Yesterday was a big day. We signed on our first house! We’d been looking for a house for almost a year and a half and finally found a place we are excited to make our home. The house needs a lot of work, but has a fabulous garden and is in a wonderful little village close to the big city where we currently live. It will be a great village for hiking in the hills, biking, and hopefully raising a family. We were really hoping to have a little one on the way before our big move from the city to the countryside, but for the moment that might be too much to ask (even if we probably won’t move in before the renovation work is done in 6-8 months’ time). We actually found out our offer on the house had been accepted the same day I got my first ever positive Beta. It was an amazing day and I can still feel the excitement and emotion we were flooded with. And the little extra excitement when the due date calculator spit out my Birthday for the due date. Unfortunately the bliss of finally being pregnant was short lived and my Beta slowly dropped back to the dreaded less than 5 zone. It was an extremely difficult week, but the news on the house definitely helped dampen the blow. It gave me something else to put all of my attention and energy into, something else to daydream about. However, leading up to the signing this week, I couldn’t help but think about how I should/would have been 4 months pregnant, almost halfway there. I’m definitely excited and grateful for our soon-to-be home, but really hope we will be able to have children to share it with. We’re in the middle of another FET, so hope is the predominate feeling of the week, but I still get those pangs of anxiety and visions of being all on our own in the house without the laughter (and cries) of a wee one to make it feel whole.