Have you read this book, You Are My I Love You? I can’t get through it without crying. Olivia thinks I’m crazy, since I cry at 10% of her books I read to her.
This Saturday, two years ago, I underwent my fifth and final embryo transfer. Every IVF transfer day (heck, even for every IUI, Chris and I took pictures right before the doctor took us back. But for this last transfer, the only pictures I have are from before we even walked in the clinic, taken at the beach house in Galveston before we left for Houston.
I’m not going to lie, I wish we would have taken some pictures in the clinic, as I talked about in her first transferversary post. You know, because I’m such a sentimental person. I love my pictures. But we have none because I was shaking and my blood pressure was sky-high and I felt like I was going to throw up because it was our last shot and I had never been that terrified in my life. So there’s no other pictures.
But I have this one and that kind of makes up for it.
And now here we are, two years out from that day in Texas, and Olivia, or Seaweed as she was nicknamed, is 16 months and walking and opinionated and has lashes that most women would kill for and makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world. What a difference two years makes, right?
I haven’t decided if my photography with her sucks because a) my house has terrible natural light, b) she never stops moving now for a decent picture, or c) both a and b and I don’t care anymore. Any of the possibilities are pretty depressing, but this was the best picture I could get.
We didn’t do anything special. Actually, nothing at all except to talk about it. Unless you want to count the cake we baked with her on Sunday. But that’s ok. Because life is gloriously ordinary now and I’m perfectly ok with it.
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