It's taking a small handful of pills at least twice a day or more.
It's taking your temperature each morning and trying to figure out what each rise and fall means.
It's analyzing every single pinch and twinge you think you feel in your pelvic region.
It's peeing on test strips several times a day to determine a possible ovulation date.
It's trying to control your mood swings and emotions that are thrown out of sorts due to medication that is helping you ovulate because you can't on your own.
It's having to take that medication in the first place because you have PCOS.
It's blood tests once a month to make sure the medication is working correctly.
It's worrying about the chance of multiples with the medication you take that makes you ovulate, because you only want (and can truly handle) one child.
It's charting all these symptoms and tests and medications in three different fertility tracking apps and comparing them to each other.
It's timing sex around your fertile window.
It's trying make sex not seem like a chore for yourself or your husband.
It's blaming yourself for all the medical bills that are piling up and stressing out your husband.
It's stressing about the fact that those bills are only going to get bigger even when you do finally get pregnant.
It's knowing that if you do fall pregnant, you'll be considered 'high risk.'
It's having your heart broken over and over again with each negative pregnancy test.
It's explaining PCOS to every person you end up talking to about your infertility.
It's crying to your mom on the phone because your body can't do what it was built to do.
It's dealing with all of the symptoms of PCOS.
It's planning your schedule around what phase of your cycle you are in.
It's making baby blankets for family and friends when you'd rather be making them for yourself.
It's having to pass up really good deals and sales on baby stuff because you don't know if you'll ever get pregnant.
It's wondering if the bubble bath is too hot.
It's obsessing over everything that goes into yours and your husband's mouth.
It's having your nursery planned out in your head already, but you still have an empty room.
It's having an entire list of baby names picked out (and your mom hates almost all of them), and you wonder if you even need the list at all anymore.
It's joining several groups on Facebook to find support and to not feel alone in the process, only to debate leaving these groups when you see so many women posting their positive tests and yours are all negative.
It's feeling guilty for being upset that other women are finally getting their big fat positive test after years of trying, and you've only been trying for 14 months.
It's being happy for others who are pregnant, but sad for yourself because you're womb is still empty.
It's wondering if your husband is getting frustrated with your mood swings, but not saying anything.
It's having to crush the hopes of your mom and mother-in-law each unsuccessful cycle.
It's wondering if God is punishing you for some past transgression.
It's not all negative. There are some good things too.
Having a prolonged "trying" stage has allowed me time for lots of research on everything involved with pregnancy, my health, and delivery.
It's given us more time to get some of our debt paid off.
It's given us more time to be able to be more comfortable financially when it comes time to trade in the Mustang for an SUV.
It's brought my husband and I closer together as we work through all the emotions and "what ifs" that we're facing right now.
Going through all of this will make it all the more sweet when it finally does happen. Our child will know for damn sure that it is loved and very much wanted. I've tried to keep a log of sorts of everything we've done so far so that I can share it with our child someday.
Infertility is different for each woman, each man, each couple. This is mine. This is ours.
