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I've been informed that I ought to be blogging.

So here I am.

One year ago, I went off the pill mid (November) cycle. I had to take a short round of antibiotics that would have made the pill ineffective, so we decided what the hay, let's tempt the fates, risk getting pregnant a little earlier than we'd planned, and just quit altogether. In December of 2007, we officially started "trying".

The last real period I had on my own started January 1. Since then, they've all been as far apart as the beginning of the Noahide deluge and the end of it (at least) and Progesterone-induced, with one exception so far. 26 days ago. I'm slightly flabbergasted to realize that it's been almost a year now. I remember this time last year daydreaming about what it would be like to get a positive pregnancy test for Christmas. And now I do the math and see that the timing would be close to that again this year. Funny.

Last cycle was my first "successful" cycle since December '07. Successful in that there was an egg produced. Huzzah! I have finally gotten to that place where I think I'm settled in to the wait. I'm not yet dabbling in the river of hopelessness, but nor am I dancing in the sunshine of certainty. I think it might take a while. I'm prepared for the ache to show up in my chest from time to time for the next few months. But I really want to look out the windows and pay attention to the ride. I don't want to miss anything waiting on what's not here yet.

I have two stepkids. I've mentioned them before. For you, dear reader, it was mere moments ago that you read my last post. For me, it's been months. March-November... almost enough time to fully gestate a baby. So let me tell you about them.

Dear Disney, you've got stepmothers all wrong. This job is wicked hard. (Note to all real moms out there - I'm sure your job is way harder. Someday I'll let you know the difference between the two). We are given fully formed little people, some tiny, some not so tiny any more. Some warm to us immediately. Some are ice water. I happen to have two ranging in temperature from a toasty shower to a comfortable swimming pool. I love them deeply. They drive me crazy. I value them highly. I sometimes fantasize about selling them. Heck, "selling" nothin'. Sometimes I'd pay someone to take them. :) They are an incredible balm some days. They are simply not anything pleasant at all some days. Today, I took my stepson out for ice cream and as I watched him stuff his ice cream cone fully into his mouth and spew vanilla ice cream out the corners of his grin when he giggled, I realized I truly am in love with them. I don't want to miss out on them while I wait for more.


Meanwhile, I can opine and be profound all I like. The incontrovertible truth is that I've been on Clomid for two cycles now, and believe you me, it has been no picnic on the beach. We're talking icepicks and a bitch more like. I'm normal and sane for two weeks, and then start a slow descent into psychopath-dom with "girls" that hurt like fiends and a sleeping schedule rivaling a toddler's. Only more regular and more appreciated. My husband is a saint. He gets to put this part of our life on his resume for Heaven no doubt. He works so hard to unravel the ramblings that seem to make so much sense inside my head but come out of my mouth all screwy. Someone buy this man a drink, eh? I adore him.

But, in the words of my current favorite song, "I wouldn't change a thing. I'd walk right back through the rain. Back to every broken heart on the day that it was breaking. And I'd relive all the years and be thankful for the tears, I've cried with every stumble step that led to you and got me here." There is such treasure here. There will be more upon more in the future.

So there you are xbox. A blog post. Happy? ;)