A while back I remember a friend with an older daughter and a younger son telling me about her daughter skipping the “terrible twos” and going straight into the “terrible threes”. At the time, another friend agreed with her, and said she experienced the same thing- their boys hit the “terrible twos” and their daughters went rotten around three years of age. This came at a very unfortunate time, because Piper was in a fussy I’m throwing myself on the ground phase, and I had hoped it was the worst her tantrums would get. Well, a few months later, and Piper is sweet again. She’s cuddly and kind, and funny, and helpful, and seriously just a delight. It’s mind blowing.

It’s also frightening. Soooo I have another four months until we hit the year of the rough patch? This has made me focus even more on trying to conceive. As each day passes, she is more and more precious, and I think, “she’s getting too big.” In four months she’ll three. Firmly out of the toddler stage and dipping her toes into “little girl”. Each enjoyable day that goes by passes with a bit of anxiety, impatience and just plain pain. I live my life in cycles, the beginning is about waiting, waiting for my period to end, then counting the days until ovulation. Once ovulation passes, I’m oh so hopeful. I can’t help it, I know I’ll be let down, I’ll fall so hard, but still, I count the days until 12 dpo, most likely testing at 9dpo and beyond, even when I know there isn’t a chance for it some months. Those months are rough, the no-chance months. However, I don’t know which is worse. The months where we don’t make it to catch the egg, when I am in utter despair until the beginning of the next cycle (around two weeks later), or the months where we had real chances, really worked hard to get there, and it ends with another negative.

Every month is a rollercoaster of emotions. Every day I look at my girl and think, “We are so lucky to have her. SO lucky. I don’t know if my heart can take much more of this.” I don’t know, I guess I’ve always been the type to mourn the stage that came before, before I can fully immerse myself in the next stage. I’m a baby person, for sure. I’m a PIPER person. Anything she does is hilarious to me, she’s such good company, and NO ONE can snuggle like this kid. So it strikes me in the heart a little bit each time I put away some of her outgrown clothes, as I shove them away into the “girl clothes” bins that I am so forcibly attached to, each time hoping in a year’s time I can bring these out again for a real reason, and not to soothe my empty soul.

Trying to conceive is difficult. People who you love become painful to be around. You see people in stores with children younger than yours and pregnant again, and think, “Why not me?” Random things set you off, because one minute you’ll be fine, nothing is wrong, and then you think, “XXXXX is pregnant. Soon everyone will know, and I have to be happy about it.” Or maybe it’s something else, another day ticking by and thinking about how much older Piper will be if we conceive on that particular cycle.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Amber. Please give me a baby soon. I’ll love it like nothing you’ve ever seen. Thank you.

ALSO: I’m now on Instagram. I know, right? Ten million years late. The name is Ambergontrail. See ya there.

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