I remember on New Years Eve last year feeling so devastated that it was very easy to believe that ringing in the new year could only mean things were going to get better, because  in my mind they simply couldn’t get worse.  Oh my, I was wrong.  I had no idea what type of shit awaited me this year-the type of shit that can test your lack of patience like nothing else and just simply erode you away.  I was so incredibly naive to think that.  A year ago the idea that I would be ringing in 2011 with a newborn infant in my arms, my husband at my side and Dublin at my feet was not a far fetched thought whatsoever.

Holy shit was I wrong.

Waking up to a Christmas morning miscarriage after 10 incredibly long months of trying to get pregnant again has snapped one of the last remaining threads of hope I had.  I say good riddance to this insanely shitty year while wondering–12 months from now will I finally have a healthy baby in my arms and feeling blessed, or one in the womb with cautious excitement or rage writing about my uterus of death while flipping off 2011?

Ugh, of those 3 choices neither of the first 2 seem even remotely possible anymore.

Fuck you 2009 and 2010.  Please 2011 be good to me because I just don’t know how much more of this I can handle.