An hour ago I was outside going to town on a bajillion feet of snow. The goal was to make a safe path from the front door of the house to the car. And then I needed to unsnow the car. And then I needed to clear the road behind the car so that we could get it out to the road. Tomorrow Mother has an appointment in town with a rheumatologist and if that office is open then I want to get us there.

Except the snow. Wow. Did you hear there was a blizzard? And while I still firmly live in the “love it!” camp when it comes to the stuff (remember, it’s all still a bit new and shiny for me) shoveling it has been a learning experience. The first hour is all bad-ass and awesome. I attack the snow like nobody’s business. I get thrilled just watching the progress. But then I get sore or over-heated or snow down my shirt. And I start to wane on my vim. I start to hate being tall. (Maybe I am wrong- but it just seems like I have to bend more being so effing tall.)

I approached  the shoveling in waves. That first hour was over fast and I was exhausted. I took a break. Had a beverage. And then back out I went. I was nearly to the car when I heard, “excuse me!!!” I looked up and an older woman and two teen-aged girls waved at me from the main road. They were decked out in parkas and the older woman had a camera around her neck. She pointed to it as she loudly asked, “Do you know where we can take a good photograph of the water?”

Well it just so happens I did know because I take a zillion photographs weekly of the view of the water. I ambled up to talk and we met half way. We exchanged names. I found out that the older woman and one of the girls lived on a farm about a mile down the road. An alpaca farm that I pass every time I head into town. I exclaimed that I would love to come visit and bring W.

And then the following exchange happened:

Her: How sweet. Of course. How old is your son?

Me: Ten months yesterday. [wow.]

Her: And is he your only one?

Me: He is, and it took me five years to get him.

Her: (squeezing the shoulder of her daughter) I know exactly what you mean.

And a ripple of understanding wafted through the cool air and we smiled at each other. Members of the queendom. Speakers of the same language. Travelers on the road to hell and back.

I set them off to the best place to take photos and they went on their way. I continued my work heaving and hoeing. Twenty minutes later I heard them come back from the vista and make their way to a neighbor’s house down the road. We waved.

An hour later I was back out shoveling the snow off of the car and I saw them leave the neighbors and head my way. The Mother walked towards me and I walked towards her. “So? IVF?” And I told her my story. I promised to bring W up to her farm next weekend and she made her way back to the road then turned and shouted, “I told ____ to plow out the rest of your drive so you should get on back into your house and be with your son.”

And that is how being infertile got me a plow job.

A few weeks ago I was getting my hair done and a similar conversation happened. Someone remarked on the adorableness of W and I responded that it took me a long time to get him. And FIVE people started talking with each other about infertility. Some customers, some salon employees. One girl was just starting to have the workups done, another conceived her child after 14 years of trying, another had a sister that was going through IVF…

I am incredibly vocal about the path that I traveled in order to become a Mother. It is, perhaps, a luxury of being single because I dive into the sharing of the story very easily without the need of approval from a husband. I talk about it now because I wonder if at some point I will become quieter about it, when it becomes less my story and more W’s story. I talk because I have to create a normalcy for it.

For every person that makes a joke about how fertile they are I feel compelled to shout out how INfertile I am. You know someone that just looks at her husband and gets knocked up? Well I know hundreds of people that spend all of their savings for such a chance.

Being infertile changed me to my core, but I feel such a beautiful and tight sisterhood with women all over the world now. That I can find such a sisterhood at a hair salon or out shoveling snow is quite honestly one of the best things to come out of all of this (well, W is no doubt The Best).

And it makes me wonder- do you talk about it? I mean outside of the blogs or the message boards. Do you find ways to weave your story into every day conversations? What do you say?

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(Get cozy, it’s a catch up post. Oh yes. Beverage yourself up and snuggle in…)

I’m in a car at a pediatrician’s parking lot at the moment waiting for N&J to have a check up for little NJ. Speaking of pediatricians makes me realize that I need to update the W insurance list of chaos.

