Author: diannahkillian

2020 has been, by far, the hardest year of my life. Losing my baby girl and experiencing a D&C rocked me to my core and left me shattered.

I’ve felt heavy grief before, but this was unlike any previous loss. A part of me literally died and was taken from me… actually ripped from my body.

And after 10 weeks of living with that loss, I found out I was pregnant once again. I know it’s hard to understand why this wouldn’t have filled me with joy and maybe healed me… but what it actually did was paralyze me with fear. Now, I’d spend my days in agony over the loss of one baby girl and in fear that I’d lose this one, too. And on top of that, I had Lydia. I couldn’t disappear. I had to be present and happy and give her everything she needed.

I dreaded every appointment I had, but I had them as often as I could. The immense fear I felt seconds before I’d hear the heartbeat were terrorizing, and the incredible heartbreak I felt after were equally painful. It was such a strange thing to be relieved that my baby was okay, but also feel utter sadness that it wasn’t the baby I was carrying only months before.

And on top of all of this, neither of my parents were here. I know loneliness is a theme for the majority of us in 2020 because we haven’t physically been able to be with our families. But my reality is that I couldn’t be with them even if Covid didn’t exist. I couldn’t call them or write to them. They’ve both been gone for many years now and that’s my reality. But, of course, we always want our mom when we go through something painful.

The thing about grief is it doesn’t ever go away. Loss doesn’t ever get easier. I don’t even think we get stronger. I just think we sort of get used to the pain.

And so that’s what 2020 has been for me… getting used to the pain. Living with the knowledge that I will never hold my baby girl in this lifetime.

Now, as that pain became more bearable, and my pregnancy continued to progress, I started to feel less fear and more hope. I started to feel joy… I started to allow myself to be happy for this baby growing inside of me. The wall started to break down and I allowed myself to be her mom. To talk about her, to sing to her, to dream for her, to truly allow her a space in our family.

And although this pregnancy has been ridiculously rough physically and emotionally, I am so very grateful for every day that this baby has been a part of me.

And so, as we say goodbye to 2020, we look forward to what the new year has to bring. I am not naïve. I know it will take more than a fresh year to heal me. And I wouldn’t even say that I’m ready to say goodbye to the pain I felt this year, because in some strange way, that feels like I’m saying goodbye to the baby I lost. And I can never do that.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned through the many losses I’ve faced in my life is that grief and joy can coexist. So, here is to a new year of love and hope and growth and healing. Here’s to allowing myself to continue to feel what I need to feel but also to let go of the guilt I feel when I experience joy.

Goodbye, 2020. 💔♥️

It has almost been two weeks since my 1st IUI (fertility treatment) this time around. I promised that I’d share my experience along the way and I haven’t written about it since I made that promise. It has been a rollercoaster for me and I haven’t felt like writing. I DID take you guys along with me on my social media stories and was blown away by the support I received. SO MANY of you have experienced or are experiencing unexplained infertility and, by opening up, I feel like part of a community. That’s the power in sharing.

I might be pregnant as I type this. I might not. I test this weekend. I go back and forth between optimism and peace to anxiety and doubt. I know that is normal and it is all part of the process. It’s a strange thing to share this with you, because whatever the outcome is, sharing it will be uncomfortable for me. If I am not pregnant, I will feel defeated. (You better believe I will keep going.) If I am pregnant, I will be sharing that with the world before the second trimester, which leads me open and vulnerable once again. BUT either way, this is stuff that SHOULD be talked about so here I go.

The Process

Before I test, I thought I’d share the actual process with you here. It won’t change much with each cycle, although I will increase the levels on my hormones which will, most likely, affect me even more. But, the general process is the same.

I saw my doctor on day 3 of my cycle. First, she completed labs to make sure I have a normal potential to conceive. Those came out great! Then, she did an ultrasound to check my ovaries. She needed to make sure they are free of cysts so my body is ready for hormones. Again, all good! I took my 1st hormone, a pill called Letrozole, on days 3-7. This hormone stops androgens in my body from converting to estrogen so I’m able to produce FSH, which stimulates the ovary to produce an egg. The side effects of this were pretty major- nonstop headache, nausea, fatigue, weakness, and shortness of breath- and they hit me almost immediately.

On days 7-10, I injected myself (just under the belly button) with Gonal_F. This hormone is used to stimulate an egg to develop and mature. The side effects were much less present here, but included nausea, stomach ache, sore throat, and acne.

