Wow. It has been 3 and a half years since I even visited this blog. Let alone wrote a post. Truth be told, I was asked to perform a sort of 5-minute comedy routine about a topic of my choosing to a zoom-full of strangers. And I came here to revisit this time in my life, thinking it was pretty ripe territory.

I’ve spent hours re-reading these posts from a time almost forgotten. And wow. While it’s all so familiar, it also feels like I am reading emails from a friend I’ve lost touch with over the years. A friend who was once oh-so-dear but who now only sends a text on Christmas and birthdays. I love her. But I don’t really know her anymore.

Because I now have a 3-year-old. And an 8-month-old. Happy. Healthy. Perfect. Incredible children that I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have. And while I wake up most days wondering how I got to be a mom of TWO kids, it really is so easy to forget the painful shards of glass that lay scattered along the path to getting here.

Reading the comments on some of my last posts (most of which I never saw) I realized I just sort of abandoned the story right at the cliffhanger. I left my protagonist with no resolution. I don’t really know much about literature, but I’m guessing I broke about 32 literary laws. Not to mention, blogging laws.

If I think back to this time in my life 3 and a half years ago, I vaguely remember being so terror-struck every day toward the end of my pregnancy that I just couldn’t quite frame up the words needed to post here. And that verbalizing anything about the possibility of having a baby at the end of this journey would surely lead to it not happening at all. So I said nothing.

But it all did happen. After weeks of bed rest and unknowing, I developed pretty sudden and severe pre-eclampsia and was induced at 36 weeks. Our baby boy spent 10 days in the NICU and then came home with us. Where he has been every single day since. He is a happy, crazy, moody, hysterical, sweet, rambunctious, perfect 3-year-old. And when I look at him it is hard to believe that at one point he was a frozen embryo. Our only embryo. Our shot in the dark. Odds that were not in our favor.

I became a mom. And two years later, I became an IVF cliché. I became the story of the friend everyone tells IVFers about, thinking it will bring them comfort. But it usually just pisses them off. I became pregnant without even trying. Like a slap to the face of my former me, I simply woke up one morning and peed on a stick, and there it was. The pink line I’d never been able to make show up before. When I was actually trying.

And to be even more of a cliché, my second pregnancy was easy, breezy, boring, schmeezy. Nothing like the first. It was a classic, textbook pregnancy. Like another slap in the face to my former me. But a slap I would gladly take. And it resulted in my daughter. Happy. Sweet. Mellow. Perfect. Mine.

So, I am sorry for my long long long long silence. And while this is likely just a shout that will get lost in the wind – and update to followers who don’t follow me anymore, to people who have long forgotten my story, who suddenly received an email about a stork? What? Stork? Consider this the resolution. My denouement. I mean, did I even spell that right?

And to those of you who were wishing, waiting and praying too. I hope you have had your own resolution. I really, truly hope you found your stork. I think that maybe he isn’t so bad after all.