Tag Archives: blog anniversary

4 Years, 500 (and One) Posts

18 Dec

Me: Hey! Hey you over there!

Me: Yeah, what? Oh crap. What are you doing here?

Me: Just thought I’d come by and say hello.

Me: Hello! Bye now!

Me: Aw come on don’t be like that!

Me: Look, I like you. Really I do. But I’m just not ready to restart our relationship.

Me: I saw some choice pee sticks at the pharmacy today. You know they’ve got ones that tell you how far along you are? I wanted to pee on them right then and there!

Me: Do you in any way think I find that story tempting? Besides, you know better than I do that beta levels aren’t really that indicative of the age of your pregnancy.

Me: So are you telling me the pee stick makers are LYING?

Me: Yes. It’s just a way to get more money out of women. Those tests are very inexact. You know the only way to actually date a pregnancy is –

Me: Do you want to talk about it? Let’s talk about betas!

Me: Oh hell no! This has already gone far enough, thankyouverymuch.

Me: Come on! Let’s play the pregnancy symptom scavenger hunt! Let’s pee on all the things!

Me: No. I’ve got Bunny and Shmerson and my career right now. That’s enough.

Me: Look how cute Bunny is! You know you want another one!

Me: Not now. I promise I’ll call you when I’m ready.

Me: You swear? This isn’t one of those things like when assholes say “let’s do lunch” and then never actually call back right?

Me: No, no. I’m sure there will be a day when I will call you and will once again get pulled back into your circle of crazy. But today is not that day.

Me: You swear you’ll call?

Me: Yep.

Me: PINKY SWEAR!

Me: Fine

Me: Ok. I’ll go away then. All by myself. Maybe I’ll find a bridge to live under where I can corner sad looking women and see if they’re infertile and want to pee on things with me. All alone in the world. No purpose. Just a feather on a breeze. A rolling stone. A lone wolf. A pee stick without a control line.

Me: OH WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP ALREADY!

Me: Ok how about an ovulation test? A single tiny little thing. You’ll barely notice it. Come on, you know you want to.

Me: GO! NOW!

Me: Fine fine I’m going.

*********

Today (well, technically it’s yesterday since it’s past midnight, but let’s not get into semantics) marks 4 years to the day since I started this blog. It’s also my 501st post. Funny enough, when I wrote my last post I didn’t even notice it was number 500. But I think it was worthy of the honor.

I’ve done more than enough reflecting on this blog. On anniversaries and due dates, birthdays and death days, milestones and moves.

So I won’t get mushy, there’s really no point. This space has seen enough mush.

Instead, I thought I’d say hello to an old friend, and then tuck her away again.

I’m sure she’ll emerge victorious again, some day.

Thank you all for reading.

Love,

Mo

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My One Year Blogaversary: Gratitude.

16 Dec

Exactly one year and one week ago today I hit rock bottom. It was two months after my second miscarriage, and Shmerson and I had just moved back to my hometown in the hopes of making things easier on both of us.

The hope was for naught. I couldn’t leave the house. I couldn’t stop crying. I would have debilitating panic attacks in the middle of the night. I was as lost as anyone could be. I was beyond hopeless. I was a mess.

That was when I decided (with the help of a couple of close friends) that it was time for me to get some help. I bit the bullet, and against everything I was ever taught, I went to a psychiatrist. I knew there was no way out of this black hole without medical intervention. I knew I was a panic attack away from becoming catatonic. From losing my mind.

Before the miscarriages I was ambitious. I wrote. I created. I chased after things. I was constantly in a race against who-knows-what. I was lost before I lost my babies. But losing them made me realize that I had been lost for a very long time.

A week after going to the psychiatrist, the meds started working. I found my voice again. In a moment of madness, or wisdom, or something – I started this blog.

I didn’t know about the ALI community. I didn’t know there was a world full of women out there who understood what I was going through. All I knew was that I needed to write my story. And write I did.

In a burst of emotion, I spent hours that first night writing post after post recounting the months leading up to my breakdown. About my babies, about the way I had lost myself. For once I didn’t care that I was writing to no one. I just needed to write.

A couple of days later I published the link to this blog on facebook with some stringent privacy settings, letting a select group of friends into the darkness that was my world at the time. They supported me. They were there for me. Things weren’t necessarily getting better, but I was learning that it was ok to reach out for help.

I started working through my feelings through this space. I started writing things here that I couldn’t say out loud. Secret fears, and grief, and sadness that had consumed me for years. By writing about them here – I found that a barrier had been broken. I could finally talk about them everywhere else.

Then, about two weeks after my first post, I received a comment from who was then a complete stranger. SLC found me. And with that one person reaching out, I started to find other women.

Through those women, I started to find myself again.

I never imagined that something as simple as a blog would be such a salvation. I never imagined that this space would bring me to women who I now consider some of my closest friends in the world. Women who are oceans away, but who I love like sisters.

Because they – you – understand. Because in my darkest moments, they – you – have been there for me beyond anything I thought was possible.

On the night I was hospitalized for my third miscarriage, I was scared out of my mind. Shmerson couldn’t be in the room with me, and I hated hospitals. I had never spent the night in one before. I was terrified. There was so much uncertainty, and so much fear, I can’t even explain it.

All I had during that sleepless night was my iPhone. And you. Your emails. Your comments. Your text messages. Your love.

My nightmare became bearable because of this space. Your love and support held me together when I couldn’t hold myself. That third loss was easier than the rest. Because for the first time I had an embracing warmth and understanding that I didn’t think was possible. But it was. Because of you. You helped me heal faster than I thought I could.

When I started this blog I admit, I was expecting to be holding a baby in my arms by now. I fantasized that one year in, things would be A-Okay. I was naive. In the year that has followed I have learned that getting to okay isn’t so easy. But having people along on your journey to okay makes it bearable. Sometimes even wonderful. Nourishing. Fulfilling.

I don’t have my baby yet. But I’m finally on my way. I’m finally getting closer to the hope that flickered and found its way into this space so many months ago. I am grateful and humbled for this.

In the last year you all have laughed with me and cried with me, celebrated and supported.

And some of you – you know who you are – have become my rocks. My friends. My sisters for life.

To all of you still in the trenches – thank you for celebrating with me. I know it’s not easy. I hope to be celebrating for you very soon. To all of you that have already achieved your dream, I hope you stick around.

To all of you – new readers and old, friends and strangers who have become family – thank you. I don’t know if I would be where I am today if it wasn’t for the love and support of every single one of you. I will be forever grateful, and plan on thanking you year after year for many years to come, as my odyssey and yours continue.

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