I went back in to see my doctor on day 11 for a mid-cycle ultrasound. Here, we checked to see if the hormones had done their job and helped my body to produce and mature eggs. I was so nervous as she checked me. There were no eggs in my right ovary but I had one in my left and it was mature. At first, I was devastated. I endured all of those hormones and my body only produced one egg? But my doctor checked my records and saw that I became pregnant with Lydia with only one! So, my hope was restored. Unfortunately, my uterine wall lining was pretty thin. Ideally, I’d wait to ovulate until that was thicker, but my solo egg was already mature and we’d miss our window if we waited. So, she prescribed an estrogen patch to wear days 11-15. I hated it. Nausea, dizziness, headache, and extreme moodiness kicked in pretty quickly. BUT, I was happy to move on!

She gave me my next injection- Ovidrel, which caused my body to ovulate. We scheduled my procedure for the next day. I was ready. Cody stayed home with Lydia and I drove the 45 minutes (with the specimen as my doctor calls it) in my possession. I prayed and listed to my short fertility playlist on repeat.

Once I arrived, the doctor took the specimen to her lab for washing. This pulls out the healthy sperm and reduces the chemicals in the semen that make it harder to become pregnant. Finally, she completed the intrauterine insemination. The entire process was quick and painless and I was on my way back to my babes within the hour.

I will say this. This was my 5th procedure because it took 4 to become pregnant with Lydia. I didn’t feel anything the first 3 times. But the moment the procedure finished that 4th time, I knew it had worked. Something washed over me and I felt pregnant. I knew when I took the test that it would be positive. So, I looked for that feeling this time and I didn’t have it. I’m not sure what that means- if anything. BUT, I feel like it is important to mention.

Finally, I started my final hormone 3 days after the procedure. Progesterone is taken until I start my cycle OR until I’m 10 weeks pregnant. This enhances the chances of implantation and is necessary to maintain the pregnancy. The side effects I have so far are fatigue, muscle cramps, mood swings, irritability, dizziness, and acne. (OF COURSE weight gain and acne would be BONUS side effects of all hormones. Ugh.)

The Emotions

So, that’s it. I know it is a lot. It is confusing and overwhelming. But I also think it is kind of spectacular that it is even an option and that it works. Because through everything, I’ve carried that with me. It WILL work. My emotions have really been all over the place. Lots and lots of anxiety. The crazy thing is the hormones mimic early signs of pregnancy. So while I’m overly tired and sore and nauseous, I might not be pregnant.

My mindset in the beginning of this process was completely negative. I was resentful that I wasn’t able to become pregnant on my own and I was scared about how the hormones would affect me. I’m still scared. Because the longer this takes, the more hormones I’ll have inside me, and the more side effects I’ll feel. I’ve had days when I’ve been less than patient with my baby and I hate that. There have been days when I’ve slept the entire time she napped. I hate that, too. The first couple weeks, I wasn’t myself and I let my emotions take over. I stopped working out. I had zero appetite so I didn’t fuel my body with nourishment. And while I was tired, I had insane insomnia at night. After the procedure, things shifted. I had done everything I could and now it was time to wait. So, I evaluated my days and recommitted to controlling the controllable. That’s where I’m at now.

I don’t know what the outcome will be when I test. I obviously want, more than anything, for it to be positive. But it took 4 cycles to get my perfect baby girl and that was more than worth it. So, I’ll keep going because I trust in life’s timing and I know we’ll have another baby when it is our time.

<3, Di

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this for weeks. It feels harder for me to put anything on the page when I’m so attached…so emotional. My writing process takes time and I usually share the hard stuff once I’m through it a little. Partly, because I try not to focus (dwell) on anything that makes me feel low and partly because it’s hard for me to hear (read) your responses when the wound is open.

I tried really hard to be open about my grief after my mom died. And I was…in shorter posts on my social media platforms. But the essays I shared on here…those took time. Time to grieve, then process, then write, then wait, then reapproach, then share. But, I did share and I’m proud of that. It’s important for me to talk openly about the hard stuff so that no one feels alone.

I thought I’d do the same through my journey with infertility. But that was so hard. And once it was over, and I was pregnant, the hard stuff sort of disappeared. I tried to write about it a few times, but it was just SO messy. Because fertility treatments are messy and horrifying and painful and, because there isn’t any other way to put it, torturous. I think I will share what I wrote, once I have the nerve to go back and read about my experience through my own words.

