If at first you don't succeed...

Try, try again.
And again.
And again.

Nothing quite compares to the downward emotional spiral infertility will take you on. I'll try to put in to words what infertility feels like. I hate that these are thoughts I have sitting in the back of my mind every day:

You're not good enough.

You aren't deserving.

You have nothing to offer your spouse.

You're a disappointment.

You envy every mother and you hate yourself for it.

Your purpose has been taken from you without explanation.

You apologize to your spouse for crying for the fifth night in a row this week.

Watching happy parents is torturous, even envy is a mother. Why can't I be?

I don't think that these feelings consume me day in and day out, but rather they lay dormant in my head and my heart, waiting for the smallest of triggers to bring them to the forefront. It's the conversations with expecting mothers that I have each day at work that are the most trying. They have what I want, and that hurts.

I think the feeling of loss is also much stronger than I anticipated. Grieving over the loss of someone you haven't even got to meet, knowing that that one little stranger is the one that you so desperately want to give all of your love to. You'll do anything and everything to show them that they're the most precious thing in your world, and they still don't yet exist. I've realized that grieving this type of loss compared to grieving a loved one who's passed is much more difficult, for me at least. At least I've got memories to hold on to after losing someone. With every failed treatment, I work my way through having lost, yet again, the hope to build any memories of this little person. They don't exist, they never did. How do I accept the loss of someone I love so deeply that never existed in the first place?

I started Clomid again this week for our third and final IUI attempt. Remember that time that I explained IUI? Why does something that sounds so fool proof only give me a 10% chance of getting pregnant? These treatments, this process, is emotionally exhausting, guys. Sometimes feeling positive and hopeful makes me feel foolish. I never knew I could find myself in such a sad place. Where's the light at the end of the tunnel? Why can't I find my way out?

Next week after our IUI, we're meeting with our RE (reproductive endocrinologist) to discuss IVF (in-vitro fertilization). I have so many apprehensions moving forward, all while firmly maintaining the mindset that I will do whatever it takes to give my husband and I a child. I will bravely do whatever it takes to get what some people get on accident. Whether that means figuring out how to come up with the equivalent of a house payment every month for IUI, or taking a leap of faith with IVF: a $12,000 treatment that gives us just a 50/50 chance of getting pregnant. We've agreed though that no matter the financial burden, we have to try. We have to get our baby G.