Jessica's Journal: March 2026 — 10,000 Women

Hi. It's me. Jessica.

I'm writing this from my kitchen table at 11pm because that's the only time all four kids are asleep and the house is quiet enough to think. There's a cold cup of coffee to my left, a pile of crayon drawings to my right, and the hum of the dishwasher in the background. This is my office. This has always been my office.

I've wanted to do something like this for a long time — a monthly letter, just from me to you, no SEO strategy, no product comparisons, no affiliate disclaimers. Just me talking to you like you're sitting across this table. So here we are. Welcome to the first Jessica's Journal.

We Hit 10,000

This month, we crossed 10,000 women who've used our guides. Ten thousand. I keep saying that number out loud to myself because it doesn't feel real. When I started this site in 2022, I was writing for an audience of basically one: me, four years earlier, sitting on my bathroom floor at 2am, Googling how to do ICI at home and finding nothing useful.

I don't have a marketing team. I don't have investors. I don't have a content strategist or a social media manager or any of the things you're apparently supposed to have. It's just me, this laptop, and a mission I can't let go of. The fact that 10,000 of you have found your way here and trusted what I've built — I don't take that lightly. Not for one second.

Last week, I got an email from a woman named Danielle. She and her wife had been trying for almost two years. They'd done three IUI cycles at a clinic — $2,800 each, plus the sperm, plus the medications, plus the parking garage fees that somehow always felt like the final insult. They were running out of money and running out of hope.

Danielle found our complete guide, bought a kit based on our rankings, and started tracking her wife's ovulation the way we describe in the timing article. It took five cycles. Five months of waiting, of hoping, of holding her breath every time her wife came out of the bathroom with a test in her hand.

Cycle five was the one. She attached a photo of the ultrasound to her email. I printed it out. It's on my fridge right now, next to my kids' drawings and a takeout menu from the Thai place down the street. Every time I open the fridge for more coffee creamer at midnight, I see it, and I remember what all of this is actually about.

Danielle wrote something at the end of her email that I keep coming back to. She said that what mattered most wasn't just the information — it was that the site felt like someone who'd actually been through it was talking to her. Not a clinic. Not a corporation. A person. That's all I've ever tried to be here.

What I've Been Testing This Month

Okay, a little bit of shop talk, because I know some of you are here for this.

I retested three kits this month — the Mosie Baby, the Frida Fertility, and the updated MakeAMom Impregnator. If you've been following my reviews, you know I retest whenever a company releases a new version or when enough time has passed that I want to make sure my rankings still hold up. I take this seriously. These aren't just products to me. They're the tools you're trusting with one of the most important decisions of your life.

Here's where I landed: the Mosie Baby is still excellent for first-timers. The design is intuitive, it's not intimidating, and the customer support team is genuinely helpful. The Frida Fertility kit has improved its syringe mechanism since I last tested it — smoother draw, less air bubble issues — but the instructions could still be clearer for someone who's never done this before.

And the Impregnator? Still has the best cervical positioning of anything on the market. The updated version has a slightly softer tip material that makes insertion more comfortable, and they've redesigned the plunger for a more controlled deposit. I'll have the full updated review up next week with all the details and side-by-side photos.

The Comment, the Emails, and Why I'm Still Here

I almost quit last month. I need to be honest about that.

Not because of the work — I love the work. Not because of the late nights — I've been running on four hours of sleep since my first was born, so that's just my life now. I almost quit because of a comment.

Someone on a fertility forum called this site "just another affiliate scam." They said I was exploiting desperate women for commission checks. They said the reviews were fake and the personal stories were made up to drive sales.

I sat with that for three days. Three days of second-guessing myself, of wondering if that's really how people see this. I test every single kit myself. I spend hours writing guides that I could never justify on a per-word payment basis. I answer emails at midnight — not because I have to, but because I remember what it felt like to have questions and nobody to ask.

On the third day, I opened my inbox and counted. Forty-seven emails that week from women thanking me. Forty-seven women who said this site helped them feel less alone, helped them understand the process, helped them take the next step. One of them was Danielle's. I printed out that ultrasound, stuck it on the fridge, closed the forum tab, and got back to work.

I'm not going to pretend that comment didn't hurt. It did. But forty-seven is a bigger number than one, and those forty-seven women are the reason this site exists. Not the commissions. Not the traffic numbers. Them.

Speaking of reasons this site exists — let me tell you about my Tuesday afternoon.

Sofia, my ICI baby, is four now. She's loud, she's fearless, she puts ketchup on everything including foods that should never touch ketchup, and she is the entire reason I do any of this. She asked me yesterday what I do for work. I was sitting right here at this table, laptop open, and she climbed up on the chair next to me and asked.

I said, "I help mommies become mommies."

She thought about it for a second, doing that thing four-year-olds do where they look at the ceiling like the answer is up there somewhere. Then she said, "Like you helped me get here?"

I didn't even know she understood that. We've talked about it in the simplest terms — that mommy wanted her so much that she learned a special way to help her be born — but I didn't think she'd connected it to my work. Kids understand more than we think. I hugged her so hard she told me I was squishing her.

That moment is worth more than every pageview, every commission check, every ranking on Google. That moment is the whole thing.

What's Coming in April

I've got a big month planned. Here's what's on my list:

First, I'm finally publishing the state-by-state insurance guide. I've been researching this for months because it's one of the most common questions I get — "does my insurance cover any of this?" The answer is complicated and depends entirely on where you live, so I'm breaking it down state by state with specific policy language and mandate details. It's going to be the most useful thing I've ever published, and I'm both excited and terrified to ship it.

Second, I'm interviewing a fertility nurse practitioner who's been recommending at-home ICI to her patients for over five years. She has data. She has stories. And she has a perspective that I think is going to be incredibly validating for those of you who've been told by other providers that at-home insemination isn't "real" fertility treatment.

Third, I'm testing two brand-new kits that just launched this month. I won't name them yet because I want my reviews to be completely unbiased, but I'll say this: one of them has a feature I've never seen before in an ICI kit, and I'm genuinely curious to see if it works as well as they claim.

If you're in the middle of your journey right now — maybe you just had a negative test, maybe you're still researching, maybe you're scared to start — I want you to know something.

I see you. I was you. I was the woman Googling at 2am, the woman crying in the bathroom, the woman who was terrified that it would never work and equally terrified that it would. I was the woman who almost didn't try because she was afraid of failing.

And it's worth it. Every single terrified, hopeful, exhausting minute of it is worth it. The waiting is worth it. The uncertainty is worth it. The hope — even when it hurts — is worth it.

I'll be back next month with another letter. In the meantime, my inbox is always open. I read every single email, even if it sometimes takes me a few days to respond (see: four kids, one laptop, cold coffee).

Love,
Jessica