So why am I talking about this now? Well, I’m ready to share that I am starting fertility treatments again this week. (Cringe.) And this time, my plan is to write through my experience. Because it is too important to hold in. Because it is too painful to ignore. Because it’s too exhausting to hide.

It took 9 years to get pregnant with Lydia. We tried on and off for the first seven and did everything we could the last two before enduring months of fertility treatments. We eventually had success with our 4th IUI. I’m more grateful than I could ever put into words that we found success with treatment, but I won’t sugarcoat it. The treatments were horrific. The hormones alone were enough to, quite literally, drive me insane. They made me unbelievably angry, so much so that I actually wanted to leave my husband. (If you know us, then you know how outrageous this is. Cody is the best man I know and I love him with every ounce of who I am.) While I had all the hope in the world that we would eventually have a baby, the hormones made me feel hopeless and anxious and completely alone.

Of course, this time will be different for many reasons. First, I know what to expect. I’m not really sure that makes it easier, but maybe I’ll feel less crazy this time around because I’ll remember that it is all part of the process. Second, I know how big the payoff is. Before Lydia, I had no idea what it meant to be a mom. Now, it is the most important part of me and I would do anything- go through anything- to have another baby.

But I won’t pretend that because I know what to expect I’m not terrified. Cody and I have talked about treatment for months, but we hoped that we wouldn’t need it. We’d heard about many people who struggled with infertility before they become parents but were able to conceive naturally with their second. So we hoped and prayed and tracked and did everything we could. Each failed pregnancy test became harder and harder to read because it was all so reminiscent of our 9 year struggle. After another failed attempt in September, we decided we would try just one more time before seeking treatment.

It was a tough month. My mood has been up and down in anticipation of what another failed pregnancy test would mean. Lots and lots of tears. Many sleepless nights. Loads of fear. And skin-crawling, anxiety. And this morning, another failed pregnancy test.

I’m trying to keep it together. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart this time. Lydia needs me. That will be the hardest part. I can handle the hot flashes and night sweats and nausea and acne and weight gain and loss of sleep. But the anger and the panic attacks and the despair- those will be the hardest to work though. Because while it is worth all of this to have another sweet baby, I am already a mom and my little girl needs patience and positivity and love.

So, that’s it. That’s where I’m at. I’m scared and unbelievably sad that I have to do this. But I’m also hopeful and excited to know that I will have another baby to love on. I spent the morning crying after I read that test and I came downstair to see my girl sitting in her high chair, dancing in her seat as she ate breakfast. I just thought- I CREATED THAT. And I’m so honored to be her mom. I can do this again.

I’ll try my best to share this with you. I’m hoping that it will be a quick journey this time. But I can’t know that. So I’ll do my best to trust in God’s timing, to focus on the outcome, and to love on my baby girl and sweet husband through it all.

Here….we….go….

<3, Di

I distinctly remember thinking, after hours and hours of excruciating labor, that there was no way I was strong enough to birth my baby girl. I knew it had to happen. I just couldn’t imagine how I’d have the strength to endure another second of the massive pain I was in. Confidence was at an all time low. 

The thing is, our bodies are unbelievably strong. After enduring months of agonizing infertility treatments, almost a year of growing another human being, and nearly 25 hours of all stages of labor, my body had proven its strength. And yet, in those final moments of intense labor, I doubted it. 

Obviously, my beautiful baby arrived and the physical pain went away almost instantaneously. (I was FINALLY administered an epidural when I was dilated at a 10. More on that another day.)  I never understood the phrase, “the strength of a mother” until I became one. I endured labor. I did it. Talk about a confidence boost!

As my body healed, I was in charge of this tiny, little life. I fed her. I protected her. I loved on her. I kept her warm. I didn’t know what I was doing, but my mother’s intuition gave me the confidence to be a mom. Over the next couple months, I lived in this euphoric bubble. I spent my days feeding Lydia and watching her sleep. My husband was home for those first 8 weeks and I remember we would sit in the living room and wouldn’t even turn on the television. We’d just hold her or watch her or talk about her. She was perfect.

(Please do not take this as me saying the first few months of motherhood were easy and perfect. Trust me- I struggled with breastfeeding and a million other little things. Again, more on that later.)

