I believe I’ve gone through the five stages of grief during the last six months of trying to conceive:
Denial every month when I convince myself that I am actually pregnant or when I try to convince myself that my period is implantation bleeding.
Anger at myself, at Google, at complaining pregnant people (entirely irrational of course I was a complaining pregnant person)
Bargaining Last month I attempted to get pregnant by tricking the universe. Apparently the universe doesn’t fall for such shenanigans. What an outrage! Which goes back to anger again.
Depression On and off for months (situational depression at any rate). The utter and complete devastation of it wracked my body, heart and soul raw and I was left with a listless shell for periods of time.
Acceptance Well that’s what I want to write about . . .
Now, I’m starting to see the joys of an only child. I love that during the day, it’s just the two of us. When she says a new word, or wants to play or needs my undivided attention. I’m treasuring this time when it’s just me, Josh and her. When she comes into our bed in the middle of the night for a snuggle, resting her hot little head on my chest and I’m not feeding/comforting a second baby. And how I get to be there and present for every little thing, without having my attention pulled in too many directions.
I’m starting to see how nice it would be to only ever have once child and that’s not something that I ever thought I would say.
I’m sure I’ll go through the trying to conceive roller coaster many more times as we continue to try and conceive, but right now I’m enjoying the present and able to love every little smile, every little noise and every little happy dance. I love this age. But then, as you all would probably already know, every age is my favourite.
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My name is Zoey. 






























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