The moment had arrived. We were on the brink of starting our family. I’d never anticipated my period with such eagerness, not since we embarked on this journey to conceive. But there it was, and with it came the first needle—the inaugural step in our quest to welcome a little one into our lives.

I’d placed considerable pressure on myself for this to succeed, but it wasn’t until we were poised to administer that first injection that I realized the weight Brad carried on his shoulders. Despite our experience with two rounds of IVF prior, Brad insisted on revisiting instructional videos, ensuring every step was executed flawlessly. With the laptop perched on the kitchen counter, we followed along, knowing that this moment marked the beginning of our journey toward Baby Krepp.

As the days and injections progressed, it was finally time for my first ultrasound. Brad, unfortunately, was tied up with work, leaving me to navigate this milestone alone. Early Wednesday morning, armed with a takeaway coffee, I embarked on the 55-minute drive to the clinic. The journey was shrouded in silence processing about what was going to happen.

Upon arrival, a prolonged wait greeted me, compounded by the absence of my favorite technician. When the ultrasound revealed only six small follicles, doubt crept in. Was this yet another setback?

But as with life, progress marches on. Just a day later, I found myself administering the trigger shot, signaling that retrieval day—Friday—loomed. This time around, nerves were tempered by experience; after all, I was practically a pro.

Friday morning dawned, and we rose with the sun,  we drove alone as the sun crept over the hills and down into the valley, the dew on the fields making a beautiful sparkle. And as I looked in the sky 2 stalks flew above us, was this a sign?

As I underwent the procedure alone, Brad waited anxiously for news. And when our favorite nurse delivered the verdict—two embryos—emotions ran high. We knew the odds were against us, but here we were, defying expectations.

The following day was a tense affair, as we awaited word on the embryos’ progress. And when the call finally came, relief washed over us—both had fertiliwed, and now, we waited.

Always waiting. But this time, the wait was mercifully brief—just until Monday.

Come Monday morning, we made the familiar journey to the clinic, the weight of anticipation hanging heavy in the air. Soon enough, I found myself on the examination table, bracing for the transfer. What I hadn’t anticipated was the pain. The procedure proved excruciating—my endo scar tissue obstructing the catheter’s passage. In that moment of agony, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the reason for our struggles. But with determination and one final attempt, the catheter found its mark, and I was pregnant.

Stepping out into the world, the reality began to sink in—I was pregnant until proven otherwise.

And so, we celebrated with a pit stop at McDonald’s for fries, kicking off the 14-day wait with a mixture of hope and apprehension.