During this time together, my changing body didn’t affect me in the slightest. I didn’t even think about it. I knew I’d resume workouts after I was cleared. I thought I’d lose the baby weight IMMEDIATELY. It just didn’t phase me. Well, the days went by and my tiny baby grew and grew. I started to get into the swing of things and eventually, my husband went back to work. After recovering from throwing out my back and after post-birth healing, I was ready to dive back into fitness. I worked out with my tiny baby next to me and I finished a 3 week program. I shared videos and pictures of myself unfiltered and in just a sports bra. I know I was much heavier than I had been before Lydia, but I saw that as a badge of honor and I simply looked at it as a challenge. I LOVED my body and I was so confident in myself and my abilities. I BIRTHED a baby. I was a GOOD mom. I could do ANYTHING. I’d lose the weight in no time.

I could go on and on and share lots of details of the next 3 or 4 months, but I’ll save that for another time. I’ll just tell you that as time passed, and as the new mom fog started to lift and the euphoria started to dissipate, and as my body started to change (yeah, it does that even after pregnancy- I call it jelly belly and it is not delightful) the confidence I had gained from doing the HARDEST THING IN THE WORLD started to fade. And over time, postpartum anxiety would take over and my confidence would take beating after beating with postpartum hair loss, acne, weight GAIN, paranoias, and so much more. I’d stop looking at myself in the mirror. I’d leave myself out of photos with my baby girl. I’d feel terror anytime I knew I had to put on real clothes. The lack of confidence was CRIPPLING. 

And it got to me. It really did. But one of the biggest things I learned after losing my mom was to allow myself to FEEL my pain. To recognize and even respect its presence and to truly live through it instead of with it. Exercise THROUGH grief, right?

And so, around February, I recommitted. I told myself that I would work out because it made me FEEL good. Not because it could lead to weight loss. I tried to really eat intuitively and without restriction. I didn’t want to torture myself with yo-yo dieting. And that wasn’t who I’d become. I had spent my 20s learning what healthy living truly meant and I knew that restriction and forced workouts would only strengthen my lack of confidence. So, I just created a routine and I did what felt good. I found workouts that I loved and I did them one after the other, day after day. I hid the scale and I stopped focusing on what my body looked like and paid attention to how I felt. I had some bumps along the way- particularly around 7 months postpartum. My hormones were raging and my body was trying to self-regulate after I stopped breastfeeding at 5 months PP. I went through many, many ups and downs and it it was TOUGH knowing that my body was changing at ALL. 

But, I just kept reminding myself that I was strong. I BUILT the confidence back in me and it happened before the weight started coming off. That weight loss didn’t happen until I was nearly 10 months postpartum. Finally, my body started changing. 

These pictures portray a 4 month difference. I took the first one 9 months after I delivered my baby. This was 3 months after recommitting to my health. This was after months and months of ZERO physical change. But it was during my emotional transformation. I started to gain confidence and I grew to understand what self-love really means. 

The second picture was taken this morning. There is about a 30 pound difference. That’s cool. Honestly, it feels great. But what feels even better is the confidence I grew along the way. Working out each morning became part of a routine that I thrive off of. It became a part of me and I enjoy starting my day off with exercise. And while I still have weight to lose, my goal isn’t a number. It is continued confidence. It is self-growth. It is real and raw self-reflection. It truly is self-love. And that journey isn’t temporary. It is part of life. And I finally have a peace within me that loves it. 

Mamas- I know it is so hard to look in the mirror and see a body that is so very different from what it was for so long. But please be encouraged. You are EXACTLY who you are supposed to be. Yes, work on yourself. Make goals and make your health a priority. If you need a system, I can help you. BUT, focus on who you are INSIDE. Focus on your strengths, because GIRL, you can do hard things. Pay attention to self-growth and love the stage of life you are in. Be confident. Fight like hell to be the best version of you, but in a way that makes you happy. You deserve that. 

Love, Di

Wowza. I just realized my last blog post is dated August 16th, 2017. “I’m Not That Girl” is a post about our decision not to have children in our 20s and not being able to conceive in our 30s. That feels like a lifetime ago. (You can read it here.) 3 months later, I found out I was pregnant with our sweet girl. She is now 5 months old. I can’t believe I didn’t post anything throughout my pregnancy or the last many months as a new mama. I’ve started lots of posts- infertility treatments, pregnancy without my mom, pregnancy in general, a part 2 to my “Me and God” post, and a few other things. I was just never inspired to finish any of them. I’m sure I’ll complete them eventually. I guess I just haven’t felt super open over the last year. I feel like my body and my soul have gone though so many changes and the transformation has just sort of turned me into an introvert. Ha! But I’m back and I’m ready to share.

