After drafting what feels like a dozen posts (OK, just 7) about that fun topic secondary infertility with all kinds of emotionally charged nonsense and lame attempts at woe-is-me blithering, I’m instead going to share a couple of my blogging observations…and then the blithering.

  • The majority of primary infertility (PIF) blogs I began reading in 2005 did finally become pregnancy, and even parenting, blogs.
  • Ironically, most of them went from PIF to oh-my-god-I’m-pregnant-with-baby-number-two-and-junior-isn’t-even-one-yet blogs.
  • Of the minority that did not, and are still blogging, they are now blogging about how they finally now “get” what shit secondary infertility is.
  • Of those not still blogging after having their first baby, I’ve received a smattering of emails telling me they finally “get” what shit secondary infertility is.
  • Bloggers who are blogging through PIF, and who even occasionally stop by – or use to –occasionally let it slip that SIF isn’t infertility at all.

I encountered the latter attitude in small doses when I started blogging four years ago. There was probably way more, but I made sure to surround myself with either those who were going through SIF or who made a genuine attempt to understand what we were going through.

But what happens when someone you hold in high regards – and have for over two years – and is going through PIF, and told you that they felt that many of the emotions and experiences you were going through were so similar to theirs that they realized that the “secondary” was for the most part, irrelevant, and could appreciate that SIF pretty much sucks, too; but then they end up posting something that basically scoffs the idea that anyone who has one child could even be infertile??

Well that’s what happened over a month ago and it’s been eating at me ever since. I left a very diplomatic comment (me?? I know!) about it and I was surprised I didn’t get a response. One could say in their defense that maybe they didn’t notice (this blogger is rather popular and had a bunch of comments on the post which wasn’t actually about SIF or PIF at all), and basically that’s what I thought so I went back to the post to reread it, to see if I had misunderstood, or maybe to find a reply via comments – you know, like I do – and the post had been edited to remove the reference that inspired this post.

I guess that’s why it’s taken me so long to write AND publish a post since it has no real point, no real reference and serves no purpose whatsoever except allow me to gripe about a blog, because according to some people I do happen “to enjoy it a bit too much.”

And here this paragraph starts 24 hours later than the prior paragraphs and I wonder all over again why is it I’m upset by this? My pain is my pain; your pain is your pain; why don’t we call the whole thing off…

Yes, there are different degrees to infertility, and it only really becomes relative when we read about how our situation is somehow minimized. If I said that you’re not really infertile if you can get pregnant on your first cycle of clomid, then any one of you that did get pregnant on your first cycle of clomid would take offense – or at least you should, because YOU owned that experience and pain, I didn’t. I have no idea what toll that took on you emotionally. I shouldn’t judge, but it’s seriously hard not to, if next to impossible for me. However, if nothing else, I know what infertility was…AND IS. It shouldn’t matter if I have one or five kids. I’ve cried more over the past four years than I have in all the years leading up to it, so yeah, I get a little pissy when I think someone might be making light of SIF.

Infertility scarred me very deeply and left an enormous swath of bitterness that I really want to heal. I get close. I tell myself that I don’t have to be miserable or defensive anymore. I don’t have to read infertility blogs anymore. I don’t have to blog anymore. So why do I?

I have so many things here to say and I’m running out of time and energy to say them. I don’t care about standing on the soap box as much as I use to. I give it a try occasionally (like with this post), and once I step up on it, the view is not as good as it use to be and the wood is soft and creaky from being left outside in the rain, and those willing to listen are there for the free punch.

*end metaphor*

**end blithering**

***end post***


Our rabbit, Potter, lives in a large cage – a rabbit run, if you will – and has a covered hutch inside of it that he sleeps in. Every couple of days (or once a week if you are me), the hutch needs to be cleaned out since it doubles as his outhouse.

The other day, I made an unpleasant and very odd discovery when I lifted the lid off his hutch.

On top of the straw, just inside the little doorway, was a dead baby bird.

