Dealing with infertility is mentally exhausting.

Dealing with the questions about children.

Listening to every conversation turning to children and pregnancy.

Battling with your own mind: do we really want children or are we just conditioned to want them?

Covering up the random urge to breakdown after weeks and weeks with no tears.

I’m just so tired of it.

I’ve finally put the constellations and assorted stars on the painting for the nursery. Libra to represent me, Cancer for Mr. Nest, Leo for my best friend who I know will watch over his namesake, and Orion because it’s my favorite. I’ve left some space in the middle for whatever sign the baby will be. You can’t tell from the picture but it’s a mixture of gold and silver paint. It turned out better than I anticipated. I’m thrilled with it!

I feel angry today.

I want one child. That’s it. Just one. I want to get pregnant, have a healthy and happy pregnancy, have a healthy, safe delivery, and love a sweet, healthy baby. Why is that so damn hard? Why can’t my husband and I know what it feels like to achieve this? I’m sad and angry and bitter. Some days I feel okay, and then there are days like today that leave me broken and hateful.