After getting a message two weeks ago from our case worker saying that all is fine, the “situation will be resolved tomorrow’ (with no indication of what, exactly the “situation” could be) I have not had any updates. So I decided to do a round of calls again to check on the status of our application. (I say “our” but it is really just W. Didn’t want anyone to think that I might actually get insurance coverage. Ha ha ha!)

The first call was to my caseworker. I was told she was on another line, given her direct number (woo!) and then transferred to her voice mail. I left a simple message that I was calling to check on the status and that I would go ahead and call the 800 number next.

And then I call the 800 number and get connected after the usual 30 minutes of key padding and hold music. I give my “customer service number” and am told that my application is delayed. Yes. We know this. Any update as to why? And here was his official answer, “sometimes there is just a delay and people get held up for no reason. It is just how it goes. There is a delay in the system.”

Turns out the state has 30 days to process the application. But on midnight of day 29 they issued me a delay letter. The letter stated that it gave them 10 extra days to process. One of the caseworker calls said that it gave them 10-15 extra process days. But now? Now I am being told that the system gets 30 days from the date of the delay letter.

Ahhhhh!! The system. The system is the new man. And the system is bringing me down. It is a system of the down.

I was then told that it could be February until I heard if W had been approved. I blinked at the “IF”.

Me: but isn’t it state law that every child be covered?

Him: Well every like, new baby.

Me: Newborns?

Him: Yes. They are called newborns.

Me: But not infants?

Him: Huh?

Me: Infants. Are they not covered?

Him: Uh. I guess. If infants are babies.

Riiiiiiiiiiiight. I opted not to continue this line of the conversation and went back to February questions. “So what happens in February if W doesn’t have a letter?” Well it turns out that if we don’t hear by February 2^nd that I get to call the 800 number and they will begin an investigation into the specific case and that could take, you guessed it, 30 days.

I really am beginning to wonder if this is wonking up his vaccination schedule. Any thoughts on this? His last round was at his 6 month wellness.

What really frustrates me is that I feel like I am either talked down to like you might placate a hysterical person or that I am not being heard at all. I am invisible.

Speaking of invisible- I no longer exist on Facebook. Turns out some lovely folks high jacked my account and then spent an evening trying to convince friends of mine that I had been robbed at gunpoint in London and needed them to wire me money via a specific link to western union. Thankfully none of my friends fell for it, but it was still rather stressful and icky. The solution was a swift change of my password on my end as well as added security questions. All was good.

Then last night, after taking the dog out around midnight, I decided to log into facebook from my phone so see if there were updates on events from two of my friends. I got the password invalid message. At first I thought I was typing it in wrong- it was, after all a new password and my fingers were not quite nimble with the memory of it.

But no. This morning when I tried to log on from my computer I was informed that my account was disabled and to contact the help section. Only when I clicked on help I got a “this page can not be loaded” message.

Before I left to pick up N&J this morning I asked Mother to just leave a message on my wall to let people know that I was dealing with account issues. Except I no longer exist. There is no me anywhere. At all. Bit of an existential moment there.

In other news I now have a date to meet my sister and her daughters. Early February. Coffee.  We have exchanged a few more pleasant e-mails. They still feel weird. This is probably because I am so very guarded and nervous. But little things are starting to surface and make me realize that this is a path that one cannot unwind. Once we meet, once children are involved, it is a thing. An event.

She asked me the other day what W called Mother. I found this a bit amusing because at the moment he just calls everyone that isn’t me, “Haaaaaaaaaay!!” And then I realized that she wanted to know because she has children that will need to call Mother something. And I had this really powerful moment of sadness over having to share the Grandmother name that Mother and I had created. Of course her kids can call Mother whatever they/she wants and they may not want to use the name W will use. But they might. And I need to get ok with that.

I will be writing more about all of this, of course, but I have to stop now because I just had this wave of emotion. I need to dial it all back.

