I suppose that the only appropriate way to start is to explain the title of this blog. My life is, and has been for the last 2 years, in a place where plans are laid, disrupted, and laid again, but can never be counted upon. I need to be able to scribble things down or completely disengage at will, and a blog seems like a good place for that.
Imagine that you wanted to buy a new house. You had it all picked out, and had planned for it. You could definitely afford it, and it was a chance for the home you had always dreamed about. However, the mortgage wasn't decided upon by a businesswoman in a cubicle who looked at all your financials and made a decision based on your qualifications but rather some tempestuous and fickle force beyond your control and comprehension. That force kept you on the edge of your seat, and you were beholden to it because you really, really wanted the new house, and you didn't know any other way to get it. Imagine how difficult that would make your everyday life. You'd be hesitant to plan a party in the old house (what if you were in the new house by then?), you wouldn't want to plant flowers, or get to know your neighbors. You might start to resent your old house, or feel that it was all you ever deserved. You would have trouble stopping yourself from constantly wondering when you would hear the news, and once you got the news, you'd wonder how long it would last before the rug was pulled out from under you again. The new house would become this grail, looming large just outside your reach.
Infertility and recurrent miscarriage are like that.
For the past two years officially (and long before that unofficially) we have been waiting for a take homer. A baby that we conceive or adopt and eventually get to take home. This is my journey.
