30 days left in my 20s

How will it feel to be thirty, 15 weeks pregnant?

When I turned 29, I had recently moved to a new city and I was about to be diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome. I was sad, alone, and feeling very turbulent. How dare age and infertility come swooping in on me at once, attacking my fragile sense of self struggling to make a new city home? I wanted desperately to have a baby before I turned 30, and I clung to the hope that I would get pregnant within the next few months, to make that desperate wish a reality.

As month after month slipped by--in september, I was diagnosed. In October, I said "F this, I'm running a marathon." In November we celebrated Mark's birthday and I had seven false positive pregnancy tests (I never bought that brand again). In December, I realized I would not have a baby by 30, and I cried, for wasting time in my twenties. I cried because I felt like time was slipping away from me faster than I could seize the moments to really live them, I was too obsessed with trying to find hope in bleak circumstances.

In January I stopped crying and I went to the RE.

In February, I allowed them to inject me with radiactive dye.

In March, I learned how to give myself injections.

In April, I decided that it was over. I was done. This was the last cycle, the last time I would literally inject my paycheck into the fleshy skin below my belly button. I thought of the children I couldn't have, with their blond hair and blue eyes like my husband, or green eyes like me. I planned how I would get over these little phantom babies, and I started researching fall marathons and thinking about a trip to the wine store. I stopped trying to bargain with God, because let's face it, God never believes us when we say "If you will give me just this one thing..." Instead, I sat back and said "I can't control this, and I don't want to try anymore."

In May, I was pregnant. I was disbelieving--I had plans now that I could gladly set aside. I was afraid and overjoyed and thankful all at once. And then, I found out that I am carrying twins.

In June, I saw and heard my babies' hearts beating. When I heard the sound like horses galloping, I began to breathe again.

And now its July, and I can ponder how I spent my last year of my twenties before August slips in and seals this decade forever in memory, never to be touched or dipped into except with nostalgia. It was a painful, heartbreaking year. But it was the year with the most hope, the most joy, the most faith, I have ever felt.

Would I live it again? I was strong enough to live it once. But once was enough. Bring on 30.