Trying again might be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do

Most of the time now I am well past the “spontaneous crying about my miscarriage” phase. I’m not randomly breaking into tears out of the blue like I was a few months back and I can talk about it fairly sensibly. Although I still feel so much grief for the baby we lost, I am managing to get out of the gloom sometimes and am counting my blessings that it wasn’t a later miscarriage or stillbirth, and that I am still happy and still rock solid with the best husband in the whole world. 

So the amount of crying I did two weeks ago, when our first month of trying again didn’t result in being pregnant, really shocked me. I couldn’t handle it at all.

I thought I was as ready as I’d ever be to start trying again – physically I’m pretty much OK and mentally I felt up to it. But what I didn’t expect was for my body to trick me so cruelly. From about three weeks into my cycle, I felt sick and a bit out of it, like I had when I was pregnant – I convinced myself that I was pregnant again and had gone through all kinds of imaginings, like laughing with the doctor about how stupid my fears about conceiving again had been. I had created a whole scenario in my mind about how exciting it would be to be pregnant again so soon. I many ways, I had thought that it was a re-validation of me as a fertile woman made for childbearing. 

I guess maybe the hormones produced during ovulation surprised my body after four months off them, and that’s why I felt ill. But even after two negative pregnancy tests I was still fooling myself. 

The day I started my period I cried like I haven’t cried since the day we found out we’d lost the baby. I felt like I had lost him all over again. It was so ridiculous, because I knew it was incredibly unlikely to be that first month – and yet it was impossible to be sensible about it, impossible to let my head rule my heart. I want to be pregnant again so badly, and yet I just felt like I was facing another unknown number of months where my entire life was centred on waiting and counting days and not knowing. I didn’t know how to face it. 

We’re in month two now, and I do feel a bit calmer. In some ways that’s down to this blog – I started it a couple of days after I started my period last time, and it has given me a focus beyond the counting and the waiting. I’m trying hard as well not to let it affect my relationship with my husband, and not to let ‘trying’ take over our love life. I’ve remembered that I want to be with him because he’s wonderful and sweet and sexy, and not just because I need his DNA!! 

Even though I’m filled with fear and worry, I also know that the only thing that can fix that is keeping trying and getting there some day. Somehow, that is making the trying again bearable. But only just. 

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“Trying for a baby”: the most unhelpful term ever

My husband and I are into our second month of trying for a baby. The longer it takes us to get pregnant, the more I hate that term – to me, trying without succeeding equals failing.

The fact that you have to “try” for a baby makes it seem like like hard work, rather than something exciting with a lovely outcome to look forward to at the end of it. It puts the emphasis on the negative rather than the positive. If you’re an athlete at the start line of an Olympic race, the last thing you want is someone saying: “Right, you’ve done all this hard work and preparation, and now all you have to do is start trying.” You’ve been trying all along – trying to get your body in the best shape, trying to break bad habits, trying to keep your relationship on the strongest footing, trying to get as much from your pre-baby career and life as you can. And now the trying really starts, with the possibility you might not succeed at the end of it? How depressing. The word “trying” is a synonym for tiresome, difficult and stressful (eg “it’s been a trying time”) – and it still has that connotation even when it isn’t used as an adjective.

My Mum and Dad tell an awful story about some friends of theirs who had been trying for a baby for about a year, when they were all in their twenties. Mum and Dad asked them sympathetically how they were doing, whether they’d had any good news yet, and the man said, “No, we’re still slogging away”. Slogging away! Everyone was embarrassed and upset when he said it, but in lots of ways I understand him – I don’t see it like that myself and I’m lucky that things are so great between me and my husband, but society makes us all feel that trying for a baby is a “slog”, a protracted and difficult process. And a lot of that feeling comes from the word “trying”.

It’s not that I resent that you have to be committed to it, or the fact that “trying” for a baby might take some time. All that is part and parcel of the experience, and if it was easy and required no sacrifices or fears it wouldn’t be such an exciting and life-changing adventure.

Maybe it should be called “waiting” for a baby, or “hoping”. That’s a bit more how I want it to feel. My husband and I understand all the days when we could be most fertile, and all the reasons why we might not conceive in a given month, and so really we’re just waiting for exactly the right combination of timing and circumstance. We’re waiting for everything to be just right. And isn’t that a more positive attitude? You’ve done all the preparation and hard work, and now you’re waiting – like waiting for Christmas with an advent calendar. It’s exciting and fun and you’re filled with anticipation of good things. Not bogged down in “trying” hard work.

Anyway, back to the practicalities of the matter – my husband and I are still waiting. My cycle has never been particularly regular, so it’s hard for us to know exactly the most fertile days – maybe there’s a bit more of an element of chance for us than there is for a couple where the woman operates like 28 day clockwork. So we have a period of about a week mid-month where we’ve got even more motivation than normal to be ridiculously in love with each other. We’re in that period now (woohoo!) and I’m hyper-aware of every single thing going on in my body – is it a sign? Has it happened? Has a little egg been fertilised? I know there’s no way I’d be able to feel anything or know anything within one or two days of conception, so it’s purely in my over active imagination.

For now, then, we’ll keep on being excited, and try not let the process feel stressful and strewn with obstacles. And I’ll tell people that we are waiting and hoping for a baby.