I’m officially declaring this my last month of attempting to get pregnant. I simply can’t continue down this path. After this, I’ll indulge in all the wine I desire, shed the baby weight I’ve been carrying since my daughter was born three years ago, and savor coffee without hesitation. I’ll take diet pills, melatonin, and any supplements I fancy without worrying about how they might impact my chances of conception. This is it; after this month, I’m done.
For 39 years, I enjoyed being single until a chance encounter with an old friend at a local bar changed everything. Within six months, we were living together, and just three months later, we discovered I was pregnant. We married and welcomed our beautiful daughter into the world, all while I was 40.
Six months later, I found out I was expecting again. Honestly, I was filled with dread. The first six months of being a new parent and newlywed were challenging, and during my 8-week ultrasound, we learned the baby measured only six weeks. I suffered a miscarriage. I didn’t cry or grieve like you see in movies; it was physically painless, yet emotionally disheartening and surreal. I assumed we would conceive again, so we kept trying.
I stocked up on ovulation tests and pregnancy tests, anxiously monitoring each cycle for signs of pregnancy. I devoured articles about conceiving after 40. After a year of effort, my husband and I spent $250 visiting a fertility specialist who bluntly informed us that our age made natural conception unlikely. Frustrated, we decided to keep trying on our own.
In the summer, feeling overwhelmed, I embarked on an extreme diet to shed some of the lingering baby weight. By the end of July, I missed my period and learned I was pregnant again. We were elated, convinced we had defied the odds. Forget that doctor and his so-called science!
At seven weeks, I began bleeding heavily and rushed to the emergency room. My husband and I arrived at the ultrasound, bracing ourselves for the worst, but to our surprise, there was a healthy fetus with a heartbeat! We scheduled another appointment for two weeks later, as I was still considered high risk. However, at that appointment, we discovered there was no heartbeat. Again, I didn’t cry; I felt an overwhelming weight of sadness.
Experiencing the loss of a fetus just 11 weeks along is a peculiar ordeal. No one truly understands what happened, as your body hasn’t changed. It feels as though nothing occurred, yet everything feels different. Seeing pregnant women or baby siblings at preschool becomes painful. I find myself grappling with my emotions, especially as friends and neighbors announce their pregnancies, even those who once declared they were only having one child.
I should be happy for them, and in some ways, I am. Yet, I can’t help but feel a childlike tantrum brewing inside me, longing for my own second baby that I should have had! But expressing this feels absurd since I only lost an 11-week fetus, and discussing my miscarriage leaves others at a loss for words. There’s nothing they can say that will ease the pain. I still feel heavy and empty, and I’ve regained the weight I lost on that extreme diet.
Since October, my husband and I have been cleared by the doctor to start trying again. I track my ovulation, monitor my cycle with an app, and we make sure to be intimate every other day during my fertile window. Despite my efforts, my period returns each month.
I’ve been fervently hoping for our rainbow baby. I calculate the due date every month and wish on every dandelion, shooting star, and yellow light for a healthy sibling for my daughter. Even consulting the magic eight ball online yields disappointing responses. Perhaps I should acknowledge that the fertility doctor’s advice was grounded in some reality?
Honestly, I’m weary of reading “pregnant over 40” articles. Maybe it’s time for more coffee, wine, and extreme diets. I can explore new ways to question science that don’t leave me heartbroken each month. Life can continue with just the three of us, can’t it? Next on my list: “inspiring stories about only children” and “famous only children.”
After this month, I’ll embrace whatever comes next.
Summary
After a journey filled with highs and lows, one woman reflects on her decision to stop trying to conceive after multiple heartbreaks. From the joy of finding love and becoming a mother to the pain of miscarriage and the struggle with fertility, she grapples with her emotions as she faces the reality of possibly moving on with her family of three.
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