...and here we are

 This past Christmas was one of the hardest I ever had to live through. Actively trying to grow your family is emotional enough, experiencing loss doesn't make it any easier.

I experienced a chemical pregnancy a few weeks later, and was just so discouraged. We'd only been trying for about six months, but still.

I despaired for a few days and went through several cycles of grief before finally coming to a decision. If by the 12 month mark of trying it hadn't happened, we were moving on with our life. In the few months of trying, I felt like Charlie was getting lost in the shuffle. I started to feel guilty. I was so caught in the idea of something, I was neglecting what was already there.

So I took a cycle off. I got my two COVID shots, I flew to AZ alone for a baby shower (leaving Sam and Charlie alone for the first time ever), did acupuncture, and continued to crochet baby blankets for what seemed like everyone else in the world. I journaled. I tried to be open to the idea of Charlie being my only child.

As my next ovulation week approached, I struggled emotionally. I started using OPKs, and nothing! Believe me, timing "romantic time" around a 3yr old is no easy feat. I use two different apps to help me track my cycle, and started to wonder if my fertility just wasn't up to par. I stopped tracking, and assumed that my month was shot. Whatever. Time to move past it.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when I discovered my two tracking apps were no longer synced. One said my period was due in a day, the other said I was four days late. The latter kept suggesting I take a pregnancy test. So the next morning I did. It didn't even take 30 seconds for that line to darken. I could see it in the dark without my glasses.

I told Sam, although it was the third time I had in the last three months so...

I called my doctor, who told me to come in for a blood test. She wanted to monitor my HCG, and once it hit a certain threshold she wanted me to have an ultrasound. Three blood draws and two weeks later I had an ultrasound. I had made it past the five week mark, which hadn't been the case with the last two. But even though everything look fine, I wasn't convinced.

My first appointment was two weeks later. I had another ultrasound two weeks after that, and then another appointment. At 8 weeks I took the at home blood kit I had ordered a few months earlier, and was told my baby was a boy. I had terrible heart burn, food aversion, and nausea. My face broke out and I tried to navigate my way through the worst hormonal acne I've ever had. People at work could tell I wasn't myself. While a handful of people knew, I hadn't 'announced.' It wasn't until one particularly rough day of nausea, where one of male colleagues kept asking me if I was okay. Unfortunately during COVID times, you can't inconspicuously say you feel under the weather. So at nine weeks people at work heard the news.

First trimester was the worst. I told Sam multiple times that this kid was the last one.

Finally, last weekend I hit my 14 week mark while we were visiting family in AZ. Alexa was insistent that the blood test should be disregarded. She firmly believed that it was wrong, so she got me an ultrasound appointment.

When the sonographer told me it was a girl, I was shocked. She checked three different ways. We weren't unhappy to be having a boy, but we definitely were overjoyed at the thought of a girl.

So here we are. Coming up on 16 weeks of pregnancy with baby girl. I'm finally feeling better. The food aversion is still there, but not as bad as before.

Charlie still doesn't understand what happened to his brother, and why he's now getting a sister.

I still can't believe I'm almost halfway through this pregnancy.