The Hardest Post I’ve Ever Had To Write

*Warning Pregnancy Mentioned*



As a pregnancy challenged blogger you think this would be the easiest blog post I’ve written to-date. It is in fact, quite the opposite. I’ve spent several weeks paralyzed by fear in sharing my news with the little community that has supported me in this blog.  Fear that in sharing I would jinx myself. Fear that I would be dumping salt in someone else’s infertility wound.

With a deep exhale I will rip off the digital band-aid and reveal to any readers of this post that I am pregnant.

It fills me with fear  just to type the last sentence. It fills me with worry and it fills me with sadness. Behind my fear, worry, sadness and every other negative emotion I have writing about being pregnant there is a tiny sliver of hope. Hope for myself and this baby. Hope for others that their stories of loss and want will one day be re-written. Hope that in sharing my story, it just may give someone else a renewed sense of hope.

I’ve stayed silent for week’s. Months at this point. I am 13 weeks and 3 days to be exact. My due date is March 15th and thanks to my high-risk VIP status we know that we are expecting  a baby boy.

I’ve flown below the radar for a couple of reasons:

1. In adopting, the last several months have been about my daughter Sweet P and not about me or our potential bio baby to be.

2. I’ve been there. No matter how happy I’ve been for the other women who are part of my loss/infertility community it is still like getting punched in the stomach every time the pregnancy announcements rolled in. The pregnancy announcements seem to come in waves and even though I would thank God for their answered prayers I wondered when my turn was going to come. I have just not wanted to be “that girl” and yet with this post I am “that girl”.

3. In my paralysis of fear – I felt like in announcing would cause me to lose the pregnancy. I still feel that way, which is why I am afraid to share. In the same breath, if I can’t share with you guys who can I? My mantra has become “today I am pregnant, and today it is healthy”.  After losing my first son at 18 weeks, every single week I get closer to that mark weighs heavily on me. I can not wait to get past the 18 week milestone.  I don’t get to be stoked I made it through the first trimester. Oh no, the second trimester just kicks off the fun and excitement of  the deeper seeded “what-if’s”.

So for the background on baby boy. My husband and I estimate we conceived three days after being matched for the adoption of our daughter. THREE DAYS! There were no OPK sticks, no pre-seed, no legs in the air, nadda. Just some good old-fashioned boning. The only thing different in June was that I was equipped with a “I don’t give a shit anymore” attitude. With the adoption progressing I had found my peace. I was going to be a mother and quite frankly I had come to the point of accepting it may never be to a biological child on this earth. I was OK with it and had a game plan. By the time SweetP was to be born I was going to be the fittest, hottest mom ever. I started working out with a trainer three times a week, went on a Paleo diet and was on my way to yummy mummy status. I had not been naturally (or spontaneously pregnant as the Doctor’s like to call it) in 2 years so I wasn’t worried about birth control. I just didn’t think it was going to happen.

4th of July I found myself in bed before the fireworks even began to go off. I told my husband that I had been feeling tired and that my adrenals must have been off. The Monday following the 4th I felt like death warmed over so before I had a glass of wine that evening I dug around in my bathroom for a pregnancy test “just in case”. I peed on the stick and then forgot about it. I took the dog for a walk, I did the dishes and then i remembered my glass of wine and stick so i went in my bathroom and peered from afar at the thing assuming it was going to be negative and I saw two f’ing lines!

I just started laughing. How ridiculous. God certainly has a sense of humor. My year of the baby and in it to twin it mantras from earlier in the year really paid off I guess.

So here I am with a two-week old and one on the way (God willing). They will be roughly 6 months apart.

I will say, there will be no belly pics updates from me nor those quiz things where I tell you if I have an innie or outtie for my bellybutton. Sorry, I just can’t do that. I can’t do that to all the women that I am still praying for it to be their turn.

I will however share my fears and positive doctor updates and the fact that the announcement of ANOTHER Royal baby made me royally uncomfortable yesterday.


My Daughter’s Birthday


Our Sweet P entered the world last Tuesday 8/26… one of the most surreal days of my life.

We arrived at the hospital two hours before the scheduled C-section. The plan was that once the baby was born, and all was ok, she would be wheeled out to us where we would then escort her to the nursery. We were banded by the hospital as her parents which meant we could come and go from the nursery as we pleased.

Anxiously, we sat in the waiting room staring at our phones while glancing for a nurse to round the corner to tell us our daughter was born. My husband, the most cool-as-cucumber person ever, looked stricken with anxiety. For the first time in our relationship I could tell that he was completely overwhelmed with what was about to happen.

At 2:15 pm a nurse appeared and said “she’s here, come with me”. Armed with my infertility PTSD I immediately started peppering her with questions. “Did she come out crying?” “What was her APGAR?” “How much does she weigh?”  As we power walked down the corridor towards our daughter the nurse happily answered that she was 7lbs 4 oz, her APGAR score was a 9 and she had a healthy set of lungs on her.

As I saw her being wheeled towards us I began to cry. I thought it was going to take weeks to feel attached, perhaps even months to feel like she was mine and part of me.

It. Took. Seconds.

I put my hand on the incubator and with tears running down my face I said “hi baby, I am your mommy. You are so beautiful”.


(Pictured above: the nurse bringing her to us)

On an ordinary Tuesday, my life changed for the better. I was blown away at the emotional connection and bond I instantaneously had with her. It doesn’t take giving birth to bond you to a child, it takes wanting to take care for and give love to a child that creates a bond.

Once in the nursery, they poked, prodded and measured her. It’s the most upset I’ve heard her to-date and was already tough for me to watch and she was only minutes old! Once she was cleared we were allowed to hold her and then eventually feed her. We were fortunate the hospital gave us a nesting room which was a standard patient room but we were allowed to stay with her overnight at the hospital until she was released.

Screen Shot 2014-09-07 at 10.37.23 PM

(Pictured above: my husband keeping a very close eye on his just minutes old daughter.)

48 hours after her birth we were cleared to leave the hospital and take her home. I cried in the car all the way home. What a miracle she was and what a miracle she is for coming in to our life. After years of heartache and tears shed, the tears I got to cry that day were happy ones.

I can not advocate enough for adoption.  From the first day we started paperwork until the day we brought our daughter home it took 6 months. It  has truly been the year of the baby for us. It was our mantra when we started our last IVF cycle this past January. We did not know how a baby would come in to our life, but adoption brought us our daughter more quickly than my own pregnancy ever could have.

There are many roads to parenthood. I’m really blessed that mine led me to our Sweet P.