Granted, above the cage, there is a robin’s nest, so you can easily deduce where the bird came from. For whatever reason, it had fallen out of the nest and into the rabbit’s cage. It would have easily dropped through the wire on top but was prevented from falling through to the ground by the much smaller spaced wiring used on the floor of the cage.

But that’s where it gets odd. You see, the baby bird had fallen inside of the cage. There’s no way it could have fallen into the hutch because it has a lid on it, and the cage’s lid is positioned over that. The baby bird, if it had been alive when it had fallen, also could not have crawled its way into the hutch because there’s a lip on the doorway that keeps the bedding inside the hutch. The only logical explanation for how the baby bird ended up inside the hutch is that Potter had carried it into the hutch.

I would like to believe that Potter found the distressed baby bird and some kind of instinct prompted him to take it inside his hutch to keep it safe. It’s unlikely, but heck, you never know. It wasn’t because Potter had decided to try a miniaturized version of roast duck, either, because the baby bird’s tiny body showed no outward sign of injury in the way of bites or scratches.

To me, it was a bit of a sad discovery, and really pretty irrelevant, but thought I’d share it with you anyway.


mattMatthew, Matthew, Mathew *shaking my head in disappointment*

You are one f-i-n-elooking specimen, but seriously? You. Is. Stoopid.

…And as anyone who’s lost a parent can tell you, when a loved one like that ‘moves on’ – after grieving, one looks for some inspiration from the loss, some lesson to learn, something constructive to take through life in their absence.”

He continued, “For me, it was a few words, that became a sort of a personal mission statement: j.k livin. Where the j is for just, the k is for keep, and there’s no g on livin’, because life is a verb.”

“…there’s no g on livin’, because life is a verb.”

What does that even mean??!

Hey, eyes over here. No matter how hard you stare, the cropped area of that picture is not going to drop.

Whatever you do, Matt, do not stop working out, and maybe, juuuuust maybe, you might want to take a break from the ol’ wacky weed.

meganAnd speaking of having gorgeous genes but limited brain function, I almost gave myself a seizure rolling my eyes after reading this about Megan Fox:

She’s quite happy to discuss drugs, sex and even flatulence but take this example of her discussing her ‘Brian’ tattoo – dedicated to on/off boyfriend Brian Austin Green.

She said: ‘I wouldn’t regret the tattoo if we weren’t together. I can always have a kid and name him Brian. There are options.’

Megan, where were you after Angelina and Billy Bob broke up??! What a brilliant suggestion! I like the way you think. *winking and tapping finger to forehead*


A final quote from an article on on the latest divorce fiasco with Jon and Kate:

The couple said they would keep the Pennsylvania house they share with their kids – twins Cara and Mady and sextuplets Colin, Hannah, Leah, Joel, Aaden and Alexis – and take turns living there, and take any other measures necessary to minimize the disruption in their children’s lives.

“…take any other measures necessary to minimize the disruption in their children’s lives.”

I’m just guessing here, but I’ll bet that does not include cutting back on their show’s production. Do Jon and Kate really not know who Danny Bonaducci is? That is what the future holds for all eight of those kids.

What a couple of hypocritical narcissists.


I made tentative plans to go to BlogHer in Chicago this year. For those of you that have been living under a rock, it’s in one month exactly – July 23-25.

I booked the hotel; shopped for flights; forced myself onto a handful of other bloggers before finding one who took pity on me and agreed to allow me to shack up; and researched blogger card designs. Oh, yes, I was falling into the BlogHer line and getting pretty damn excited about it. It was to be my vacation, the first one in three long, arid years.

And then I lost my job to the body and soul snatching hospital, Faithless.

My husband said I should still go. We would make do, but out of guilt, I put any further plans on hold, hoping things would normalize.

And then my FIL got a wild-hair up his ass and made plans to visit his brothers in New England. My husband would have to be his chaperone/nurse maid. Guess what weekend they chose?

