It’s Infertility Awareness Week (April 23 – 29, 2017) and this heartfelt post comes to us courtesy of Nicole from Nicole Tronti Photography.

I thought I’d write about something like “Why to Hire a Professional Birth Photographer.”

But that’s not what’s on my heart.

I have been writing this story for a long time. And honestly I kept thinking I would save it for the day my 2’nd child was born.

It has been 692 days. If you don’t count the 6 months or so of “let’s just see what happens.”

I wear that number everyday. I do the math constantly. I guess how old my hypothetical baby would be. I hate math.

Secondary infertility affects about 3 million of us every year. But we never really talk about it. I have a beautiful child. I have not lost a baby. I just can’t get pregnant.

I have a small circle of very dear friends.

This summer we will become the last single child house.

I never thought it would happen to me. My Reid was the most glorious of surprises.

I don’t talk about it enough. It feels selfish. I think about how much I already have. A wonderful husband, a perfect healthy little boy, a growing business, 2 dogs and a house on a sweet little street. How much more do I expect the universe to hand me? I think about all the women who never get the chance to grow a tiny human. I think about the ones born too soon, and those never born at all. Anything to convince myself that it isn’t that serious, that there are far worse things in the world.

None of it makes a difference. My heart still aches something fierce, and there is forever an empty place at our dinner table.

There are so many things I’ve never said. I can’t seem to find the words. There are days I just can’t shake the pain. I hear the usual things “you’re putting too much pressure on yourself.” “it will happen when you least expect it.” I smile, knowing they only have the best of intentions. Then silently count how many days have passed.

I wonder how many have sat perfectly still in their empty guest room in the middle of the night and cried. (I hope my husband never reads this. He is the most compassionate human being, and I refuse to be comforted.)

It is heartbreaking, and the emotions are so complex I have a hard time sorting through them. There’s the guilt. Every minute and every dollar we spend feels like it is taken directly from Reid. The jealousy, it feels like every woman I know has had a baby in the last 2 years. I am taken back by how much it stings. There’s dissapointment, and moments of crippling sadness. All imbedded into the fabric of who I am.

I am a Birth Photographer. I get to document some of the most profound moments you will ever experience. On my toughest days it feels ironic, and a tiny bit cruel.

I have been lucky enough to cross paths with so many women who struggled with infertility, whether it be first or secondary. And I am forever grateful for the chance to see so many miracles happen.

I thank the stars for the few friends I allow myself to cry with. I have be reminded that being human is hard. And some days a box of tissue and a soft shoulder are necessary.

There’s always hope. Every month brings a fresh start. And I am a glass half full kinda girl.

I just hope that this helps some other Mama out there who feels like she’s alone, or that she shouldn’t be so sad, know she isn’t the only one.