In the midst of the insurance stuff, and the sister saga, and the N&J shuttling, W and I got to have a play date. It was our first with other babies around his age. And what made it so fucking kick ass awesome was that every child romping on the floor had a Mom from the ALI community. So we didn’t have to deal with all the possible bitter bullshit of mingling with fertile people. Not that being fertile is a bad thing, some of my good friends are fertile and I can still hang with them. Heh.

It’s just awfully lovely to not have to face an unexpected line of conversation about oops babies or the “we just look at each other and make children” or insert your version of gut punch dialogue here.

Here is the only photo I managed to get of the Alphabet people.

Did you see? Yes that is the lovely JJ featured in the photo above. And yes, this means that I got to meet her AND the O-man. And yes she is beautiful inside and out and holy goodness the O-man is just delicious. V was an excellent host to the other alphabet babies and we hope to play there again soon.

Speaking of V means that I get to write about his Mama. One of the best things about moving to this area is that I am finally making new friends. Oh sure we know each other from blogland, but there is just something magical that happens when you end up chilling on someone’s living room floor talking about baby poop, tattoos, and swaying to Mel sing hits from the Beatles on the wiiiiiiii.  V’s Mama is the kind of woman that has a solution to everything. I feel like her theme song is that 80’s hit, “aint nothing gonna break my stride”.

When I was lamenting the latest insurance woes with the room at large one of my moments of pout was that I didn‘t know how much W weighed. I don’t have a scale and I was going by the wellness visits to keep track and yadda yadda sad song. Well V’s Mama just nodded at me, validated my sadness and then swooped up the W and declared that we were going to find out how much he weighed right then and there. It was just something simple and easy but it helped chill me out so much.

And now we know that W weighs 22 pounds. So why is it that I do not have biceps to be proud of??

I am still totally behind on news and posts from our community and I hate that. I am also way delayed in setting up the fundraising for Michell and I feel awful about it. I will say that it looks like we are going to do a simple eBay auction so hopefully soon-ish we will have a spreadsheet set up so that those that wish to be involved can do so. I can’t wait!

But oh the bliss of meeting a new baby and seeing a family welcome her after years and years of sadness. Little NJ is such a cutie and an old soul. She has these elegant long fingers and the squishiest baby cheeks. It has been a delight to be able to watch N & J become Mothers.

And damn it if it didn’t start the fucking clock. You would think that my body would know that NOW is not such a good time for the lusting of a sibling for W. Jobless, mere months from uncertain living situation, no insurance, and no savings. And yet the ripple of babylust is there. The desire to have one more sticking her toe into my heart. I think it is the combination of meeting a new baby AND the reconnecting with my sibling that is making the emotion sing through even when it is totally inappropriate.

But yes. I want another one. Some day. I just wish the circumstances of my life could match up with my desires. And then of course there is that, “can I really go through another 5 years of trying??” angst that is pressing me. And age. And, and, and…

Next week Mother is going to this massive job fair in the area. She still applies for several jobs a day and touches base with the legal staffing places weekly. There is some frustration. I think we both thought that moving to the mid-Atlantic was going to be a huge leap towards the job market. I know we got here smack dab in the holidays and that hiring goes down at the end of the year. We are so so so ready for the page to turn in this chapter. It feels so unfamiliar to be this dependant on the kindness of friends to make it through. We are used to being the ones helping others. And now we are the ones that leave friend’s houses with bags of pasta and cans of veggies. Our chins are up, but the bruises are not fading from all of the knocks of life.

Well I can’t end with that waft of melancholy so I am going to share a W photo. It makes me smile. Most days that is enough. Other days I watch the muppets. See the post below.

(And before I dive in and get all blogitty blog, does anyone know what movie I would attribute “frosty beverage” to? Hint- it is NOT a John Hughes film, but a lower eschelon wannabe.)

