Happy birthday little fetus

Exactly an year ago baby was made.

I know the precise date because we were trying to conceive. After a year, we were in the verge of making the decision to seek a fertility doctor when I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Always a nerd about nutrition and science, I figured that there were natural ways to fix our problem, and there were.

After cramming on fertility and nutrition books I figured out that my luteal phase (the part of the cycle after ovulation) was short, which meant that my estrogen levels were too high and were therefore affecting the progesterone levels. When those are not in sync, the integrity of the uterus gets compromised. I could have gotten pregnant many times before but it never stuck.

The best way to fix a messy luteal phase is through vitamins b6 and b12, which can be found mostly in meats, and I was mostly vegan at that point.

Also, estrogen affects the ph "down there," which makes it not sperm friendly, so the solution I found (get this) is pretty simple: expectorant medication!

So with b complex capsules and mucinex in my system, and armed with a basal termmometer, a little guy was conceived.

A few days later, my bras felt tighter and I blamed it on my husband (because everything that goes wrong must be his fault) for putting all of my bras in the dryer. "Why would I put ALL of your bras in the dryer?" he asked.

A week later we were house shopping across the country and none of the houses appealed to me because the baby needed a yard and a quiet room. Artillery training sounds from the nearby base shook the houses and I shook my head along with it.

"I thought you liked this house," husband would say, and I would answer, "A baby can't sleep through cannons going off!"

"Mariana," my husband would remind me, "You are not pregnant. "

I took yet another pregnancy test that morning and it was negative, again.

"Yes, I am. Those tests don't know shit"

Our very patient realtor took us through more houses than the Japanese tsunami (hi, Steve!). Upon entering every single house, I rushed to a bathroom, feeling sick but with a throw up that never manifested, which made me look even more lunatic.

I heard my husband whisper, "she thinks she is pregnant," with an intonation that accused me of being crazy, as if he had said, "she thinks she is a super hero."

All the sickness went miraculously away once we entered the house we now live. It had light, with windows everywhere, and high ceilings. The backyard has an area to grow vegetables, and fruit trees, grapevines, and bonus passion fruits, which reminds me of my parent's house, in Brazil.

"...but it's old," husband complained. "No, this is home," I said.

That little fetus is now sitting by a palm tree in the yard, looking up and smiling at his larger than life mobili while the breeze blows its leaves, feeling very much at home.