So I turned over my reserved hotel room where the convention was being held, to Aurelia. Apologized profusely to her for leaving her high and dry and sleeping solo. Fate was telling me, “DD? You and BlogHer weren’t meant to be this year.” Like the past three years, actually.

And then my FIL had surgery on his leg. His obesity and failure to follow the doctor’s instructions lead to complications, including a nasty viral infection. My husband, who also started making tentative plans for that weekend, doubted that he’d be making the trip. FIL insisted: yes, dammit, we are still going!

And then!…one of FIL’s brothers ended up with his own scheduling conflict. The weekend of the 25th was officially OFF the table. The announcement came this past weekend.

And THEN???

Oh, hell, I don’t know. Shit. You fill in the blank. I just don’t have the energy.


Scan5_0005_005Yes, this was me. 12 years ago today. Yes, this was intentional. If you knew how thin and fine my hair is, you’d realize that this is nothing short of a godalmighty miracle, getting my hair to look like a lion’s mane.

It also ended up in a the much quieter and simplier updo for our wedding a few hours later. You can refer to the past posts regarding my wedding here, and here, and of course, here.

Some of you have known me for almost four years now. Some of you are new here. How ever long you’ve known  me, you certainly can appreciate the patience and love and ultimately, the thick skin, it takes to put up with me every day, all day, for not just the twelve years of marriage, but the additional five years it took for me to get him down the alter.

Especially when there are days I wake up looking like that, WITHOUT the help of professional.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. DD. I love you more than ever.


Mr. DD is the hardest working person I know. Bar none, as the saying goes. Yes, I have (and will continue to do so) complained about his inability to shut cabinet drawers and doors; wring out a dish rag; throw his clothes into the hamper instead of dropping them on the floor, but none of those things are because he’s “lazy” per se. Just bad habits.

He’s also very methodical when it comes to doing the job right. Prep and carry through on step A correctly and step B will be easier and step C will be easier still. It’s why he’s so good at his job at auto-body repair and painting.

Now if you have just an inkling of the type of person he is, take that to the nth degree. That’s Mr. DD.

We have been on the lookout for an old shed to move to our property to use as my gardening getaway. Sure, we could build one, but I want something that has rustic character. Something that wasn’t perfect. I want weathered paint, old wood, Character. A couple weeks ago, my husband received a call from a friend who was razing some dilapidated houses in town, and did Mr. DD want one of the detached garages? If so, move it and it’s yours. You bet!  My husband responded.

It was a one car garage approximately 12×21. It would easily park the old golf cart that had been converted into my garden mule and implements of destruction as well as a plethora of pots, garden art (minus a garden gnome, yet to be acquired), and boxes and tubs of poisonous fertilizers, weed killers and slug bait. All these things were taking up space in the garage, his shop and our basement. With them spread out like that, it makes it hard to find something when I need it. Don’t even ask me how many hose sprayer attachments I have (six, seven, maybe?).

After inspecting and subsequently approving it for structural integrity, Mr. DD set to work on getting my future gardening shed prepped for its move from cracked and warped foundation to its new one on our property.

He bought a pickup truck-bed full of lumber: 12x2s and 4x2s and nearly 100 lag bolts. He rented a roll-off as he decided it would be best to strip the building of all its nasty sheetrock and useless rolled insulation. He would spend every night after work stripping the walls and filling and refilling the dumpster; jacking up its four corners so he could get a sawzall to cut the nails and bolts that originally secured the building down; and finally creating a support structure that a trailer could be backed under in order to lift the building in whole and release it forever from its foundation.

For two weeks this went on. He was too tired by the time he got home at night to eat supper. He barely saw XBoy and ZGirl during that time as they were usually in bed an hour or more before he’d walk through the door. He wanted to make sure that everything he did was perfect. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt because he took a shortcut. He was so worried about safety, that he didn’t even want me to follow him in my van with the kids when it came time for the actual move, for fear that we might be the ones that something would happen to.

He drove the route several times to make sure there were no low hanging trees, no electrical wires. He took the flattest and least traveled streets. He called the county to get the permits. He called the city for an escort inside city limits. He called on his friends to be his escorts outside of city limits. And finally earlier this week, the move was on.

