Me at 23 and Hercules at 6-months old. On July 31, 2015, the day Hercules died, I cried all day. My eyes were raw, my face as red as a turnip, and my heart depleted, like someone had turned it inside out and washed it a trillion times on the sanitize setting. I was truly exhausted and sick with sadness.

I am really a strong woman. Life is really a roller coaster. To not fault yourself for anything during the process. To have hope and faith. That I love my husband so much and he must love me to endure my craziness during this time. Can you say sugar daddy? The October 15th Pregna.

Go little eggs go! I think now waiting a month and a half is the worst part. Failure makes, well definitely with us, more determined and one just wants to get cracking again .

I had this grandiose plan to reveal my true identity during Infertility Awareness Week. To lift the veil on the issue and stop lurking about, crying in my office, into my pillow and in my car when no one could see me. But, I do supp.

I just put her down and I hear her soft, sweet, zombie-like coos over the monitor as she babbles herself to sleep. It is otherwise silent in the house. The clock was moved back last night and the world is collectively sleepier than we should be at this hour. It is dark and cozy and there is something about tonight that feels sacred.