant, I will return to the glory days when I am filled with wonderous hope. I will appreciate this baby so much, and love the experience. My husband and I are closer through this and we are so ready for our happy ending.
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