Come for the infertility, stay for the BoFrags
When I first started this blog in 1588, shortly after positing the Earth's shape as an oblate spheroid but long before I invented the Internet, I made a conscious decision to limit its scope, confining myself to writing solely about infertility and pregnancy. If I got lucky, I decided sometime during the years of promising but ultimately fruitless research into an especially elegant grand unification theory, I would broaden my focus to include parenthood. Once in a very long while, when I wasn't busy guiding Lewis and Clark through the vast unplundered Northwest to the sparkling Pacific Ocean, I wrote about family in the larger sense.
That's what I'll be talking about here for the immediate future. I have an awful lot I want to say, not necessarily about my father but about being a daughter, and how that translates — laboriously, with many hilarious misunderstandings and wildly inappropriate idioms — into being the mother I am and the one I would like to become.
So it's about to get — sorry, about to stay — kind of tedious here for you if you visit primarily for the infertility. However, I can offer you an alternative. I am now writing for REDBOOK's Infertility Diaries, where I'll be discussing, uh, infertility, specifically our upcoming donor cycle.
Since I made sure to bring enough infertility to share with the entire class, I'll write about it here, too, as the situation warrants. It's just that at the moment I need this space for other stuff. So if infertility is what you'd like to talk about, please drag your barren ass on over to my first post there and say hello.
If, on the other hand, you have more stories about laughing immoderately in the face of Death, lay 'em on me, because I am finding them ridiculously comforting.