Looking back

Wake up and hop around ‘cause I gotta go. It’s 7 a.m., and I’m doing the wiggle dance until I find an ovulation stick and a plastic cup. Doc says the ‘first catch of the day’ is the most reliable, and y’all? I’m not messing around with this ovulation biz-nass. I’m doing zero-zilch-nada until I pee on my stick and make sure today’s not baby-making day.
Waiting on the results. Tick tock tick tock. The good news? IT’S MY DAY! The bad news? My husband just left for work in, get this, Wisconsin. We live in Minneapolis, but my BFF spends a couple days a month working across the border. What to do? Ovulation day only comes around once a month if you’re lucky, and, if you’re not, who knows! We can’t predict ma’ nature. Luckily, however, I can pack-up our dog and follow my husband to Wisconsin.
I call Jon to let him know my stick stays GO, and he says to meet him at the Clarion Hotel during his lunch hour. This arrangement feels 100 percent “Pretty Woman” to me, but I’m down with that. Hubs tells me the hotel is dog friendly and to hurry up. No time to shower and zits on fleek, but oh well: I throw-on sweats, grab the leash, and follow my husband (he’s an hour ahead and has not one, but two important a.m. meetings today) down I-94 into Wisconsin. We’ve got a lunch date circa 12 p.m., and Imma be there and ready.
The Clarion date went down without a hitch, and I stuck my legs high in the air after the main event. We’d been trying to get pregnant for about a year (we’d had one miscarriage and a few unsuccessful attempts), and so I was following the advice of old wives and doctors to a T. What’s that? You know how to get pregnant? Pray tell!
It might seem silly to say I felt tingles (cramps?) in my stomach the next day, but I did. A week passed, and I had trouble falling asleep at night. Two weeks passed, and I took a negative pregnancy test. I took another negative pregnancy test at week three. Welp, looks like I drove across the Midwest for a lunch-time romp and nothing more: just livin’ out my Julia Roberts daydreams.
But then a funny thing happened: My usually predictable period decided not to come. What gives? I took a third pregnancy test, and, what do you know, it’s the happiest of days. I cried on the toilet, told my sister the good news before wiping or standing (that’s right, I called my sister with my pants still around my legs), and then I filled my house with pink & blue balloons (a surprise for the husband).
I’d like to say life was excitement and joy as we prepared to welcome a baby, but that’d be only 5 percent true. (Which I think makes it a lie? Something probably needs to be at least 55 percent true to make it honest.) Thing is, the first miscarriage came at 11 weeks, and so I spent my second first trimester throwing up (morning sickness gets me all day long) and praying for a healthy baby.
I’m sitting here typing and crying now, but I’m OK with that. I’m thinking about the raw pain of failed pregnancy attempts (why I’m crying), but I’m also remembering the absolute joy that comes from growing, welcoming, and loving a little babe (why the tears are worth it).
Max turns 1 this week, and that boy brings more laughter, adventure and excitement to my every-single-day than I could have anticipated or asked for. That bitty man is curious, funny and determined, and he wears my heart tucked inside the pocket of his itty-bitty onesie.
So I love Max, and it’s been a full year of adventures with my much-wished-for-baby-boy. What to-do-now? Welp, here’s a hint: I peed on a stick this morning.