My son is nearly 18 months old and yet not a day has gone by where I haven’t mentally stopped time for just a moment and marveled that he is here. I am still in awe of the woman who let go of her dreams of a traditional family and built one on her own.
At age 38 I had finally accepted my reality; I was not going to meet Prince Charming. He was not lurking in the corners of Tinder or OKcupid. He was not behind me in the checkout line at the Supermarket and he most certainly was not taking up a seat at my bar, sipping on Bourbon.
It had been a year and a half since the end of a significant relationship. I had done the embarrassing rebound thing with someone entirely inappropriate and been on a handful of blah dates. I was happy in my skin and felt more than capable of parenting on my own.
It was time. I did a lot of research and asked a lot of questions of women who had walked this path before me. I then visited my doctor, got some tests and booked a date with a local RE. (Reproductive Endocrinologist)
I lacked health coverage for fertility treatments (back then only married women qualified) but I had savings in the bank. I felt so sure that a baby was less than a year away from my arms… I figured I’d spend maybe $5000 on getting pregnant and still have money in the bank for when baby arrived.
Mother nature had other plans.