Dear Me,

CJane wrote herself a letter a year later and I liked the idea. So I stole it and ran!

This is me one year ago.

Oh, wait.. No it isn't. At this time last year I was even less anxious about having my picture taken than I am now. Ask my dad how difficult it is to find a picture where I'm not sticking my tongue out or flipping off the camera.

Anyway...

Dear Me,

If you thought infertility had a way of putting things in perspective, just wait. You are going to get to sit in many doctor's waiting rooms with a hefty, full lump of gratitude in your throat at the realization of all you've got. You won't even have it in you to write a ranting post about last week's follow up being over an hour and half late for a less than two minute visit.

If you're wondering if the kid will be cute, he will.

Scrunch will come around to the idea of having a brother. You will want to beat her when she thumps him on the head with the chess piece, but you will want to cry at the cuteness when you overhear her call him, "Bubba." "Oh, Bubba. You're so cute!" "I love you sooo much!" she will say with a southern drawl, but only if she thinks you're out of earshot.

Yeah, so that kitchen and dining room color you thought you'd love till you drew your last breath...um, not so much.

Tired? You don't even know the meaning of it, but it won't last. You'll get your energy back. And just in time to repaint. From now on just remember...Friends don't let friends drive to Home Depot to pick paint colors while chemically altered. No painting while hormonally deranged!!!

Ani and Jedi are still a pain, but they're still your pain and probably always will be.

Life only gets better. 'Cept the boobies. They will never be the same. Just roll the empty banana peels up and tuck them in your bra. It'll be okay.

It's all gonna be better than okay.