The countdown is on to our departure date. I’m starting to feel a bit better than I did during the last post: I honestly think the PMS is getting worse and worse as I inch closer to menopause. Fun times.

With the boxes accumulating and the rooms emptying out, the fact that we’re leaving this community is beginning to hit home. Most of the time, it just feels like I’m going on vacation… but as I say goodbye to my favorite people and special places, I feel a sudden panic that makes me want to cling to what’s familiar. I’ve been able to experience a lifestyle few people get to see, and for this, I feel very fortunate.

But, somewhere along the way, I became the one who lost the baby… the one who can’t have kids… and this is how I’ve come to define myself. It may not be how others see me, but it’s definitely how I see myself. I recognize that this isn’t healthy.

As much as I’ll miss this place and the great friends I’ve made, I have to admit that I’m looking forward (and hopeful) to whatever life brings us next. The opportunity to lose myself in a larger city is appealing.

This move is a nice distraction. Although it’s tiring and we both have aching muscles by the end of the day, it’s a nice break from the regular infertility obsession. Hopefully, it’s also burning a few extra calories, so I can get back to my “city” shape (ha ha!), as I shed the layers of puffy, cold-weather outdoor gear for more fashionable urban-wear!