I imagined how I would arrange all my stuff. My. Stuff. The way I wanted it – on the walls. Finally, my shop, while much smaller, would be ALL mine.

06.17 easy rider (2)I stopped in town with the kids to take a picture of the garage before its move, went out to eat with them and before heading home, detoured off to the planned route Mr. DD was taking to see the progress.

Oddly, I did not encounter him. I didn’t think we had eaten that fast or that he’d be traveling that slow…but since I had received no phone call from him indicating otherwise, I assumed all was well and headed back home to wait for him there.

Over an hour later, he still was not home. I was dying to call him, but knew he’d never hear the phone if he was sitting on the tractor he was using to haul the trailer.

Finally, my phone rang. It was Mr. DD and he said, “You won’t be getting a free garden shed after all,” and silence. My first thought was that he was ticketed and handsomely fined for some kind of improper permit detail. Oh how I wish.

He went on, “We didn’t get five blocks away. I was going through the intersection and it had a small dip in it. The back end of the building was ripped off when it bottomed out on the depression.”

He went on to explain how he had to cut away what was dragging as the city police refused to let him continue on, and rightfully so. His friends used the chains to reinforce the straining walls enough to keep it safely on the trailer. They picked up the debris the street. And then they returned to the start of their all too short trip and set the now leaning and collapsing garage back onto its original foundation.

When he finished telling me all that had happened, his voice was cracking. He wasn’t near tears. He was in tears. All that work and time, utterly wasted. The time he could have spent with XBoy and ZGirl. Time he could have spent in the back yard when the soil was dry, but now saturated with a week’s worth of heavy rains. The money frittered away on lumber and supplies and rentals, while not excessive, was enough to add insult in injury. He was – he still is – gutted.

06.17 easy rider (4)No, there is no way to salvage it. In fact, we were surprised that the morning after a nasty thunderstorm with strong winds and hail went through, to find it was still standing. Probably because of all the reinforcement Mr. DD put in it but was unable to recoup safely.

And next week he scheduled his vacation with plans to pour a foundation and setting the shed permanently in its new home. This, he had told me, was to be my anniversary and birthday gift . . . and now?

And now, I told him, you can take a week off and do what YOU want to do and if that’s nothing? then do nothing. I remind him that yes, while it sucks what happened, I am so very grateful that neither he nor anyone else was injured, even though his pride and confidence took a heavy beating. Letting him take the time off without throwing a list of honey-dos a mile long will be my gift, my much too small and insignificant gift compared to what he was trying to do for me, to him.


Some days it hits me like a bolt from the blue that we administer a controlled substance daily to my son. A drug that addicts have killed for – have died for. Methylphenidate, the active ingredient in his patch, produces many of the same effects as cocaine or the amphetamines.1

It was one of many reasons we were reluctant to start XBoy on meds in the first place. The side effects, like most drugs, can be frightening and it amazes me that so many kids are on ADHD and ADD drug therapies. I would think many parents would decide against it for fear of those affects.

It’s easy to forget and to take lightly the fact that we keep a dangerous and addictive drug in our home (yes, it is locked up and away from both kids), especially since it’s kept in such an innocuous form like the patch. It’s not injected. It’s not swallowed. It’s just a matter of peeling off the plastic layer and sticking it to his skin. Bu sometimes we are careless. Sometimes I find a tiny triangle of that plastic on the floor. Just the right size, and oh so tempting piece of shiny for ZGirl to pick up and put in her mouth. I don’t know how much residue is on it, but when your doctor and the drug company specifically warn to wash hands after handling, it’s enough to be measurable.

XBoy experiences many of the common side effects from the patch. When we first started the therapy, he was an emotional wreck. For example, he would cry if there were only 3 pickles instead of 4 on his hamburger. His teacher called us in to meet with her after his first week of treatment to discuss how he teary and sad he’d been recently. It was only then that we told her about starting him on the drug as we didn’t want him to have that stigma – just another kid on Ritalin. Keeping it from his teacher allowed us to find out if there was a change in his behavior without anyone suspecting why.