So a dear internet friend of mine recently wrote one of those posts that sticks to your ribs and then becomes something that you think about all day, every day. Most of what I want to say today feels like it wouldn’t have come to the surface if it wasn’t for this post. (it’s a flip side of infertility post, so if you are in a bad place save it and come back to it. In fact I should say that this will also be a from the flip side post but everything I write is these days…)

And oh as I sit here I am suffering with some total smack you upside the uterus cramps. The kind of cramps that make you forget to eat all day but then suddenly force you to do something brilliant like dip a french fry in a chocolate frosty. Why isn’t there a frosty/french fry pill for these very days??

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am stupid emotional today. Like all over the place and zinging around from my heart to my head and probably losing some coherency along the way. You are kind if you continue reading…

So Christmas is usually a fucking brutal holiday season for me. At least the countdown to it. It is always stressful and tense and involves scheduling and planning and people pleasing and trying to make my round family fit into a square hole. And when there was no baby to fill the baby shaped place in my soul it made me feel the worst kind of incomplete. I know I don’t have to explain that to most of you, but it is sort of like walking around with open flesh wounds and having no one notice that you are hurt.

This year, holy fucking shit, I have a baby. I have a baby that rides around in the back of the car as holiday songs pipe through the radio. And about 80% of the songs are of the “a child is born” theme. There is no cry quite like the, “Everyone was waiting for the baby Jesus and then he finally came and then the world was all awesome and I was waiting for my child and he finally came and now so much of much of my life is awesome. ” waaaaaaaaaaah.

[please note that I do not think my son is the 2nd coming. It would be cool, however, if he grew up to be a carpenter. Or, you know, the water to wine trick would be nice...]

The really crazy complicated thing is that God and I broke up a few years ago. It was mostly amicable. Very much a, “it’s me, not you” moment. I was once one of those very wrapped up in her faith people. And while I did not think that having faith meant that you win the mega bucks lotto, I guess I did kind of get offended that so much shit was crapping on me and my family. And while I can’t say for certain that it was God or Jesus or the Universe, I needed to blame and taking off my turquoise cross from around my neck for a few years was a place to start.

[it was also freaky to associate with a religion that seemed to want to disassociate itself from people that I love.]

Cut to many months ago. Specifically when GM was declining. Suddenly I NEEDED to come back to a sort of faith because I NEEDED to believe that when she died that she would be at peace and that she would be reunited with my Grandfather. And I started watching the John Edwards shows and feeling like I might want to drunk dial a deity at some point. I didn’t want to be faithless, but I had to get over the stupid notion that faith is some sort of checking account that you can withdraw as much as you put in. Praying and believing doesn’t get you anywhere you weren’t already headed towards, but for me, praying and believing makes the journey a bit less bleak.

[I'm writing all of this as the sun is setting and I just looked up and out the window to see a fucking water color sky happening.]

The other thing that goes through my mind is how much I want to flick the people behind the Johnson and Johnson ad campaign. Because I can’t tell you how annoying it is to have a tag line following you around every day. YES. Having a baby changes everything.

Except for the stuff it doesn’t change.

Like the trunk of complicated emotions that will follow you around everywhere after you have the baby. And in this trunk there will sit all of the emotions you had before you had a baby, all crusty and nasty emotions like moth infested blankets. And there will sit the emotions you still might have when you see pregnant women or hear of women that had more ideal pregnancies or births. And the real kicker is that this trunk is forever covered with some kind of invisibility cloak because once you have a baby your world is meant to be perfect and you can’t really point behind you to the trunk and say, “oh YEAH?? But I still feel broken.” Mostly because even if you are broken there is a woman out there that is more broken and will punch you in the face for trying to even equate “post infertility but with a baby pain” with “during infertility got no baby” pain.

Which is why this weekend was especially emotional because I finally met two women that have forever changed my life. And then I got to attend N & J’s baby shower and the next day I met an entire house-full of women that had me at hello. I am quite literally overwhelmed.

[here is where I would write 10 bajillion paragraphs about the amazing Paz, but she would kick my fat ass with her beautiful and fancy shoes if I went all gushy gal on her. I will just say, for now, that she is one of those women that you feel instantly safe with, instantly at ease, and I am so fucking blessed to know her.]

