Three

Three years ago this week we sold our first home and moved into our lovely home. The selling and buying and moving was the usual chaotic adventure, complete with cross-county drives and nights sleeping in the kitchen (old house) or the living room (new house) on our mattresses. Three months later, as the house became home and we settled into our new routines, I took the last pill in the month-long pack and with a mix of wonder and nerves through the empty pack into the trash. At a doctor's appointment earlier that summer, I was told that based on my history, I shouldn't have any problems getting pregnant. I made plans for our baby to be the next Ricker baby, grandchild #3 on that side of the family.

Things didn't work out as expected, and my sisters-in-law had #3, #4, and #5. And while I was excited for them and loved the new nieces and nephew, it was hard to be patient for my turn. Sometimes, it was even hard to believe I would get a turn.

Earlier this year, we started fertility treatments. We were told we had three tries with one procedure and if that didn't work, we could try a more complicated, expensive procedure for three tries. At the end of our first try, we were in Utah for my brother's and my sister's graduations, and I had the perfect plan to tell my family the good news. But there wasn't any good news to share that month, or the next. We started the third try with little hope, expecting we would end up trying the more complicated, expensive procedure once before our insurance ran out. But three months ago, sweet Nurse D from the clinic called with the good news we didn't expect.

I'm seventeen weeks pregnant today. We become a family of three in March.