You can read that post by going here.
My gosh.
I remember that day just like yesterday. Blake and I had decided that we were officially going to start trying to have a baby. At that moment, as we blissfully wandered throughout the pumpkins, we thought that having a baby was going to be easy, fun even. We had already been off of any sort of birth control for several months, and we just knew that at any moment I was going to get pregnant.
We were so wrong.
After months of trying, we decided to visit with an endocrinologist, a reproductive specialist. At that time he assured us that we would be pregnant in a month, two months maximum. However, with the passing of several months and still no pregnancy, the methods by which the doctor used to help us get pregnant became more demanding of my body.
Injections, daily blood work, and stressful nutrition monitoring.
Where was the easy pregnancy that Blake and I expected?
After a year of tests and appointments, injections and hospital stays, we returned to the pumpkin patch, but there was less hope and a few tears. Would we actually be one of those sets of parents with our child taking pictures amongst carefully arranged pumpkins?
Two weeks later, I took a pregnancy test.
It was early in the morning. Before the sun had even had a chance to rise.
I snuck into the guest bathroom to avoid waking Blake, and I cried on the bathroom rug as "pregnant" appeared across the small window on the test stick.
After hiding the test under the sink I crawled back into bed, waiting only a few minutes before whispering, "Blake. I took a pregnancy test."
Jumping up, he looked at me.
"What did it say?"
This year we returned to the pumpkin patch. This year was much more different than last year or even the year before.
This year holds the best pumpkin patch visit yet...
In time that is measured by visits to a local pumpkin patch,
... I wonder what joy next year's visit will hold?
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