It's been awhile. Here's a novel.

So, the husband and I had been trying to start a family for over 3 (yes, I said THREE) years. We did all the painful and highly embarassing tests, only to be told that there was nothing wrong with us. We were given plenty of expensive, invasive and risky medical options that did not sound appealing. Especially in wake of the fact that there is nothing wrong with us.

I cried, alone, many a night and during many a shower. I've felt like far less than a woman because I could not get pregnant. I thought about leaving my husband, so he could find someone who would be able to give him children. I was depressed. I was angry. I was hurt. And I kept it (mostly) to myself. I didn't want to burden my friends or family with my emotions, and my inadequecy. I threw myself into work and school. It's how I coped, and no one else knew what I was feeling or why I was doing what I was doing. I think that most people just thought I was stressed over work and school. Work and school I can handle. Not being able to have a family, now that's devastating, heartbreaking and life altering. I hope that none of you reading this ever have to know the feeling.

The husband and I had researched adoption for a few months. It is scary, and we both quickly realized just how much time and effort, as well as money, it takes to adopt a child. And after that point there was the potential of emotional or physical concerns with the child. Not that I wasn't willing to do all of those things and help a child through any issues they may have; I guess I just wasn't quite ready to adopt. See, the thing with trying to conceive is that it may or may not happen any given month. With adoption, as long as you keep on working on it, fighting for it, it will happen - you will have a child. Maybe not immediately, and hey, let's be honest - it could easily be years - but there is no more 'chance' involved. I have never once thought that adoption would mean that I loved the child less, or that my family wasn't a family - and I don't want you to think that's what was going on here. In fact, I always thought quite the opposite. If I adopted a child, that's a child I WORKED for, that I FOUGHT for. That child would be just as much, if not more, my child. And that, my friends, is scary.

So in March we decided to think about it some more. Take a break from talking to each other about it - and just really think about it, marinate on our own thoughts for a few months. And to think about it with the caveat that maybe we should wait until I am done with my master's degree to actually start the process. That would give us about 2.5 years of breathing room. Silent sigh.

March 2010 was an extra busy month. I traveled to Colorado for a week, and to Texas for a turn and burn. I had midterms, I had spring break, work was extra stressful and sucked a lot of additional hours of my life away. I didn't even get to celebrate my Irish Christmas (St. Patrick's Day).

Then came March 24th. I realized I was a little 'late'. I thought that if I had a pregnancy test in the closet, I'll take one in the morning. I had a cheap generic test in there, from god knows where, and for god knows how long. So I took it, and I went downstairs to let out the dogs, slurp some coffee and smoke 2 cigarettes - you know, my morning health ritual. I went back upstairs to jump in the shower and get ready for work. I was brushing my teeth and I glanced at the test sitting on the back of the toilet. I thought, 'Hmm, that's weird, there's two lines'. Wait, what? I ransacked the closet, looking for the cheap, generic box to make sure I was reading it right - and it wasn't something crazy like two lines is negative, one is positive (hey, you never know!). I was reading the test correctly. I've never seen a positive pregnancy test before, except in pictures and in the movies. I was shaking so much that I couldn't call the husband. It took me awhile to calm down enough to call...and all he could say was 'I don't believe you' over and over again. I have to say that I totally understood that sentiment.

So all day I was on Cloud 9, with my little bun in my well padded oven. And then The Fear set in. What if it goes away? It took us so long, there is no way this pregnancy is viable. What if it was a false positive? It happens...well, not really, but I guess it could - and if it was going to happen it would happen to me. I had to wait three weeks for my first ultrasound. Then the nice technician lady showed me my beautiful little blob on the screen, complete with strong heartbeat. I was so relieved, and so happy - walking around with my little bun in my ever-increasingly well padded oven. And then The Fear set in. What if there is some awful chromosomal abnormality, and my body rids me of it? Every twinge, every time I feel temporary relief from a pregnancy symptom I think - this is it, this is the beginning of the end.

I am now 11 weeks pregnant. My risk of miscarriage is down to 5% (that's pretty low, although obviously odds are not usually in my favor). A week from Monday I have an ultrasound, and you can bet your bottom that until then I will be walking around worrying about my little bun in my well padded oven. After that ultrasound I anticipate approximately 24-48 hours of some Cloud 9 walking and relief from the worrying.

As I sit here, I'm thinking - when will I stop worrying? Maybe after the bun graduates from college. Then again, I'll have to worry about the bun getting a good job, if the bun is leading a happy life, and potentially his/her little buns, too.

I've never been so very happy to be so very worried about something in my life.

PS - In case you were wondering or concerned, smoking and coffee consumption have not been an option since I saw that second line. It's amazing how that happens. I didn't think I could live without either, and now they both seem like teeny-tiny sacrifices.