Last week I contemplated deleting this blog, shutting down my Facebook account and getting rid of Twitter. Not just a passing moment, as has happened before, but for weeks I considered really doing it. I tell you this, mostly because I didn’t do it. I don’t know that I ever really would have. I just know, something has to change. I have to change. I can’t do this the way I used to anymore. I feel like I’ve just called it in the last six months on here. Looking back on previous years, I know this to be true. I have written here just to be here for at least that long.

The reason is fear.

Fear of being real. Fear of saying what I need and want to say. Fear of being judged. That’s the big one. That’s the hard one. The piece that keeps me silent when I want to talk. Frankly, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being afraid of my own thoughts. I’m tired of being afraid to share what is really going on in my life. When it came to the point of me seriously thinking I just needed to walk away, I knew it was either man up and talk, or just fucking do it and be gone. So here goes nothing.

For a long, long time, I’ve wanted to have another baby. Logan and I were actively trying the entire year before we separated. I had a miscarriage in May, 2009 and well we never had any luck after that. It has nothing to do with why we divorced, it’s just fact. We wanted more kids and it just didn’t happen. The thing is, just becuase I got divorced, doesn’t mean I don’t want another baby. I want another baby badly.

That’s my truth. I’m actively trying to have another baby. Surprise.

I am trying to have a baby, alone. Just me. Every piece of this will be happening in a doctor’s office. Just know that.

The hard piece of this, is that it’s not easy for me to get pregnant. I have PCOS. In July I went to see a phenomenal Endocrinologist/Fertility specialist. I have some other issues, because of the PCOS. It’s complicated. Basically? I’m going to start menopause in say another year or maybe two if I’m lucky. I’m only 31 years old and this is my reality. I am not done. Every day I long for another baby. Every night I dream about a little girl. Every fiber of my being knows I’m not done. There is someone missing. However? My body is almost done. This is my last shot.

I know I could consider adoption. Yet with only one income and adopting as a single mom, it’s not feasible for me. I’ve considered becoming a foster mom. That is something I still may do, but not until my children are older.

I have given this much thought, I promise. I debated pros/cons/am I crazy’s for almost a year. I’ve decided that yes, I’m probably crazy, but that doesn’t make it wrong. I didn’t make this choice lightly. Yet it is the right choice for me.

We (my doctor and I) were shooting for October. I no longer create eggs on my own. I have a perfectly good uterus and my ovaries are fine. But I don’t create eggs. In my October cycle, we tried Clomid. Clomid makes me insane by the way. Fun times. Ahem. It wasn’t enough. I had eggs, but at some point they stopped growing. I was crushed. Completely crushed. Leave it to me to think that things would be easy.

In November, we tried Clomid and a shot that I’m forgetting the name of. Three days of me injecting myself. Not so fun, but I did it. Yet again, it wasn’t quite enough.

As hard as it was, I decided to take a break in December. With Morgan’s birthday and Christmas, I just couldn’t try again in that moment. The drugs are harsh. I needed some time to relax, some time to feel sane for a bit. I quit my antidepressants in June because of this. October and November were hard without them. The insane amounts of hormones coursing through my system, plus the lack of meds? Yeah. I was a mess for a bit.

This month I will try again. Because I want this more than anything in the world, I’m willing to subject myself to more Clomid. To shots every day for my entire cycle. I’m willing to do this all, because this is what I know I want. A baby. There is no certainty in this world. I have been given no guarantees. Everything is up to chance and luck. I do know, that if I don’t try this, I will spend the rest of my life wishing I had. That’s something I’m not willing to do.

I’m scared. Not of what I’m about to try to do again. No, I’m scared of hitting publish. Of sharing myself with all of you. Of putting myself out there. It’s been a long time since I’ve been real here and I’m timid.

I know though, it’s time for me to be me on my own blog. If I’m not willing to do that, I have no reason to be here anymore.