He has since adjusted to the dosage, and while we still find he overreacts on occasion, he’s better. Now my concern has focused from his emotional response to the physical. Last year at this time I was worried about his sudden weight gain between his 6 year check-up and the first time I took him to the ped to discuss his behavior, which was almost 10lbs in six months. The clothes I had bought for school were too tight even before he wore them once. In August I was scrambling to find him uniform-wear in husky. And by the time he was weighed by the school, he was up 14lbs to the grand total of 64lbs. He peaked at 65lbs, which we discovered when he started wrestling and had to weigh in. It was also when he started his meds. That was January.

It is the beginning of June, which means he’s been on the daily patch for a solid four months. The other day he came to me and complained that he now weighed only 58lbs after using our bathroom scale, and frankly, that scares me.

I knew he was losing weight. Pictures from last summer show a round, full face. He sported a bit of a “pot” belly in his swim trunks. He was squeezing on his favorite pair of sweatpants. Now? The belly is gone. His collar and shoulder bones are prominent. He is not gaunt, but thinned out considerably. He’s still in a normal weight range for boys his age and height, but for how long?

In the morning, when he doesn’t want breakfast – “I’m not hungry!” – it takes all my willpower not to say, “If you don’t want to lose any more weight, you’ll need to eat breakfast!” since I can only imagine that since he’s already suffering from a chemical imbalance that produces ADHD, he would be just that much more susceptible to experiencing an eating disorder of some kind or another. So I say nothing, but encourage him to at least drink a glass of milk. Paranoia is my master in parenting decisions, apparently.

It’s not like his eating habits have drastically changed. He definitely doesn’t eat as much, but the kid could really put it away a year ago and of course then I worried that he was eating too much. But I watch more carefully when he takes his plate to the sink with food still on it. I don’t grouse as much when he asks for a treat (a brownie, chips, candy, etc.) because I welcome the chance for him to put calories – even empty ones – into his body.

I worry to the point of going sleepless about what will happen in a year knowing that he will still be on meds. I worry about the future in five years; ten years from now. Many kids “outgrow” ADHD. Will he? What if he doesn’t? What long-term emotional affects will he have from a decade of stimulant use? What about the physical? I’ve had family and friends wave away my concerns like I’m making a big deal of out nothing. “Lots of kids have ADD/ADHD,” they say dismissively. I always find it funny how the ones who tell me this don’t. 



This is our house (pix from two years ago, before our “yard” was in). I think it’s rather nifty.

06.27 almost move in ready (2)

It sits smackdab in the middle of 10 acres (OK, a bit towards the southern property line, just in case any of you ever visit and decide to split hairs with me).

My husband’s “shop” was constructed towards the northern property line. There’s a line that runs between the house and shop: the lane.

Everything on THAT side of the lane is husband’s.

Everything on THIS side of the lane is mine.

So as a favor to a co-worker to Mr. DD’s BIL, he offered up HIS bit of property to “store” a POS Chevy truck (redundant) over the winter. Store, as in park the obnoxious garbage next to the shop. I bitched and moaned, but finally a compromise was struck, yes, he may park it, but it better be gone by spring (April).

It’s June and while the POS has been moved from one side of the shop to the other so he could mow, it is still here on HIS side of the property, but only barely.

I called the BIL myself and told him that his buddy needed to get the truck by the end of June or I’ll  have it towed away under the guise of unclaimed property, regardless of cost to me. Don’t care.

sidesTwo days later, the buddy calls Mr. DD and says he’ll be over to get the truck. You have the spare key, right, he asks, because he can’t find his. Mr. DD replies that yup, sure do, just moved it.

Guess what Mr. DD can’t find since he moved the POS?


I’m just waiting for the day I wake up and a band of rednecks have decided to squat on HIS side and celebrate with a case of Schlitz, funyuns, and pickled eggs after they throw a crappy couch in the bed of the truck to sleep on.