[here is where I would put my love song to Mel. I think many of us have a love song for her and mine would be written by Bette Midler, sung by Meatloaf, and backed up by a rocking choir in glitter gowns. Seeing the woman that spear headed a movement that helped create your son HOLDING your son is one of the most profound moments of my life. And that is putting it mildly.]

[here is where I gush about how amazing and AWESOME it was to watch such a great couple have fancy gifts and love heaped upon them as we all countdown to Fig's arrival. And here is where I don't even attempt to explain how weepy I got watching W play with other tried-hard-for children. You get it.]

[And then here is where I just quietly say that I think I am now a member of TOOTPU. I mean I didn't finish all of the hazing but I drank a Ruby Slipper and I think that counts for something. And holy fuck do not look at the photos of me here too closely because I broke the fat girl rule and was photographed sitting down and with a flash. ooof. Thighs of the century. I win!]

So now flash forward to today. Because I am clearly sitting here with nothing to say, heh.

Besides a baby there have been a handful of other things I have pined away for on this blog. Plaid boots being a big one. And then of course the quest to find the Ikea labyrinth rug. This was casually mentioned by my Mother to my friend J. And J is some kind of craig’s list whisperer because within 24 hours she had FOUND me the rug. In CANADA. And just over two weeks later look what showed up today (thanks to some great bargaining by Mother):

I mean how do I sit still when so much has been happening? I feel like my life has been turned on. Or at least the lightbulbs got changed.

Last night W woke up just after midnight. I sat at the end of the bed and looked out the window and saw two shooting stars. It felt magical and spiritual and like a wink. I hope they are watching. I really hope that is how things happen.

hopeful, hopeful, hopeful.

April, 2005: “What a great morning! What a great day! Dr. ____ was just so perfect. I had so many fears and doubts- was so afraid of being judged or being told I was making a mistake. But she managed to put me at ease. We went over my medical history and my cycle charts. So glad I had done a few months of charting before meeting with the Dr. I SO knew the lingo and I can tell she was impressed.

We won’t “go for it” until next cycle- this way I can get some tests and bloodwork done this month and know that everything is ok to start.”

April, 2006: “I’ve been going to the same fertility clinic for nearly a year. It is a teaching clinic and in exchange for up to the minute medical savvy treatment I have had to share my cooch & all that she has in her purse with about 4 zillion med students.

I enjoyed reading your comments on the last post, but I should clarify: I didn’t mean, in my poll, that people should have to disclose if they have had treatments. I just meant should they as in wouldn’t it be a good thing? As in wouldn’t it be sort of helpful to know that someone in the public eye doesn’t have a magic uterus?

Of course the best point that many of you made was that in most cases it is WAY obvious that someone has sought the assistance of a fertility clinic. Just like it is pretty much way obvious when a celeb has had “work done”. But still, every time a celeb or person in the public eye is open about things like botox I think it is kick ass awesome. Just last week Jenny McCarthy was on Oprah and shared that she uses botox on a regular basis. The honesty was beautiful.

What set this poll in motion was my watching the new TLC show Table for 12. I watched both episodes back to back and kept waiting for the mention (& it didn’t need to be a giant deal, just a mention) that the couple had used fertility treatments to conceive their two sets of twins and one set of sextuplets. The family falls into the “obviously” category, but I still felt like with such exposure it would have been nice.

Jen has since informed me that the couple actually were part of a special that had previously aired called Twins, Twins, and Sextuplets (can’t find a link to the special) and that they touched upon their treatments in this special. So that is cool. But I think I still wish that there was a mention at the launch of their new show.

The crazy thing is that I DO feel that whether or not someone talks about their experiences with infertility is up to the individual. No one should feel that they HAVE to, but selfishly I wish more people would. And specifically I wish more people in the public eye would. I know when I encounter someone out in the real world that has undergone treatments I feel a sort of zing of happiness. Not happy that anyone had to go through the hell of infertility, but happiness that someone is TALKING about it. With me. All out in the open and shit.

