It all started on January 26, 2016, a date forever etched in my memory. That was the day my dreams, as I knew them, ended and my life, as it is now, began. The morning was quiet, unassuming, but significant in a way I couldn’t have imagined. My partner and I had been undergoing treatment to get pregnant for months. It had been a journey of hope, fear, and countless appointments. That day, I was scheduled for a procedure to check if my fallopian tubes were open.
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The days leading up to tomorrow have been hard, emotionally hard. I’ve been trying to stay afloat, to keep it all together, because life goes on. I wake up in the mornings and go to work, a job I genuinely enjoy going back to. I do the dishes, the laundry, and try my utmost best to manage the household I share with a wonderful husband. I feed Chubby, my sourdough starter, who is both spoiled and stubborn. I keep myself busy, learning new things, creating, doing my best to fill the void. But the harder I try not to think about it, the tears are always just a thought away.
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