First...

During a moment of raw aching pain, my husband said I needed a centering thought - a vision or phrase that will reach down into the shame spiral, pluck me out, wrap me up in a warm chenille blanket and bask me in its warmth.

My centering thought is "This too shall pass."

I always viewed this mantra as being fairly negative until I realized that I was putting the pessimistic spin on it. Bad things happen, and we must endure until they pass and we move on. But good things happen too - a lot. I don't tend to remember them as much as I should, but they do. And just like the shitty things in life, the good things, too, shall pass. Wait. That sounds even more depressing that just focusing on the bad stuff passing.

Then there are all the things in between, the things that don't fit neatly into the "good" or "bad" columns. Those pass too. It allows me to live in the moment, to really enjoy those shiny moments and gets me through the dark times with a bit more patience.

So many things have happened in the first nine days of this ninth year - some clearly "good," some clearly "bad" and one big one that is under the "N/A" column. And since I can't tell anyone else about these things, I will tell all of you at once, albeit anonymously.

Approximately 2 hours ago I discovered I was pregnant.

For the eighth time.

Before you start calling TLC and pitching my life as a reality show, I should clarify that I have one child, a son who on this blog goes by the name my husband and I almost named him, after balking at the last minute: Moses. So if you do the math, that leaves 6 pregnancies that never came to fruition.

After number 6, I decided it was too hard to go through the loss of another miscarriage. But what I didn't do was get any form of birth control. See, one of the contributing factors to all the losses is this genetic fuckedupness that puts me at risk for blood clots. Once they figured that out, it was no more birth control pills, shots or patches for me. I tried the diaphragm once. I got it in there just fine, but when it came to taking it out - well, have you ever tried something on at a store that is obviously too small for you and so you instantly tell yourself, "Take that hideous thing off" but the thing is so snug that it's stuck and you're contorting yourself like a Cirque du Solei performer, and it's still not coming off, and you start to sweat, and you think you heard a quiet ripping sound, and then there's a knock on the door and a voice that sings, "Is everything all right in there?" and you look up at the hidden camera and you realize there's probably a 19 year old high school dropout watching your every move? Well, my experience was like that, except it was all in my vagina.

So I decided to go rhythm. But I'm not a great dancer and not exactly the best with dates and numbers. Also, sorry about the grossness and the intimacy of this seeing that we've just met, but I never let the, you know, "stuff" hang out a lot. For someone of an advanced age and multiple college degrees, you would think I would know better, but when it comes to sex, I tend to operate with the knowledge I learned from watching After School Specials. I figured if I ran to the toilet immediately upon completion and flush away any man juice, I should be pretty safe. How romantic!

Well now my husband is walking around all proud of his super duper super sperm and I'm in a weird state of... something. Ever since the last miscarriage in May, I have spent considerable time talking myself out of wanting another kid. So when the plus sign emerged in the window of the pee-soaked stick, I wasn't totally stoked. But then I realized that the likelihood that this one would make it past 11 weeks was slim, and I felt a little relieved. Then I felt a little bit sad.

So even though I'm pregnant for the 8th time, and even though I am a mother of an amazing 4 year old, this blog won't be just about mommy stuff. I've got way too much dirt to dish to limit it to just parenting. My sister in on the brink of a legimate nervous breakdown, my parents are into year 4 of their divorce, my widowed, neurotic, Jewish mother-in-law lives only 20 minutes away and is at my house constantly, I work full time at home while taking care of my kid, and my husband works 16 hours a day.

So if this interests you, come back tomorrow and see if I've started bleeding! Something for you to look forward to - I know you won't be able to sleep tonight.