I know that at some point I will wonder if I need to clam up about all that I went through to get to the Snork place. And maybe that is where these folks in the public eye are- in the clam up camp. Not because I wouldn’t want to talk, talk, talk about it- but because at the end of the day this story will be Snork’s legacy and is it really fair to him to walk around with his Mama’s infertility baggage all his life?

There are very few occasions where we get to talk about infertility out in the non blog world. I mean sure, if you got a group of us together we would certainly be talking about it, but chances are you aren’t having coffee with your non-virtual friends and spending the entire time debating the strength of follicle stimulating hormones. (high five to you if you are!)

One of my favorite bloggers, Pamela Jeanne of Coming2Terms, has always been very outspoken and brilliantly honest about her infertility. She is now about to celebrate a significant birthday and she and her husband have made the very painful choice to stop trying to conceive. After over a decade of trying, people. I mean holy FUCK, right? And if that wasn’t enough, this week she was featured in the New York Times talking about her struggles, her journey, her thought process, her acceptance, her pain. The article has sparked some very interesting (& sometimes hurtful) comments both on the NYTimes site and PJ’sblog.

Please take a moment to read the article and support her as she wades through a very public conversation about something that is usually very private. Mad props to the woman!

While you are thinking about PJ’s coolness, why don’t you also ponder about other people that have inspired you in a public way. Authors, musicians, actors…who has been public about their infertility struggles? Who has erased some of the shame?

Mel is now accepting nominations for the first ever A.L.I. Awards (ALI= Adoption, Loss, Infertility). She wants to know what books or movies have featured positive and/or real portrayals of A.L.I. Take a moment to think and then go nominate. You don’t have to have an answer for ever category (there are 11).

It is in the spirit of both Mel & Pamela Jeanne that I wanted to create a new warm fuzzy badge that we can give out to blog friends when they have helped us out or helped us through a dark place, a hard place or an impossible place.

I am giving this to every member of The IVP and every person that hired me to design a header and every person that listed something or bought something on the UTERUS auctions and all the people that donated directly either with money or kindness.

Who has helped you today or this week or this month? Let them know!

I have written before about my various talks and conversations with GM concerning assisted reproduction and how I am all up in it. I haven’t spoken to her about it really since the unpregnancy in the winter. But lately I have been bringing it up. Some days she is incredibly geeked out to hear about the science aspect and some days she really wants to hear about the sperm donor (the perk have having no in-laws is always her favorite thing). Most days she just wants to know if I will have a girl. Those are sweet, sweet days.

Since I will be leaving again in a month or so for several days I am bumping up the frequency of the talks. It is actually probably more for my own mental state than hers. It’s not like I am all, “baby this” or “embryo that”, but if there is a way to gently weave it into a conversation I do. She seldom retains anything in her colander of a short term memory. But sometimes she does retain and if I begin a conversation, usually with something as simple as, “When I go up north in a few weeks”, she will finish it with, “you will see the baby doctor.”

It was with the spirit of keeping the concept at the front of her mind that I recorded the Discovery Health’s special Quads with 2 Moms. Obviously I was really interested to see how the hell that happened and what sort of crazy ladies could endure it. But I was really hoping that there would be some good scenes talking about IVF and assisted reproduction.

So this morning I loaded GM up with some good coffee and a bowl of chocolate cereal (something she gets if her hands are working well) and we began the show. She was, for the most part, totally into it. First of all the two women, a very sweet married couple named Karen and Martha, weren’t portrayed as multiple seeking crazies. Not to say that women with multiples are crazy. Hell no, I am not saying that. But you have to know the women I am talking about- you know the “I’ve got 30 follicles on clomid & I am totally going to have that IUI!” or the “I’m putting back 10 embryos and if they all stay then that is what Jesus wants!” Those women.

