
I have been pregnant for 534 days, or at least that’s what it feels like.
534 days ago I found out that I was pregnant, and while we miscarried at six weeks, it feels like I’ve been in a liminal space ever since—body, mind, and soul.
During our first month of trying, I was so grateful to finally be in this season that the entire process seemed exciting. I began haphazardly tracking my cycle using the fertility awareness method, taking my temperature each day and monitoring cervical mucus to discover my fertile days. Once I knew I had ovulated I bought a box of pregnancy tests—First Response, early result, because I wanted to know the outcome as soon as possible. When the first day I could take the test rolled around, I woke early and took it in the bathroom, my hands shaking at the gravity of it all. The results were negative, and while disappointing, I found comfort in knowing that this was only our first cycle of trying to conceive—we were just getting started.


Even though it’s just in the 60s here in Seattle, I’m officially two weeks into my 