Mr. DD will be joining them.


I’m going to try to make this as succinct and as uncomplicated as I possibly can. However, you know me, and I probably will fail miserably.

Last weekend, I took XBoy to see the Pixar movie, Up in 3D. Loved. It. Loveditloveditlovedit.Yes, so did XBoy, but just so you know, I personally enjoyed it for me. If you saw the movie and you also loved it, please do not read the rest of this post. Trust me, OK? If you haven’t seen the movie, and you don’t want to find yourself focusing on one ten second – at best – part of the movie, please do not read the rest of this post.

This past week I’ve seen a couple of posts in passing about the movie, and mommy bloggers are giving it rave reviews…almost.

This is what Maria Young at Blogher wrote after seeing it:

I adored the movie. It celebrates life and love and adventure. There was one thing in particular about the film, a piece of the silent vignette spanning the relationship of Carl (who’s seen during the previews as the crotchety old man) and his love Ellie that made me go ‘huh? in a kid’s movie? who approved that?!’ but it went over my children’s heads as I’m sure it did most kids’.

I had a good inkling of what she was referring to, but waited until someone would give it away in the comments. Someone ALWAYS does.

And lo!

Momtrolfreak* included in her comment:

I totally cried though. Especially during the miscarriage part? Seriously, who greenlighted that? 😉  

and then she included a link to where she did a movie review for Momicillin* and expanded that thought with this:

In keeping with the longstanding Disney tradition of RIPPING YOUR HEART OUT AND STOMPING ON IT (Bambi, Dumbo, Lion King, Nemo) UP includes the longest flashback montage everrrrrrrr of the entire life of a sweet married couple, which culminates in the funeral of the wife. It includes what I believe to be (I am not kidding here) the first ever miscarriage portrayed in a children’s film. We see the young couple dreaming of babies. Then decorating a nursery. Then in an exam room—wife in chair, face buried in hands— while the doctor speaks to them, shaking his head.  Sweet fancy bananas, I thought, please oh please don’t let my kid ask what is going on right now. (He didn’t.)

But wait! There’s more! Maria was full of all kinds of juicy links. Another one was to Motherhood in NYC*where Marinka wrote:

So, I’m watching this movie and give me a fucking break, Pixar. We have to deal with a miscarriage in the first ten minutes? I mean, they’re children. Why not have a few rape/torture scenes too, while you’re at it, you know, to build momentum?

In the comments?

I also thought the infertility thing was an outrage and it pissed me off. Then I was crying 2 minutes later cause of the end of that little life vingette.



Who knew having a miscarriage was so…offensive? So…disgusting and ugly and ironically, so child- and family-UNfriendly, whereas (spoiler alert) the old man falling to his death from his dirigible after his failed attempt to cut the old hero in two with a sword was perfectly sanitary; or when the dogs acting as their master’s minions burst out, sharp fangs and all, towards the audience so abruptly in one scene (remember, 3D) that I heard a little kid start screaming in fear and crying inconsolibly a few rows up from us? Yep. Those are scenes of pure family-fun entertainment!

You know what I saw when they played the couple’s vignette (spoiler alert) and the doctor is with the couple in his office and the woman is distressed? I just thought to myself that he’s explaining how, sadly, the couple weren’t going to be able to have children. That’s how I would have explained it to my seven and a half year old son if he were to ask, which he didn’t. An educational opportunity, really. It’s not like there was any inkling of realism during the scene: no cartoon feet in stirrups; no soulless ultrasound tech holding a condom covered wand; no grainy ultrasound of a baby with no heartbeat. Yep. It was totally unrealistic compared to my four experiences.

Now I’m offended.

*Apparently all mommy bloggers must have to have the moniker “mom” in their blog names. Maybe I should change mine to “Mama Said Knock You Out”, which would keep me in line with my completely irrelevant boxing theme.

