A story of secondary infertility by guest blogger, April Lovelace Simmons

Your baby is growing up… she smells like cheerios and playdough and something else kind of gross. But there are still whiffs of the sweet, innocent baby smell if you hug her close at night. And you miss it. The dimpled knees and the toothless smiles and the teeny tiny clothes. The horrible sleep deprivation, the chapped nipples and the ceaseless demands have receded into the cavernous mommy brain… so, now it’s time for another one. You got this. No problem, right? Just get back on the bike and everything will come back. Start counting days and inspecting cervical fluids. Get a general idea of the correct week and just do lots of hanky-panky and bada-bing, bada-boom, yougotyo’self a bun in the oven.

Ready, set, go!

Except not. Three months pass… it’s not a big deal. Sure, it was disappointing when PMS symptoms were mistaken for early signs of pregnancy. But, we are always...