Five Years

I’m horrible with dates. I really am.Well, not important dates. I’m excellent at birthdays and anniversaries–real anniversaries, that is.

Remember in high school when couples celebrated their two-week anniversary and more gag-inducing scenarios like that? To this day, I still don’t understand how in the world they kept up with the dates. Granted, I didn’t have too many romantic entanglements in high school, but still.

Last Friday was the anniversary of the day my in-laws met, so a hard day for my father-in-law. But I don’t know how he remembers it. I only remember the day I met my husband because it was at his brother’s wedding. If we’d just met in passing I’d have not the first clue.

candle

Anyway, today turns out to be my five year anniversary with WordPress. Five years and 1,062 posts. This one’s 1,063. One completed-enough-to-publish novel. Three novel drafts. One memoir-in-progress. Thousands of words, maybe even a million words. That feels like something.

A million words.

But five years and July 17, those don’t feel like such big deals. I’ll forget the date in a few days, and it’ll sneak up on me again next year. When I’m sure I’ll be just as nonplussed.

I mean, I’ve caught hundreds of Pokemon and walked dozens of kilometers in the past ten days.

Anyway, happy five years to me. I’m more proud of the 418 post streak I’ve got going on right now. I’d have the anniversary whether or not I wrote every day.

But hey, thanks for sticking around. I appreciate that.


Four Candles

Six hundred forty-five posts later, here we are.

IMG_6408Only 645? I better step up my game. Just last year I was at 500. I did take a lot of time off, though.

But the evolution.

Mel included me in the Roundup today, and her blurb had me thinking: am I still an IF blogger?

Am I? I deleted my timeline. It seemed completely irrelevant to where I am now.

Is it enough to disqualify me that I feel the need to define IF as infertility? I don’t know the last time I blogged about infertility. Let’s see, two months ago. And that was really more of a side note, not the main point. Three last year, the whole year. It’s been almost exactly two years since I’ve written about the feeling of being in the trenches. And that was just an expansion on a post from three years ago.

It wasn’t precisely a decision to give up, more like the teenage realization of when did I stop believing that I would be a paleontologist when I grow up? No date to pin down, no solid feeling of well, that’s that.

Was I just an old infertility soldier, fading away?

Maybe.

Looking back, that’s what happened; the infertility posts faded until they could be fully eclipsed and replaced by the personal essays and fiction, by the responses and imagination that spent so much time waiting for their moment in the sun.

But it doesn’t take writing to make an infertility blogger any more than it takes trying to conceive to make an infertile. It’s a scar that’s never going away, and it does leave its mark on everything that I write.

I’ll never delete all the posts in my Infertility category, any more than I’d delete all the posts in any category. It’s funny, we just watched Misery a few days ago, the first time for Ian, and I hurt so badly watching Paul have to burn his book. I don’t think non-writers would ever be able to fully empathize with that scene. While much of it does stick in your head, it can’t all stick. Rewrite all you want; try, try, again, but it’ll never be the same.

I can’t just throw it away, because it was a huge part of me. Is. It is a huge part of my life, and an introduction to so much that I treasure now. Would I have become the writer that I am today without it? Would I have met the wonderful people and had the wonderful experiences that I have without it? I have to say no.

There may have been other writing, other people, other experiences, but they wouldn’t have been the ones that I know and love right now. How on earth would I be texting a fellow IF blogger as I write this if I weren’t an IF blogger myself?

I trace cause and effect like it’s going out of style; maybe I would have found the Listserve without other bloggers leading me to Mel and Mel leading me to Justine and Justine leading me to the Listserve. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe I wouldn’t have won the Listserve this week. That, by the way, has not been the big shebang that I expected, but I’ve been having problems with my emails being held up somewhere before I get them, so fingers crossed that’s that.

Yes, I think I still kind of count as an infertility blogger, but do I really deserve that badge anymore? It’s not a badge of honor you’d catch anyone fighting over, but still. It feels greedy. But not claiming it certainly feels like a lie.

Okay, Mel. You win this round. I’m an IF blogger. Got my four year pin today. Bring on the cake.


Ghosts of Milestones Past

I haven’t really been on the ball with my blogging milestones.

A few months ago I realized that my five hundredth post and my three year blogoversary would probably hit right around the same time. Hm, I thought, perhaps I should plan something nice.

I didn’t.

I did think about it a couple more times, but no more than in passing.

It just doesn’t mean as much to me as I’d like for it to mean.

I think blogoversaries were ruined for me when we got that stupid biased report on my first.

This post is about to go to a dark place. This is not what I meant to celebrate lots of words with. This is not where I planned to go today.

But here I am.

Three years ago last week I started an infertility blog.

Two years ago last week we got a tidy little twelve-page fax in which a ‘professional’ repeatedly stated that I ‘can’t have children.’

Five years ago last week I was blissfully unaware of my husband’s lying and cheating. Okay, not blissfully. But at that point, unaware.

Yesterday I published my five hundredth post.

And now I have that tight ball of fuck this shit in the pit of my stomach. That weight of it’s not fair pushing on my chest. That mass of unscreamed screams in my throat.

Happy blogoversary, indeed.