PS: I rarely ever, EVER, step on another blogger’s toes openly, but given where I am right now emotionally? Fuck’em.


I think a lot about how far Mr. DD, XBoy and myself have come over the years. I am so focused on ZGirl, the here and now, that thinking of the past makes me wonder, did I really think or say that? All I have to do is go to my archives for proof.

Here’s a post from 2006 when I took some time off from work to purge our storage of all baby items that we had held onto with the assumption we would have another baby. It’s important that you go read it and the comments with it.

05.20 clown

I did save those dinosaur pajamas. I couldn’t bear to part with them. My daughter is wearing them this very second, asleep in her crib. That’s her in an earlier picture on the left. A picture of XBoy is in the link.

I’m having a difficult time explaining how it makes me feel to see her in them. Yes, of course joy since it means that all those years we waited for it to be our turn once again, came; but I also feel a bit of heartache since I know that in just a couple of months she will have outgrown it as well and I’ll have to wash it and fold it for the last time. Sure I can save it for the ages it will take for me to maybe become someone’s grandmother, but will it survive another 20 years?

My meloncholy mood was significantly deepened when I read the comments.

Kath was still waiting to stay pregnant for the first time back then. Now? She’s had baby girl #2.

K&M’s blog is gone. She’s reinvented herself in a new pwp blog after the birth of her son.

Angela’s blog is gone, but she stops in occasionally and we cross paths on facebook.

Karen, after a couple months of silence has just started blogging again. I missed her terribly.

Leggy is now Clover, but she’ll always be Leggy to me. She’s had boy/girl twins since then.

Baggage has noticeably been absent here, but I also see her updates on facebook.

Kellie stops in still, and I am grateful for her continued presence.

Donielle…she had a blog, but it is also long gone. I haven’t heard from her in ages.

Julie. I feel my heart constrict a bit when I think of Julie (Sisyphus) because I miss her soooo much.

Erin has been a constant friend, but quieter now that she brought home her son from Ethiopia.

KarenPince also had a blog, which is gone now. She recently had a baby boy.

Trish. Former Nebraskan. She has a daughter who is terminally ill, but I don’t see updates from her anymore.

Cricket, who I never thought would become silent, has. She has an art blog and saw a recent update, but I haven’t heard from her since January.

Tuesday is still blogging. After her miscarriage of triplets, she had another baby boy.

Jess…I wish I could remember more about her other than she stopped blogging ages ago as well.

Josie and I non-stopped emailed each other for a while there. I even met her once, and it’s already been a couple of years ago. She finally brought home her son from Ethiopia as well just a short time ago.

Michelle is thankfully still out there. Her surprise pregnancy mirrored my own (non-surprise) with ZGirl.

Midori has gone through hell these past few years. No longer keeping a public blog but I do get to see pictures of her new life on Flickr and see updates on facebook.

Long time sista. My former best friend.

Kati stopped blogging some time ago after suffering several miscarriages during her SIF. I miss her sweet ways.

Rachel went through her pregnancy during her husband’s deployment, but she hasn’t posted in a year.

Menita, darling Menita. We also cross paths occasionally on facebook and I get a silly little zing when I see she’s checking in on me.

Catizhere. That’s all I need to say about lovely Cat. She is still here. Thank god.

Spanglish and I had a falling out, except I don’t know why.

Alli also stopped blogging about a year ago.

Jenny is now the infamous Bloggess and has left me in the dust.

Kellie from One Mother’s Journey deleted her blog years ago. I see someone else took the domain name.

Her Bad Mother also moved onward and upward.

Soralis is still blogging, but at a new site under a new name after she had her baby girl.

TB took a very long hiatus after the birth of her son over a year ago. She has posted since then, but not often enough IMO.

Nico went on to also give birth to a second son and a different blog.

Every one, not just my daughter, is growing, evolving. However, the difference between my daughter and these blogs and their owners is that she is growing up – eventually to grow away; these long lost bloggers…? Is the rate for extinct bloggers really that high, or do I need to only look in the mirror to find the answer?