on March 27, 2023

Waiting on Sullivan

Having Lachlan seemed to have “fixed” any reproductive issues I had prior to getting pregnant with him. At four months post-partum, I got my period back and it came like clockwork every month thereafter. No birth control, Metformin, or anything. It was nice to feel “normal”.

Pretty soon after Lachlan was born, Tayler and I discussed our plans for Baby #2. The over/under was 18 months. If I did not get pregnant naturally by the end of 2022, we would reevaluate our family’s next steps.

I absolutely dreaded the thought of having to go back through fertility treatments. I knew how lucky we had gotten the first time around and something told me it would be much more difficult if we had to do it a second time. Frankly, in some ways, I sort of felt greedy thinking we “deserved” another.

And things were so very different now.

I had to consider my son – the child quite literally filling my arms – first and foremost.

As much as I wanted a sibling for our little boy, I was not confident I could go through the rollercoaster of fertility treatments again.

So, I spent the first 16 months+1 week of Lachlan’s life treating him as if he would be my only child.

I did parenting things I swore I never would and I mothered in ways that sort’ve shocked even myself…

• We decided to keep Lachlan home and out of daycare for as long as we could. Luckily, with Tayler’s schedule and me working from home, we’ve been able to make it work (for more than 22 months… and counting).
• Lach breastfed for 19 months. Yes, there at the end, I legit had a grown-ass man sticking his hand down (or up) my shirt and asking for “boob”. He finally weaned on his own right before Christmas (probably because there wasn’t so much as a snack left in them). Now, every time I change in front of him or wear a low-cut top he’ll grab a handful and exclaim, “Oh! Boobies!” As if they are his long-lost friends…
• We “co-slept” for pretty much the entire first year of his life. He was either in bed with us, in a pack ‘n play in our room, or laying down with one (or both) of us for naps for what seemed like forever.
• I took take photos and videos of him every single day. So much so, I had to increase my iCloud storage to the 2TB option.
• I go totally overboard around holidays (… not that I would do anything differently if we had 12 children).
• Lachlan went to Disney World for the first time at eight months old. (For the record, the trip was actually my Christmas present from Tayler that year.) When people gave us shit for taking our infant to Disney, I would respond with a curt, “If you can’t take a baby to Disney World, just where the hell can you take them?”
• As a matter of fact, we took (take) Lachlan everywhere with us. We don’t have a lot of help. Nana comes over to hang out and keep an eye on him a couple of days a week. But for the most part, it’s just the three of us all the time. I can count on one hand how many dates Tayler and I have been on in the last two years. And the two of us have only been away alone for one long weekend since he was born.

I say all of that to say: I would go to bed every night, think back through the day, and say to myself, “If he is my only one, I have no regrets.”

Even tonight, as I type these very words, I have no regrets. I have done my damnedest to soak up every single solitary moment I can with Lachlan. And as much as I hoped I would get the opportunity to carry another child, I was becoming more and more content with the life we had created as a family of three.

By the fall of last year, our arbitrary “expiration date” to get pregnant naturally started closing in on me. So, I figured I would put my best foot forward and attempt an at-home ovulation kit.

To be completely transparent, that ovulation kit had sat in our bathroom closet for months before I even touched it. And even after opening it, I only read the directions and threw it back in the closet for another few months.

Why?

In 2019, when I was diagnosed with PCOS, my OB/GYN explicitly told me that ovulation kits wouldn’t work for me (they would either say I was always or never ovulating). But because I was so desperate to conceive then, I purchased a $300.00 ovulation monitor that touted its ability to work for women suffering from PCOS.

Spoiler: it didn’t work (for me).

So, in a way, I think I was dealing with a bit of PTSD.

I was convinced that if I started peeing on sticks, tracking basal body temperature, and counting days on calendars, everything would snowball into another TTC obsession.

It was August before I worked up enough courage to pull the ovulation kit out again.

Let me stop here to say…

The only reason why I could justify doing any at-home ovulation tracker this time is because my period had been so consistent for an entire year. The longest it has ever been naturally consistent for me (like since I started at 12 years old).

On Thursday, September 8, 2022, Tayler and I left for Boston. It was our very first trip together without Lachlan. And I was supposed to start my period on Friday. (I really try my best to be super romantic, ya know. [thumbs up+wink])

But Friday came and went. No period.

By Saturday, it took everything in me not to walk to a CVS and buy a test. It was all I could think about. If I was obsessed with knowing, I was equally as obsessed with not knowing. And I felt too silly to say anything to Tayler. I mean, I was legitimately A day late. Coming from someone who has spent most of her life only getting quarterly periods… just who tha fuck did I think I was?!

So, I “enjoyed” our trip. At one point, I even stole a handbag worth of tampons from a restaurant bathroom in anticipation of my body giving me the reality check I so desperately needed.

I found out I was pregnant the morning after we got home from Boston.

Tayler was out on the porch with Lachlan.

No one knew I was inside taking a pregnancy test.

No one even knew I had a reason to take a pregnancy test.

After joining them outside, I looked at Tayler and nonchalantly said, “Ugh. Why do I feel so terrible?”

“It was probably that trash-ass flight from Boston to JFK yesterday,” he responded.

“Or maybe it’s this…”

I pulled the pregnancy test out of my robe pocket.

The indicator window held the faintest of two lines.

Positive.

Tayler cried.

I still cannot believe I had the opportunity to surprise my husband with a positive pregnancy test. Something so, so many people take for granted.

I didn’t think to catch it on camera. It wasn’t a Pinterest-worthy or super dramatic reveal. But that moment will live on repeat in my mind every single day for the rest of my life.

Sullivan Wylde Fulton will be here sometime in May.

She has absolutely no idea what a miracle she is for us.