44

Last year I was one day post-transfer, praying to the last chance fertility gods and not quite daring to hope.

In the past year, I have gotten and stayed pregnant with a miraculous and wonderful baby girl, gotten (and stayed) married to the most amazing man on the most beautiful bluff, lost a big part of my job and, in that instant, a huge chunk of stability and identity, spent a summer mired in stressed out job uncertainty and a parade of one crazy terrifying pregnancy complication after another. I worried about selling the house in a market filled with auction houses and we realized we had to wait if at all possible.

Summer turned to fall and I (finally) gave birth to Della over the course of a few days, with first snow flying and birch trees outside the window that I did not see until it was over. Breastfeeding was a nightmare at first, delayed milk, trauma of a hungry baby and a body that was in shock from surgery, compounded with badly timed bad advice. By the time it was working I felt broken.

I spent two months at home with Della and Doug, using my vacation time, learning how to be This kate, this one who is in a constant state of not knowing.

At the turn of the new year, I lost half of my job again, and realized This kate, this one, this one wants more.

if I am trading time with Della for it, work needs to provide more. At least, I sure want it to. We began to think about putting the house on the market in the spring, realizing the likelihood of a short sale, since my income no longer covers the mortgage.

Then water came in the walls and the ceiling in 4 out of 5 rooms, pieces and parts have been ripped down, and now,

we are in a state of in-between-ness. Rebuilding waiting until after ice season so we only have to do this once.

And today, after one of the most amazing and difficult and transformative years of my life where just about everything I knew changed, today, I turn 44.