First off, thanks to Chili for hosting me on her blog and by honoring me with her post here.
Actually, I found it kind of freeing to be on someone else's blog. I have found mine feeling rather strange lately, almost as if it's a piece of clothing that doesn't quite fit - like so many of my prepregnancy clothes, it's seems snug in some places and loose in others.
You see, I started writing here for a reason. And that reason, for the time being, isn't a reason anymore. Not that I don't still have faint rumblings of infertility that echo in my mind, but it's a quiet thump in the back of my head, rather than the constant roar that it once was.
I started this blog for a dual purpose. The first was, at my therapist's suggestion, so that I would have a non-judgmental outlet, a place where I could pour my heart out and possibly even get affirmation from others. Boy, oh boy, did I get that and more! You, my dear readers, my commentators, my friends, got me through some of my darkest days and celebrated with me when I had my happiest days, too.
The second purpose, however, was truly so that I could find others and possibly help them. I remember reading so many stories of recurrent loss on the internet, but so few had happy endings. It seemed that after a certain number of losses, especially unexplained losses, most women either gave up and decided to remain child free, or adopted. While adoption was definitely an option for us, I really wanted the experience of carrying a baby to term, a chance for my body to "redeem" itself for all of the failures. Once I got pregnant and it seemed to be our RLB after all, I felt that possibly my success story could show others that there are happy endings out there after so many losses.
However, I wonder how many of those that stumble across the site see all the pictures of Will and think (as I once did about former-infertiles-now-with-babies), "Well, she couldn't possibly understand how I feel now."
And it's true. Because you do start to forget a bit, how awful it all really was. Or maybe forget is the wrong word. I never forget. But I shove those darkest of days back to the deepest recesses of my mind, because they truly were so awful.
Yesterday, I was on the phone with a good friend, a fellow former-infertile-now-with-baby (someone really needs to think up a better term for it than that), who also has a miracle IVF baby. We were laughing as we relived some of our experiences, but after I got off the phone with her, I started to cry. Those days aren't far enough behind me now to laugh . . . not yet, and possibly not ever. The feelings of infertility aren't as far below the surface as I try to push them. You barely scratch me, and I still bleed.
All of this to say that I am not sure what direction to take this little blog anymore. I can't see walking away from it altogether, but I am not sure what purpose, what shape it should have. So, if you don't hear from me as often, that is the reason.
That, and a certain Little Man. . . Who is the purpose of everything.