Three years since an infertility diagnosis changed our lives and expectations.
The number doesn't mean a whole lot, somehow. Although time never stops, it seems to move at a different pace depending on what is happening and how I perceive it. For the first year (2013), time seemed to move awfully slowly, and nothing felt like it would ever change. That was sad when we considered the negative aspect of our lives not changing, i.e. childlessness, but there were also a lot of good aspects that we felt would never change: all our family and friends around us; money, time and leisure to pursue interests and travel and indulge in whatever we wanted. (I shouldn't imply I no longer am able to do these things: it's just that it's more complicated, requires more trade-offs and sacrifices and thought than previously, and I'm more aware of what a privilege it is.)
2014 felt like a year when things would inevitably change: for better (the way we wanted), or for worse (the way we didn't want). With AJ's conception and the resulting pregnancy/birth, that question was definitively answered. Change was coming; time was not standing still. We were blessed that change came in the form of pure joy.
2015....what to say. I recall the first 8 months as a time of innocence and discovery and a happiness that made me feel weightless. Oh sure, I had my anxieties and doubts occasionally. But most of the time they were quiet, and I lived in a beautiful moment. I really couldn't ask for a better experience of new parenting. But in those quiet months of love and gratitude, the seeds of upheaval were planted: first my mom's cancer diagnosis, then my dad's, which ended his life at the beginning of 2016.
Not to mention going back to work and trying to figure out who I am in this new life, which still isn't totally clear to me.
Last year I went over all the reasons why torthúil still matters to me, and why I'll keep writing as long as I feel relevant. They are all still true. Except each reason weighs a little heavier on me this month. Not that I have entirely forgotten or lost that feeling of weightlessness. I feel it most first thing in the morning, when I pick up AJ and marvel at her size and heft, how different it feels from the tiny newborn. I feel both soaring and grounded.
But well, you know. There's more posts about (in-) (sub-) fertility coming soon. I still have things to work through there. So if you missed the original programming, it's coming back.
May time always be a gift to you.