Posted by: DD | August 15, 2007

no. 499 – Celebration, Commemoration, Fornication

It was two years ago this week that I started my own blog: I thought I was pretty freaking clever with my blog title, Knocked Up …Then Knocked Down, until some time later I realized someone had already beat me to that punch. A tip from me to you? If you think you’re being all witty when you are thinking of starting a blog, google your name ideas first to make sure you don’t come across as a copy-cat-er.

Two years ago – 2005: I just found out our first IUI had failed. I knew in my gut we’d be pregnant with the second IUI. We just weren’t having enough sex, or propping up our hips, or eating enough pineapple, or relaxing, or starting an adoption, ad  nauseam.

Two years ago and 500 posts (okay, 499) published (I have a gaggle of them in draft form): I have racked my brain to come up with something momentous to celebrate this moment, but honestly, "celebrate" is not exactly the word that comes to mind while I sit here on the first heavy day of my period afraid to walk to the bathroom as it might just provoke a gusher. TMI? TDB (Too Damn Bad).  As I mentioned in a recent comment over at Aurelia’s, I am obviously PMSing…just without the P.

Two years ago and 9 medicated cycles at our clinic: Or was it 8? Maybe I can’t count the FET since Buck Tooth, Uni-Brow and Beauty Queen shriveled up and D-I-E-D Transfer Day Eve. I shrug my shoulders now because all those negative cycles were nothing compared to the positive ones. Three of them. Come to me, my children, and sit upon my knees while I join the Mommy Bloggers of the World with stories of your cuteness! Oh, yeah. They’re dead, too.

But! But, I have a beautiful boy named X. I am unable to evoke the type of emotion to you in any singular post or even a sequential number of posts how I feel about him. How I actually try to recall the time I found out I was pregnant with him. How I try to recall my gestation. How I try to remember his birth. How I try to push away the days of frustrations so they never color my love of him and everything wonderful his life represents. He is my son. I am a Mother. I wish I knew who to be grateful to for for that.

So instead, I do not necessarily wish to celebrate, but to commemorate this time with you. YOU is anyone who is reading this post right now. It doesn’t matter if you have just joined me or if you’ve been here for months and months. It doesn’t matter if you’ve commented before or if you comment graciously on nearly every post. I would not be here, blogging, right now if it wasn’t for you. I fear where I would have been if I hadn’t dipped my toes into this incredible source of strength; if I hadn’t accidentally found a blog for the first time because of a misspelling in a google search. Honest to goodness, that’s how it happened.

I have opened up my life to you. In some small ways, you know more about me than my husband. But still, you know what I allow you to know.

In that spirit, I’d like for you get to know me better. Ask me any question. Assume that it has never been asked or even answered in the past 498 posts. Nothing is off limits. Nothing. I will turn on comment moderation so you can ask me the question without peer pressure. It’s just you and me, babe.

On post no. 500, I will answer those questions. "If we don’t know what questions were asked, how do we know you answered them all?" you say? The person who asked the question will know if I answered it or not. That’s what’s important.

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Responses

  1. I’m late but I have a question: what does it take to be a donor?

  2. […] blog over three years ago. I actually missed my anniversary, which was back in August. You can read last year’s recognition of my illustrious start, if you are so inclined. When I take into account the blogs I have been reading during these three […]

  3. DD I for one am so glad you started blogging because even though I have joined late I’m so happy I did. Thanks for all the wonderful blogging you do and all the great advice.

    • Please don’t encourage me. I’m always spewing something or other and invaribly I end up eating a shoe or two. But thanks. Really.


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