I’ll keep this one short. (Yeah, right.) I just want to share a quote I read the other day that I cannot get out of my mind. It is from Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis:

“…maybe you’re so deeply inside the forest you can’t see the trees.”

I mean, let that sink it. Really let it sink in.

“…maybe you’re so deeply inside the forest you can’t see the trees.”

I don’t know about you, but I have a tendency to GO, GO, GO and ignore all of the ugly stuff in my life. It’s sometimes easier to push past the tough stuff. And to be frank, life is too short to be anything but positive. Truly. If I learned anything from the loss of each of my parents it is that we can only control the controllable and many times the only controllable factor is how we react to a situation. So, I choose joy. Optimism. Humor. Love. But just because I choose to see the good in every situation doesn’t mean tough stuff doesn’t come up.

Life is hard, man. I have many friends currently battling various personal issues- loss, grief, poor health, divorce, depression, infertility to name a few. And as their friend, it is incredibly easy for me to see the situation and solutions SO CLEARLY. Sometimes I want to shake them and tell them to wake up and see what I see. But of course they can’t. They are too deep in the forest and they lack perspective. I’ve been there many, many times. Hell, I’m probably there right now in a few parts of my life.

So I guess all we can do is make sure we are always assessing where we are at with ourselves and our relationships. (Assess, not obsess.) I urge you to take a moment and think about where you are in your most important relationships. Are you happy? Do you feel like your partner (friend, family member, spouse, child, etc.) is happy? What things are going well in your relationships and why are they so good? What struggles do you face and how LONG have you had them? Don’t try to see if the good outweighs the bad. Because life is too darn short to be in any relationship where that is your measurement of success. Just think about if the hard stuff is damaging any part of you. If it is and if you can’t see your way out of it, you are in the forest, my friend.

Now, I realize that every one who reads this has a different relationship issue or personal struggle in their mind at this very moment. I can go on and on about how my marriage has felt the weight of new parenthood more than I’d ever thought it would. (Ha! Lydia is our tree!)

I could tell you how there are still times when the weight of my grief consumes me so much that I don’t even realize it is affecting me until I snap out of a funk I didn’t even know I was in. Trees. So please know that it is human to go through ups and downs in life and although we tend to just see the glamorized versions of each other’s lives on social media, we all have our own forests we’re dealing with. It’s okay. It will always be okay.

My challenge to you is to allow yourself to gain perspective. At the end of the day, we have to do what is best for ourselves. But it is always helpful to hear from others and to take in what they have to say. Because we aren’t supposed to do life alone. We need our people. Sure, do lots of self-reflection and prayer and whatever it is you do to self-assess. But then open up to someone and let them in.

(And if you’re one of my very best people, thank you for being one of my very best people and pushing me always to be open and honest with you and with myself. Love you.)

I have been married to my husband for over eight years. We have a wonderful marriage filled with incredible memories of adventure, travel, growth, and new beginnings. We aren’t anywhere near perfect and we have our fair share of struggles. Nonetheless, we are happy. We were married fairly young and we’ve supported one another through much change- education, careers, loss, religion, relocation. One thing I cannot add to that list is parenthood.

Here’s the thing. I’m not that girl. You know the one. The girl who spent her childhood dreaming of her wedding day. The dress. The venue. The flowers. The cake. Even the groom. That just wasn’t me. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I’d get married at some point. It just wasn’t ever my focus. And yet, when I was 22, I met my guy and we were married a year and a half later.

You know what they say:

First comes love.

Then comes marriage.

Then comes a baby in a baby carriage.

Well, I think it is pretty clear that I’m also not THAT girl. Again, you know the one. The girl who cannot wait to be a mom. The one who is the first to ask to hold a new baby. The girl who loves being around lots of children. That just wasn’t ever me. It wasn’t that I decided early on that I didn’t want to be a mom, I just really never thought about it. Again, not my focus.

