I wasn’t one of those girls who grew up thinking they would definitely become mothers. Motherhood was something abstract and distant to me—something that might come, or might not. Until I met my husband, and without many words, a new desire was born within me: to become a family.

At first, we took it easy. We had no reason to think we would struggle. I was 31, with seemingly good test results and a cycle that wasn’t perfect, but fairly regular. The months passed, we had unprotected intercourse, but nothing happened. I didn’t even notice it for the first few months, but after five months something inside me clicked. “We won’t become one of those couples who stress about it,” my husband tried to reassure me.

But every time my period came, it filled my heart with a void and silence. There was a delay that wasn’t pregnancy—just my usual late period, coming only to remind me that I had failed again.

So I started using ovulation tests. At first, I was skeptical, but when you start counting the months, those little test strips turn into hopes. I began keeping a journal—what day I tested, when it turned positive, when we needed to have intercourse, when I should expect a result. Our lives took on a rhythm—strict, mechanical, but necessary.

There were months when I didn’t detect ovulation at all. Other months, it came so late we were already exhausted. And there were months where everything seemed perfect, but my period came anyway (and with it, disappointment).

Somewhere around the tenth month of trying, I started to lose hope. I didn’t want to take any more tests, didn’t want to track anything. But still… I did it again, because I thought maybe this would be the cycle that would bring me my baby, and I couldn’t let it slip away. The strength within every woman is unimaginable. With every period, every grief for a failed attempt, every sense of impatience as we start again for another month, comes something else too—hope. A new cycle begins, the body resets again, ready to welcome a new life. Maybe this time, it would be the one.

That particular cycle felt like a promise: ovulation showed up clearly, we followed the plan exactly. Then came the waiting days—those endless 10–12 days when I hoped but didn’t let myself believe. It’s no coincidence they call this phase the “two-week wait.” I read a lot of survival guides, but honestly, they didn’t help much…

One morning, without any symptoms, I just decided to take a pregnancy test. It was two days before my expected period, and I had told myself I wouldn’t test early again. I had done that in the first months—bought pregnancy tests in bulk and started testing even 7 days before my period hoping to see a faint second line. But that month I had a good feeling and decided to try.

It looked positive, but I didn’t believe it... I still don’t understand how I managed to hide it from my husband. I took another test the next morning. I showed him—it was positive—we cried with joy!!

Then came bleeding, placental detachment, and I had to stay in bed for days. Then an ultrasound—then we heard a heartbeat. And from that point on, thankfully everything went well, and after the fourth month I had a very good pregnancy.

Next month, I’m giving birth—and I can’t wait to meet my baby boy!!!!

See pregnancy tests