For once, a serious post.

There are times when we look back on our lives and think about "what could have been ..." I imagine I'll be doing that in the future, and it'll be this time in my life that I'll be thinking about.

I never thought infertility could happen to me. After all, I've had a child –– actually got pregnant the very first month (second try!). So imagine my frustration and discord and watching nearly two years go by with nary a fertilized egg.

We officially began trying in June 2006. That was a great summer. We went to the beach with our friends and neighbors, BooBerry turned three ... life was good. We weren't serious about it –– after all, we just knew it would happen the first month or two.

Fast forward a year. Stress had finally begun to take its toll. Every day we weren't pregnant was a day BooBerry grew older and, in essence, further away from her potential sibling. Bill's sister is 11 years older than him; they're not close, mainly because she left for college when he was 7 and rarely came home. Now she lives up North; time and distance have taken their toll.

My doctor put me on Clomid last summer, and I took it for 8 months. It was absolutely awful. I had violent mood swings, night terrors, hot flashes... it was enough to make me wonder if that baby was really worth it. I took myself off Clomid last month, and things have gotten better. My skin doesn't feel like it's on too tight; I don't cry at the drop of a hat.

But still, no baby.

Today, my OBGYN is taking the last step before we're officially written off as infertile and sent to infertility specialists. I get the pleasure of enduring a hysterosalpingogram and from everything I've read (bad mistake #1), it would be less painful to swallow -- and pass -- broken glass. That should be sometime next week, so expect a whiny rant about my painful ovaries (sorry, boys).