When I was married, we were part of a religion that emphasized family and to say I felt pressured to have children would be a HUGE understatement. I can’t tell you how big of a deal it was that we didn’t have babies the first half of our marriage. The social norm (even outside of religion) is that everyone should have children, preferably right away, and that those who don’t are odd or even selfish. And I think all of that pressure actually pushed the idea of motherhood out of my mind even more. At some point, people stopped asking. Maybe they felt like we weren’t able to have children. Who knows. But, man, was it peaceful.

We moved to California a couple years ago at the age that most people I know were getting married or having babies. And so, it started all over again. The questions.

     Why don’t you have kids?

     Do you want to have children?

     Don’t you want to be a mom?

     When are you going to get pregnant?

     What are you and Cody doing?

And the questions aren’t all I get. Lately, my social media has been flooded with BOLD comments and private messages about it.

     Gosh, I’d love to be able to get everything done like you do but I have kids.

     You aren’t tired? Let me send you some of my kids. Then you’ll understand tired.

     It’s TIME for you guys to have children. Stop putting it off.

     Travel? You two need to have children instead.

So, why haven’t I opened up about this yet? I know that in an effort to stay transparent about my grief, I’ve opened up my life to the world. That’s fair. And while I openly talk about the grief that comes with losing my parents, I’ve struggled to talk about this. Because it just isn’t something that’s talked about. Because, people can be insensitive and intrusive. Because, it feels like something that is just ours. But, I know it is time.

So, here is our truth.

It was our decision to spend our 20s without children.

It isn’t our decision to spend our 30s without them.

There it is. We spent the first many years of our marriage with no desire to have children. We were young and wanted to live our lives as we saw fit. Here’s the thing. I get that we are the outlier. I understand that my friends who are moms are so in love with their children that they can’t imagine us making the decision NOT to have them. And, I respect that. But, it is truly our decision and I’m genuinely shocked every time we are approached about it. I think it is a very personal decision and no one should be judged for living their lives. We must acknowledge that the decision not to have children (or to wait) might be the right thing for a lot of couples and that we must stop shaming people for making choices that are different from our own. In fact, if I had written this just a few years ago, I would be writing about our decision not to be parents.

Things changed for us about 2 years ago when we decided we wanted to have children. Like most things in life, that didn’t come easy for us and we’ve struggled with infertility ever since. It’s been a crazy couple of years, filled with lots of emotions.

Of course, as more time goes on, it gets harder and harder. Infertility is rough and it is easy to feel like your body is failing and in turn, you are a failure. I feel that. BUT, I want to stress that although these last couple years have been emotionally draining, we are okay with how things are playing out. We are happy. We are patient. We are faithful.

I’m nervous to put this out there because, to be honest, I’m not ready to discuss the specifics of our infertility or where we are at in the process. It feels extremely personal and I want to put all of my energy towards doing what’s best for my family and not fielding questions and dodging pity. That’s just the truth. But, as time goes on, it gets harder and harder to let the questions and comments roll off my back. And I just feel like infertility is one more thing to add to the list of things that need to be talked about more.

Grief. Depression. Anxiety. Divorce. Adultery. Miscarriage. Loss. Infertility. THESE things are part of life and I truly believe that the lack of dialogue makes it all so much harder because everyone is suffering in silence and so everyone feels alone and on many levels, shame. So, I’m hoping that we can all be a little more sensitive and appropriate with our approach and that those who are suffering can lift one another up and feel supported.

So, that’s it. After many, many years of skirting the questions, that’s our story. We chose not to have kids and to spend time getting an education, building careers, and really getting to know ourselves and each other. It was the right choice for us and we are proud of it. There’s never a great time to bring this up because it does make people wonder what they can and cant say. We have so many friends and family who are experiencing the joy of parenthood and we are genuinely excited for them! I’m choosing to be transparent and straightforward about this because this is the experience we are going through. I’m a naturally optimistic person and we’re hopeful that things will work out for the best.

I hope that I will be able to share more and more of it as time passes and we push forward. And, because I know it take two to tango, I asked my husband to share his thoughts on our infertility journey:

We have really been inseparable ever since we started dating and I have loved the time that we have been able to spend together. I know we have flip-flopped several times about whether or not to become parents up until recently. I have never been in a huge hurry to start a family and I don’t think we would be where we are now if we had decided differently. I’m happy with how things have worked out for us. I think we are in a good place now to become parents, but no matter what happens and whatever is in store for us, I am glad that I get to experience it with you. I love you.

            -Cody