I debated back and forth about this post, but for the past couple weeks I keep feeling this need to talk about it.  A need for a place to vent.  A place I can reach out to and talk about how things don’t always go as easy as planned.  So, guess what, blog buddies?  You’re it.  My sounding board.  The people who can smack sense back into me.  So put on your smacking gloves.

I may have exaggerated a little in my last post.  About how long we’ve been trying to conceive.  I might have led you to believe a little that it’s been very recent that we decided to start trying for children.  And while, it’s probably considered still recent, it’s been a few more months than that.  We’re on month 6 now and still no go.

Before you start looking at me like I’m crazy and spitting out all the facts (yeah, I know healthy couples can take up to a year), it’s hard for me to understand why it hasn’t happened for us yet.  Do you know when you start trying for kids, everyone around you is all of a sudden miraculously pregnant?  Where’s this water we’re all supposed to be drinking from because the waiter hasn’t come around to my table yet.

It’s absolutely ridiculous for me to worry about.  And the rational side of me, (however small she is), knows this.  But.  The crazy, Google-searching nut job that sounds more like my normal self is starting to worry.  Just a bit.  Maybe losing a little bit of hope each month as I allow myself to get a tad bit hopeful and then…bam.  Back to the drawing board.  Each month I start to feel more worried there may be something wrong.  I’ve done enough Google searching to know we’re not quite falling in the statistics.

Here’s the thing.  I’ve known for a long time that I’m meant to be a mom.  I’m that idiot smiling from ear to ear at your kid’s picture when everyone else is politely nodding.  I’m also that woman who manages to draw on some unseen pool of patience from deep within when it comes to children (however lacking that pool is for my poor husband, sorry Tone).  I daydream about our kid having Tony’s grin and my sense of humor. 

I am bordering on sickness, I know.

And because I want all of this so bad, the self-deprecating part of me convinces myself that it won’t happen for us.  I won’t see a positive on a pregnancy test and I won’t get to waddle around, all fat-belly and make the hubs rub my feet.  It seems surreal.  Like not real life.  Or mine.

All this after 6 months, I know.  Please tell me I’m crazy.  Please tell me that I’m just a control freak that needs to recognize I can’t be in control of everything.  Maybe this is a lesson for me.

There are those of you out there who struggle with fertility and are probably reading this with a smirk.  Writing this is probably a knee jerk reaction to something that will hopefully happen if I learn to wait and put a little trust in the powers that be.  

But.

It’s my worry.  And I’m hoping committing it to paper (or blog, internet-y paper) will help me feel a little better.  Babies and fertility and all that fun stuff is such a taboo topic, I’m going to stick to my over-sharing road.  I just can’t help it.  You knew this when you met me.

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