Resolve to be unresolved

I do not make New Year's resolutions, or at least I haven't in many, many years. Not that I am diametrically opposed to them. I just find them unrealistic. There are two flavors of resolution as I see it:

1 - Something so incredibly vague that its nearly impossible to actually achieve anything meaningful. For example - I resolve to loose weight in 2004. Ok, but if I manage to shed just a single pound I've achieved my goal and yet, was it really what I had in mind? Was it truly a worthy success story? Another example? I resolve to be a better person. Sounds saintly, sure, but if you give up cursing at every driver who passes you and settle merely for silently cursing them to a life full of plagues - did that make you better? In a way, perhaps. How do you measure that resolution?

2. Something detailed and important that weighs on your mind and begins to feel so utterly huge and unattainable. "I resolve to loose 40 pounds" weighs (no pun intended) fairly heavy (again, no pun intended) on your mind. You get out January missing just 4 of those unwanted pounds and you suddenly feel as if you're not made enough progress, as if you've been defeated because you even really began.

And so, I choose not to make one.

Instead I choose to view every day as a new beginning and as such, every day worthy of a resolution. These daily plans can be realistic. Not I resolve to loose weight or to loose 40 pounds. Today I resolve to not polish off a single thing in the vending machine at the office. Today I resolve to get my jiggly butt to the gym. Today I resolve to not refer to one person (boss included) by any word I wouldn't want my son to learn.

I, average, ordinary woman, standing at the cusp of a new year, resolve to have 365 resolutions made at the start of each of 365 days (oh drat, its leap year! Make that 366.) Oh, crud, so here's a quandary. Does this count as a New Year's Resolution? Does that mean, by the vary nature of New Year's resolutions that I get 15 days of honest to goodness effort on this project and then I get to abandon it for one good long burst of obscenities that would make George Carlin blush and giant hot fudge sundae to top it off?

Things that start with 'F'

Fear. Failure. Fertility. These are "F" words that are seemingly unlinked until you try to conceive and fail. I've been to the place where other people's happiness makes you cry because it drives the stake deeper into your own heart. I've struggled with adapting my expectations of what my life was meant to be. I've stared at HPT's and loathed them. I've stared at the HPT and doubted it's positive result. Yes, doubted it.

My husband and I tried to start our family as we approached our 1st anniversary. Years later we decided it wasn't meant to be. We had tried and cried. We had sought medical help. I, who was once so terrified of needles that I weasled my way out of blood tests for decades, have become numb to the whole ordeal of the needle after months of fertility drug injections. We did an invitro cycle and were both so emotionally, physically and monetarily spent we couldn't afford to do any more. It was a miserable failure.

And so we moved on with life. We gave up the notion of children and decided to spoil ourselves rotten. We grieved then we traveled. We cried then we bought big toys. Then we were surprised. I peed on five, yes count them. . .5, little sticks and all five were positive. We were having the baby we had given up hope of ever having. Today our little surprise miracle baby is a thriving, energetic, bright, amazing nearly 18- month-old boy.

Today we start to think about giving it another try.

Today fear returns. Yes, fear.

I am afraid of returning to the world of failed fertility where each imaged twinge in the abdomen is nothing more than wishful thinking. I'm afraid of spending time each month in tears as I see yet another missed opportunity to celebrate the start of a new life. I'm terrified of the emotional rollercoaster.

Sure, I'm also afraid of success - of managing two youngsters, of being capable of enough love to spread equally between them without short changing one or the other for one tiny minute. I'm afraid of losing what grip of sanity I have left as I plunge deeper into the world of motherhood.

But mostly...mostly I fear failure of fertility.

It crossed my mind at one point that settling with just one child would mean avoiding the pain. It would mean I wouldn't have to spend days wondering and hoping just to be crushed because I made the choice to not be in that position. Then I'd look at the boy and I knew I wasn't done yet. I knew that deep down avoidance would lead to regrets. I knew that even if he was meant to be an only, I'd regret not finding out by trying for the elusive sibling. So try we have begun.

I sit here pondering how I'll feel during this process. Wondering if my protests that it's really ok with me if we never do have that second is just something I say to help prepare myself for a repeat of my past. I honestly do not know. I do know that emotionally and financially we can not afford to take the same road through medical intervention. I know its going to happen on its own or its not going to happen.

Logically I know that it can obviously be done. I have living proof snuggling into my shoulder each evening as he prepares for bed, sighing deeply as he whispers "Ahhh, my Mommy." Logically I know its possible, but fear of failed fertility is a powerful thing.

And so I sit. . .and I fear.

Here is the tale of two blogs - one meant for family consumption, written all about the boy himself and the other just a place for me to stretch a creative muscle or two and to let out whatever thoughts are currently swirling through my head. Welcome to the second one.

So who am I? I will remain unnamed, although chances are at least some of you reading know exactly who I am because I sent you the link. The rest of you will know of me because I am the woman that drives by you on the highway - the one you curse under your breathe for going a bit too fast maybe or maybe not fast enough if you live in Jersey. ;) I am the mom of the toddler who yells "HI" at you when all you wanted to do was run into the store for a loaf of bread unnoticed by the world. I am the woman who sighs deeply as you sneak 17 items into the 10-items or less express lane in Target. I am the woman who smiles at you knowingly when you order that double shot expresso mocha latte with skim milk and whipped cream.

I am just your average, ordinary woman. I have a job I'd love if it wasn't for a boss I hate. I work part-time. I mother full-time. I am wife. I am homemaker. I am struggling, insecure writer trying to overcome self-doubt and fear to actually be a real honest to goodness published writer. I am a passionate person with a fiery temper I fight to control. I have no patience. I have a warped sense of humor. I have a need to let out all the words and thoughts that are pent up in my head and heart - and so now I have this blog.

Welcome to it. Welcome yourself to comment on it. You're welcome to hate it or love it (or even just feel overwhemlingly indifferent to it.) You're welcome to ignore it from here on out. Just let me have my space to be me - pure, unadulterated, exposed soul me.