I haven’t posted in a hot miunte. Here’s why…
If you had told me five years ago that I’d one day be writing a blog post telling people I am pregnant, I would have laughed, cried, or possibly thrown a fertility medication at you. Not in a mean way — just in a “my hormones are 97% pharmaceutical-grade chaos” way.
But here I am. Five weeks pregnant.
Five.
Weeks.
Pregnant.
Which, for anyone unfamiliar with early pregnancy math, means I am currently the proud host of something roughly the size of a sesame seed who is already dictating my sleep schedule, my appetite, and my emotional stability. Incredible.
The Plot Twist I Didn’t See Coming
After five years of infertility — five years of appointments, needles, waiting rooms, hope, heartbreak, and Googling things no human should ever Google — I had quietly made peace with the idea that maybe this wasn’t going to happen for me.
And then it did.
Except instead of the movie moment where I gasp, clutch the pregnancy test, and sink gracefully to the bathroom floor in a soft, cinematic cry… I stared at the test like it was a prank. Then I took another. Then another. Then I made my husband look at them under three different lighting conditions like we were appraising diamonds.
Romantic, I know.
Joy, But Make It Complicated
Here’s the truth: I am happy. I am terrified. I am grateful. I am grieving. I am hopeful. I am all of these things at the same time, and if that sounds exhausting, trust me — it is.
Infertility doesn’t just switch off because a test turns positive. It lingers. It shadows. It whispers, “Are you sure?” every time you feel a cramp or don’t feel a symptom or wake up at 3 a.m. convinced you dreamt the whole thing.
I’m still checking for bad news the way some people check the weather.
But I’m also letting myself feel joy — tiny, cautious, trembling joy — because this moment deserves to be felt.
For Anyone Still Waiting
If you are reading this and you’re still in the thick of it — still waiting, still hoping, still hurting — I want you to know something:
I see you.
I remember the sting of pregnancy announcements. I remember the way hope can feel like both a lifeline and a punishment. I remember the months that felt like years and the years that felt like a lifetime.
Nothing about my news erases that version of me, or the version of you who is still fighting.
I’m not “on the other side.” I’m just in a new chapter of the same story — one that began with longing, loss, and resilience. And I will never forget the people still standing in the storm.
If you need to mute me, skip this post, or take space, please do. Protect your heart. I would.
What Comes Next
I don’t know what the next weeks will bring. I don’t know how this story will unfold. But for the first time in a long time, I feel something that looks suspiciously like hope.
Messy hope. Fragile hope. Hope with trust issues.
But hope, nonetheless.
And today, that’s enough.
Tag: fear
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A love letter to my irrational brain, which is just trying its best.
Let’s take a gentle stroll through the woods of my psyche—don’t worry, it’s well-lit, there are snacks, and the poodles are here for emotional support. Today’s topic: my biggest fears, ranked not by severity (FYI).
💀 1. Death & Dying: The Classic Crowd Favorite
Look, I know this one is universal, but my brain treats it like a hobby. Some people collect stamps; I collect intrusive thoughts about mortality while brushing my teeth.
I’ll be minding my business, doing something wholesome like folding laundry, when suddenly my brain whispers, “One day you won’t exist.”
Thank you, brain. Very cool. Very relaxing.I try to comfort myself by imagining I’ll become a ghost who lightly haunts people by rearranging their throw pillows. If I must go, I’m going with cozy chaos.
🎈 2. Balloons: The Silent Menace
Some people see balloons and think “party.”
I see balloons and think “unpredictable airborne landmines.”They sit there, all shiny and innocent, but at any moment—any moment—they could explode with the emotional force of a thousand jump scares. And don’t even get me started on people who twist balloon animals. Why would you willingly handle a pressurized rubber bomb? Why?
If you ever see me at a birthday party, just know I’m smiling through the fear.
🕷️ 3. Spiders: Eight Legs Too Many
I respect nature. I love nature. I do not love nature when it enters my home.
Spiders always show up like they’re delivering bad news. They don’t walk—they arrive. And they always choose the worst possible moment:
- Shower time
- Bedtime
- Any time I’m home alone and feeling emotionally fragile
I don’t kill them because I’m a good person (and also because James saves them and their precious, yucky lives).
🧗 4. Heights: Because Gravity Has Never Been My Friend
I don’t trust anything that requires me to be more than two feet off the ground. Ladders? No. Ferris wheels? Absolutely not. Glass floors in tall buildings? Jail.
My legs turn to overcooked noodles the moment I’m elevated. I once climbed a small hill and immediately began drafting my will. I’m not built for vertical adventures. I’m built for horizontal lounging.
🎥 5. Scary Movies: Why Pay to Suffer?
Some people love scary movies because they enjoy the adrenaline. I enjoy not having nightmares for six to eight business days.
If I watch a horror movie, I become a full-time paranormal investigator in my own home. Every creak? Ghost. Every shadow? Demon. Every poodle staring into the corner like they see something? I’m moving.
I don’t need fictional terror. My life is scary enough.
🌿 Final Thoughts
Fear is a natural part of being human, and honestly, mine keep life interesting. They also give my family endless entertainment, which I consider a public service.
If you share any of these fears, welcome to the club. We meet weekly. Snacks provided. Balloons strictly forbidden.
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It’s happening.
Like… actually happening.
After what feels like 47 years of talking, planning, Googling, and me dramatically sighing into the void, we’re officially starting the IUI process.I always imagined this moment would feel cinematic — soft lighting, inspirational music, maybe a gentle breeze blowing my hair like I’m in a fertility-themed shampoo commercial. Instead, I’m a chaotic blend of terrified, excited, hopeful, nauseous, and “did I leave the stove on?” energy.
Apparently, when something truly matters, your brain throws a surprise party and invites every emotion you’ve ever had.
💛 The Weight of “Finally” (It’s Heavy, Okay?)
“Finally” is such a tiny word for something that carries so much.
It holds every appointment, every month of “maybe?”, every moment I wondered if my body got the memo about the assignment. It holds the quiet fears I didn’t always say out loud, and the hope I kept tucked away like a fragile little secret.
But “finally” also feels like a door cracking open.
Like the universe shrugging and saying, Alright, girl. Let’s give this a shot.🤍 Doing This Together
One thing keeping me grounded is my husband — the human equivalent of a weighted blanket.
He’s calm where I’m spiraling, steady where I’m vibrating with nerves, and somehow manages to make me laugh even when I’m clutching a fertility clinic pamphlet like it’s a hostage situation.
We’re walking into this as a team:
- Me: emotional raccoon with a planner
- Him: supportive golden retriever with a driver’s license
Honestly? It works.
🌈 Holding Two Feelings at Once (Apparently That’s Allowed)
I used to think fear meant doubt.
Now I’m learning fear can also mean this is important. That excitement and anxiety can sit together like two toddlers fighting over the same toy. That hope doesn’t have to be neat or tidy — it can be messy, loud, and a little sweaty.So yes, I’m scared.
But I’m also excited in a way that feels electric — like the good kind of roller coaster, not the kind that makes you question your life choices.✨ What Comes Next (Besides Me Stress-Eating)
I don’t know how this journey will unfold.
I don’t know how many twists or turns are ahead. But I do know this: we’re moving forward. We’re trying. We’re giving ourselves a chance.And that feels brave.
And hopeful.
And a little miraculous.
Wandering in the Woods 