Bon Voyage, 2009!

Last January, Mo and I came off of an almost-year-long break and resumed treatments. I was hopeful that our injectable IUI cycle would lead to a successful pregnancy. Instead, we saw two failures and finally had to face the facts that pregnancy without IVF really wasn't going to happen for us. This was a terrifying realization -- after all, IVF is THE treatment. If it didn't work, then what?

In April, we made the decision to pursue IVF. We also decided to put it off until June, when we were both out of school, and wouldn't have to take time off of work.

June arrived, and Mo's bullshit came out in full force. I was furious when he insisted we wait until August to begin, despite his (sound) logic that it was better to avoid the fees associated with withdrawing from our IRA early. Summer passed, with lots of marital stress and some very close make-or-break moments. I took my blog private as I dealt with some really difficult emotions associated with our marriage and our quest to make a baby.

In August, Mo again put me off. Claiming new-job stress and the inability (unwillingness?) to take time off of work early in the year, he again refused to start IVF. I was livid, and it took me several weeks to begin to forgive him. I also started a new job, the thrill of which wore off early on.

Finally, in November, Mo was ready. Really ready. He promised. So we made appointments, we missed appointments, we rescheduled appointments. Finally, finally, I began injections over Thanksgiving. We were officially on our way -- despite the rocky, rocky road that led us here.

Mo's depression and mood improved throughout the process. By the time retrieval and transfer arrived, he was back to his old self, the self I loved and missed so dearly. We waited with anxiety for the results of IVF #1. I tried to prepare myself for disappointment, but hope crept in.

And then, the negative pee sticks.

And more negative pee sticks.

And, finally, a faint, faint positive. That slowly grew darker. A positive beta? Holy shit. Can this really be happening? After all this time, all this heartache? Really?

As I stand on the cusp of 2010, I want to be happy. I want to be ecstatic and hopeful and planning for baby. But I'm still scared. I know all too well what can go wrong. Perfect pregnancies can be blindsided by a sudden loss. I don't know if I can handle that. I don't know if Mo can handle it, and I certainly don't think our marriage can.

And so I pray. I dig deep into the tiny, tiny fragments of faith that remain, and I beg for the health, the life, of this child. Please, let him or her grow. Please, let him or her be born, healthy and alive. Please. let this miracle remain our miracle throughout the long, long months ahead.

Please, 2010, be kinder and gentler than 2009.