A little under a year ago I was celebrating my 29th birthday. Though we had recently gotten some pretty heavy news about our odds of conceiving a child and I was facing surgery for my endometriosis, I decided to treat myself to a nice day out and about. I went out shopping and found myself two coveted pairs of jeans that fit nicely, tucked into my first salted caramel mocha of the season, started the last book in a series I'd been reading since I was 14 and took a trial boxing class at a local gym.Fast forward almost twelve months later. The jeans don't fit, the book was a little bit of a let down (sorry F. Paul), I gave up boxing out of fear of popping an ovary and I've got no baby to show for any of my efforts.
