When Things Don’t Go As Planned – My Sister’s Struggle With Infertility

Aug 5, 2015 by


These are my little sisters and me: Becky, Katie and Jessie.  We grew up playing House, Dress-Up, Barbies, riding our bikes, and having dance contests (I was always the judge, and coincidentally, I always won).  For as long as I can remember we wanted to grow up and have babies.  Well, we grew up and Becky and I had babies.  When Katie started trying to have her own babies, it wasn’t that simple.  This is her story – in her own words – of her struggle with infertility and how she ended up with twin boys, born almost three years apart.





Katie’s story…


These two cuties are my sons.  The big one is Michael. He will be 3 in October.  The small one is Dexter.  He is (as I write this) 9 days old. They are my heart and soul, the loves of my life, my everything.  They are unique and crazy and smart and silly and gassy.

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Survivor’s Guilt

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Life is hard, ya’ll.  It is struggle and pain.  Slips, falls, and disappointments grabbing at your ankles just as you thought you had risen above.  I’ve been there.  I’ve been in that dark place and visit still from time to time.

I have battle scars to remind me of where I have been.  But now? In this place and time? My life is solidly good – great, even.  The smiles come pretty darn easy and I wish to have more of these hours to sink into – rather than run away from.  I am acutely aware of the blessings that surround me every day, and though I do sometimes take them for granted, it is never for long.  My Instagram might be filled with pictures of smiling faces, but I never forget that shit goes down.

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Telling my grandmother I’m pregnant, again for the first time

Oct 7, 2013 by

Showing off the bump to my grandparents.

Showing off the bump to my grandparents.
photo credit: genagolas

“Gena, do you have something to tellllll meeeeee?” my grandmother asks through the phone, drawing out the end of the sentence as if to tease me.

Of course, I know where she’s going with this question.

“Nanny, I’m pregnant!” I say.

“How come you didn’t tell me!” she asks, slightly teasing, but slightly confused.  I feel like she’s trying to figure out if we’ve had this conversation before, like it’s starting to sound familiar but she doesn’t know why.

“Ma,” I hear my grandfather chime in from somewhere in their house.  “You already knew that.”  Thank goodness I don’t have to say it.   I hate admitting to her we’ve already had this same conversation many times in the last six months.

“Oh, Gena, I’m so happy for you.  When are you due?”

“January 8th.”

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In Honor of International Babywearing Week

Oct 3, 2013 by


Next week, October 7-13, 2013, is International Babywearing Week!

There are so many things I enjoy about wearing my babies and toddlers: the ease and convenience, the closeness, the ability kiss and sniff their little heads as many times as I please, seeing them enjoy it just as much as I do, the effectiveness (when my middle daughter was an infant, we called the Ergo our ‘instant sleep machine’).

But there is something else I love about it too.  As a woman who tried, but did not achieve a pregnancy, there is something so healing about having my baby wrapped tightly to my belly.  To have her be so relaxed right up against me.  Feeling her every hiccup and tiny movement.  To have her so close that I forget where her skin ends and mine begins.  I wasn’t able to be the one to carry her for those first 9 months, but I can now.

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The best things come to those who wait!

Jul 22, 2013 by

My Momfession?

Hi there, Baby G!

Hi there, Baby G!


I know, I know, this is not the photo of the amazing embryo I talked about just the other week.  I’ve been holding out on you, like I warned you I would, until we were ready to make the announcement.  But here’s our squirmy baby at 15 weeks, pausing just long enough for a photo opp.  We’re so in love already.

I also wanted to take a brief moment to thank the readers (friends, long lost friends, fellow infertility warriors, and strangers alike) for all of your incredible support as you followed us along our journey.  Writing about my TTC experience has been cathartic, with the blog as an outlet for my own emotions and, as I look back on my posts now, a unique documentation of the extraordinary thing that we did.  But, reading your comments each week, getting off-line emails and texts from those of you who are also fighting the same fight, and talking to some of you in person about our journeys, have helped me feel less alone, a little more normal, and very much supported.  I hope I have done the same for you to return the favor.

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