A One-Way Ticket to 2007, Please.

I wrote this in February and I think it works in terms of this last year:


Erosion

Wearing away. It's different than wasting away. Wasting away is giving up, throwing in the towel, being completely numb and indifferent. Wearing away is stronger, more beautiful. The underlying structure remains firm, even defiant in the face of the inevitable erosion. Although constant weathering may alter the initial layers with each pass, it does little to disrupt the core. Nothing rolls off without consequence. However large or small, distinct or subtle, it leaves its mark.


It's 2007. Seriously. Someday I'll catch up.

I think it's time, though. I was pretty ready to be done with 2006. At a quick glance, it was a pretty lame rollercoaster that had a pretty cool last dip and curve. But then I scanned over all the stuff that I've written on my blogs this past year and realized that maybe the ride wasn't all that lame after all. I don't know that I'll be running to get back in line for the same one just yet, but I might pause and take a look at the picture that was snapped as I exit.

In 2006 I realized that driving seems to calm my soul. Not commute, big city driving, but the kind where I take a little detour, get a teensy bit "lost" on some backroads, and wander around. It's not too hard to do on my way home where I can pass through tiny little towns and wooded areas. I discovered how freeing it can be for my head to think beyond the obvious, right-in-front-of-me things and just breathe. That's where "me" and "the real me" can stop and have a conversation. I need to do that more often. I realized that lost animals will somehow find me and that I really don't mind helping them out, that pregnancy is really the only cure for my migraines, that the bathroom at work will always stink (no matter how you combine them, "flowers", "old lady", "spices" and "ass" will never be pleasant). I learned that I really can keep a fish alive for over a year, that I super-heart big ridiculous sunglasses, that I can't ever actually give up Coke and all other sugary and delicious carbonated beverages, that shrinky dinks still exist at Hobby Lobby, that sometimes the only thing that will make everything better is a 32 oz. Slurpee, and that no matter how dorky it is, Mr. Mandolyn and I will always consider dinner at CiCi's Pizza and a trip to Wal-Mart on Fridays an acceptable night out. I exercised the art of the Open Letter on my blogs: to The Uninvited Zit That Is Currently Residing In The Corner of My Mouth, My REM Sleep Cycle, Certain People Whose Emails Are Currently Residing in My Inbox at Work, The New Girl Working at Taco Bueno, Jell-O Pudding Pops, My New Blogger Account, and My Blog. I've discovered how invaluable blogs are to me- mine and all the others that I love to visit.

Although I knew about my own infertility before 2006, I could have never been prepared for what it had in store for me. I played with cocktails of IF drugs, had countless vials of blood taken, bought my weight in pee sticks, and I'm still not sure how my husband and my pets survived with my emotions. When I saw my first BFP in April, I was so sure that it had all been worth it. And then we had the devastating sonogram. I learned that crying an ocean of tears and dipping into depression scares me. I also learned that strength comes, even when I thought it wasn't possible. I tied a pomegranate string on my wrist and truly believe that I'm a better person because of it. I learned that the gummy bear inside of me now defies all logic. We got several BFN's after another dreaded two week wait. We were ready to look at the next cycle, then after having horrible cramps while out of town, bought a test and a box of tampons. (The tampons are still in my bathroom cabinet.) My heart was nearly broken again at our first sonogram, where no heartbeat was detected, and then again two weeks later as the baby measured 2 week too small. I celebrated my first baby's would-be birthday right as I heard this baby's heartbeat again. The dates make no sense, this baby couldn't have happened as the dates at the doctor's office suggest, but I'm finished trying to make sense of it. I'm learning to accept that no milestone of pregnancy will come with the ease and lighthearted glee that those outside of the Infertility Fire get to experience. I'm still learning.

So I'll go ahead and take that ticket to 2007. I hope that it will bring more good things than my hands can hold, than my head can comprehend and that my heart can handle. I hope that the goodness spills out into the hands, heads and hearts of everyone that needs it in the IF community. I want there to be enough to go around, with options of second helpings and dessert.

2006 definitely left it's mark. I'm a different person because of it, and the more I consider that, the more I realize that I might actually be ok with it.