We’re coming out.

Infertility.

Yup.

Something I never considered when I used to plop down $50 a month for birth control.

I had a plan.

We had a plan.

Get engaged, enjoy the couple of years leading up to the wedding, and then start a family.  At age 24, this seemed totally reasonable. Right?

Fast forward to four years post nuptials.

I got my box in the mail yesterday containing the terrifying amount of drugs I’ll be injecting into my body in hopes of conceiving one or two test tube babies IVF miracles.

Six weeks from today, we begin the first official In Vitro Fertilization cycle.

My poor husband will soon have to deal with my emotional pendulum and hormonal outbursts.

We’ll be coughing up over $10,000 for a procedure that might not work.

I’ll have back to back appointments for two weeks, where I’ll be poked, prodded, and violated in countless ways.

And I can’t wait.

This is gonna be fun.

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