I found both Karen and Martha very likable and above all else, relateable. Here was a couple that had tried and tried and tried and endured failures and miscarriages. They knew they had one more shot of having a child together and then that would be the end of their journey. I think many of us know that anxiety, that hope.

I hope I am not spoiling it for anyone when I say that they used Martha’s eggs, the same sperm donor, and had two five day blasts transferred on the same day. Meaning Martha got two embryos and Karen got two embryos. They were gambling, but based on their reproductive history they were not too hopeful. So when they both got pregnant it was something they had not prepared for. Then they discovered that they were both carrying twins. Insane!

I think the hardest part of the show was watching Martha go in for her delivery at one hospital and two days later Karen went into delivery at another hospital twenty minutes away. That’s right, because they are not covered by the same insurance, they could not be together for the birth of the 2nd set of twins. I can’t imagine going through that.

GM and I talked throughout the show. I was able to explain what things I would be going through and what things were unique to Karen and Martha. At one point there was a bit of confusion as GM thought that I would have the same sperm donor. As if there was only one donor for everyone to use.

Overall I found the show to be a really good glimpse into a healthy marriage with some crazy sauce (4 babies!!) thrown in. I think even younger kids would benefit from watching some parts of it.

Did any of you guys check it out? What did you think?

Something happened this weekend that brought me swiftly back to a specific time in my life. It was just a little story on the news, but instantly I was back in my old life circa 1997-2002. Last night I had vivid dreams about picking up dry cleaning and firing actresses. I woke up with deep, deep anxiety. Seriously I was all in a sweat and my heart was racing.

I have had stupid dreams about my old life out west often, but usually the sick feeling will sort stay with me for several hours. This morning I am proud to say that I woke up, acknowledged the anxiety and then just told myself the truth: that is not my life anymore. It will never be my life again. I have moved on.

One of the sick and fucked up things about infertility is that you can never really escape your past. Each active cycle has residual emotions from a previous cycle. And then I imagine that even once you get pregnant there is still the dirt and grime clinging to you, that ick and fear of waiting for the shit storm that that you are all too familiar with to happen. I wonder if having an actual child after infertility is like the biggest mind blow. Are you suddenly free or do you feel like at any moment it could all be over?

When I was briefly pregnant in late December, early January I was miserable. Honestly. Not physically. But mentally I was completely in a constant state of dread. I knew that if something horrible happened that it would be unlike any horrible I had ever known. A specific emotion that I had witnessed in friends and loved ones, but never really walked through.

And I could beat myself up about it. I am really damn good at self blame. Maybe in my darkest, quiet moments there is still a little part of me that thinks that my doubts made me unpregnant. But I don’t really think I did something. I think shit happens. And it sucks ass when it does.

This weekend I was talking to Sarah about some mirroring personal attitude changes that we both have been working on. She told me about a book that had helped her with her internal shift. I am going to nudge her to blog about it because she is so beautifully eloquent on the subject. But during one of our rapid fire e-mails I told her that I had finally really turned a corner on my depression. I mean sure the medication helps, maybe it even saved me, but I think it also got me to a place where I could evaluate. Elevate.

Things I have let go:

my old job out west

my inability to win lost friendships back

body hating (ok, totally a work in progress, but when I say I have a fat ass I do it with MUCH more love)

and…big shocker (at least to me): infertility

The personal statement that is rocking my world right now: I can’t change the things that can’t be changed.

I shared this with Mother late last night and she reminded me of the Serenity Prayer and something else clicked. Hating on myself, being suffocated by depression, wallowing in the misery of infertility- those were addictions for me. I was (am) addicted to the sadness. It is comforting and familiar and easy to hid in. It doesn’t push me or challenge me, it keeps me anchored down.

So I am going to be working on letting it all go. I can’t change so much, but I can change how I deal with it.

What are you letting go? How can we help each other?

Thanks to The Shins I have a new personal infertility anthem in, “It’s ok, Try Again.” Yes. You will love it. Pinkie Swear.

(sorry had a link problem for a minute)