As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I thought it would never be possible, there are times when I forget about the struggle to get (and stay) pregnant. I sometimes find myself, what with the Marital Discord and sleep deprivation such, a bit mournful for my "old life." Which, of course, was SO FANTASTIC (as you can tell from my archives).
This forgetfulness really bothers me. I mean, sure, I have a twinge when I get my period after a month of rampant unprotected sex (and by "rampant," I mean, "twice a week," which I think is sort of impressive although the Mr. would not agree), or when a friend or family member announces a pregnancy (will I ever be pregnant again?), or basically any time I see an episode of Private Practice. But I'm not going to pretend that living with infertility once you have a child is the same as living with it without one. It's just not. For me, anyway.
BUT. The point of this post was not to wax philosophic about what an unappreciative asshat I can be. It was to relate a moment of pure joy that happened yesterday.
We decided that it would be fun to take a few early pictures of the Chicklette in her Halloween costume (not just any butterfly, but a monarch butterfly). And while I am too paranoid to post any pictures here (despite the fact that probably 20,000 kids across America have the same costume), I will tell you that she was so adorable that my heart just about exploded in my chest. I turned to the Mr. and said, "I don't care what we went through to get here, or how long it takes us to work through all of our issues, but seeing her in that costume makes it all totally worth it."
And then the girl's wet diaper exploded all over the inside of the costume.
Hey, it was good while it lasted!