So I’ve been going about my merry way for the past few weeks and suddenly it dawned on me that it’s the middle of May. My first reaction was surprise because – holy crap – the first of the year went by quickly. But then I started to count (I’m an accountant, it’s what I do). Five months of the year, almost gone. Add in the three from last year. Eight months. We’ve been trying to get pregnant for eight months. Conventional medical guidance gives three months as an average for healthy couples to get pregnant, but up to a year before any sort of intervention (or further testing) occurs. One year or twelve months. Which means that eight of my twelve are almost up.
I try to be kinder to my body – on that whole year marker thing. After all, my cycles have been ridiculously long and irregular (I thought I was making improvements last cycle, but this one confirms that I’m not after all). We may be eight months in, but my body’s only actually about three cycles in. And even then, I can only confirm that I’ve ovulated one time. (I’ve been using ovulation test kits for all of December and then February to this morning. One time, in eight months. That’s a little depressing. I try not to dwell on it – I could have easily missed it even with the testing.
When we first started trying to get pregnant I naively (or joyfully, hopefully) looked up what our due date would be if we got pregnant right out of the gate. That date is right around the corner and I’m oddly emotional about that. Had we been insanely lucky, we would be weeks away from meeting our little bun-in-the-oven (or dumpling, which I like better). The thought is almost unbearable, especially as my current outlook on my own fertility isn’t all that positive. (I’m on day 57 of my current cycle and I still haven’t gotten a positive result on an ovulation test even though I’ve tested every.single.day.)
Eight out of twelve months gone before I have to go back to my GYN and explain that we’ve been trying and haven’t managed to conceive yet. I know that it’s far too early to worry or complain. I still have four-ish months and approximately two-ish cycles to go. I could still make it. The problem is, the way I see it, I’ve already been at this for eight months, the odds aren’t in my favor that the next four will go well.
I need this to end on a positive note though. I hate signing off on something so negative. So here’s a minion…. enjoy.
[Full disclosure – when I wrote this post, I thought we’d been trying for nine months, which seemed much more monumental and significant. Then I realized it had only been eight months and went back to edit it. Now it just seems very doom-and-gloom and for some reason, I feel a tad more optimistic in light of the eight….. so yeah. Insert joke about accountant who can’t count here.]