Christine Beaudry talks about her battle with infertility.

Christine Beaudry is a BabyZone editor and writer specializing in pregnancy and parenting topics. She has also written for local and national publications, and is a wife and mother of two daughters. Christine Beaudry talks about her battle with infertility.

Since I was a young girl, I dreamed of my future: finishing college, getting married, starting a family. I wanted it all—the husband, the kids, and the white picket fence. Even when I was newly wed at age 22, having a baby was only a question of "when" and never of "if." But at 25, a diagnosis of endometriosis turned my world and all my plans upside down.

Since my early teens I had endured excruciatingly painful periods and never quite believed each physician as he or she explained that many women have cramps; try a hot water bottle, take an Advil, and call me in the morning. Instinct told me it was something more, but I didn't know what that something was until I had a laparoscopy to treat painful ovarian cysts. My doctor discovered endometriosis during my surgery and promptly told my husband, waiting in the post-op area, that if we wanted children we had "better start now." The time had come, but we had no idea what was in store for us. My diagnosis was merely the beginning of an invisible disorder and the cruel experience of infertility.

We didn't know about the infertility right away. We were so excited about beginning our family. I loved imagining how it would feel to be pregnant, to break the news to my husband and family, to watch my belly grow, to feel my baby kick. Yet month after month, the periods came, and the plethora of pregnancy tests were all negative. After years of trying not to get pregnant, sex was now a chore instead of something enjoyable.

The treatment began—pills, shots, sonograms to see if I was ovulating—and my body began to pay the price. I gained weight, and my face broke out. My ovaries produced large cysts so painful that I had to quit my step aerobics class because it hurt too much. Yet the physical stress was minimal compared to the emotional suffering. I often found myself crying uncontrollably, angry with myself, God, my husband, and anybody who said, "Just relax. You're young. You have plenty of time." How could they know the devastation—the failure—in knowing my body could not do something as natural as conceive? I believed I was a faulty woman. And I hated living with the continuous cycles of hope, failure, and trying again; the weeks of waiting were agonizing.

I did find some comfort in knowledge. I read everything I could get my hands on about conception, infertility, ovarian cysts, and endometriosis. I sought solace online from other women desperately trying to become pregnant. We followed one another's cycles and waited hopefully (and impatiently) as each friend neared her monthly moment of truth. We dared to ask one another, "Do you feel a little nauseous? Are your breasts tender? Do you think this could be it?" Many times we cried together as the tests failed to show that plus sign, that blue line, that tell-tale pink circle. A few times we rejoiced when one in the bunch finally conceived. Happiness mixed with jealousy and renewed frustration. "Why not me this time?"

After a year and a half, I'd had enough. Although we hadn't tried the "hard core" infertility treatments such as egg retrieval and in vitro fertilization, I needed a break. My body, extremely sensitive to hormonal changes, reacted poorly to even the smallest dosages of Clomid, leaving me in pain. And frankly, I just didn't feel like myself anymore. The desire to get pregnant had taken over my life. I needed some time to snap back and give my body a rest. My husband and I were preparing for a big cross-country move, anyhow. It was time to leave my doctor and my infertility behind, at least for a while. Time to regain some sanity.

And then it happened, just four months after our move. Armed with my medical records, I met my new doctor, prepared to discuss treatment for my endometriosis. The nurse asked me the standard, "Could you be pregnant?" question and I mumbled something about it being technically possible yet highly unlikely. Even as I handed her my cup of urine, I never once, not for a second, thought, "Well, maybe I'm pregnant this time." And so I found myself in utter shock when I heard the news. A baby?!? A baby!! I'm having a baby!! I cried and laughed and cried again. I sat on the exam table in disbelief when my doctor—now my OB!—told me my due date. Of all things, I had a due date at last!

And now, I have not one but two beautiful daughters, ages three and one. They are here, they are wonderful, they are mine—and I am forever grateful and unbelievably blessed. The endometriosis seems to be in remission, and infertility treatments are a thing of the past. I still don't know why it took so long to conceive my children, why the drugs didn't work, why we struggled. I think it was all part of a greater plan for my life and have come to believe—to know—that it was truly God's timing and certainly not my own. While I'll never forget the sorrow, the grief, and the heartache of thinking I could never bear a child, I'm grateful for the awe-filled appreciation I have for my daughters and the miracle of pregnancy and birth. My family is complete. Now, about that white picket fence…