Painting

After my miscarriage last November, I started painting our house. I painted and painted and painted some more. I accomplished so much all by myself that some people actually started to worry about me a bit. But there was something soothing in rolling on thick, smooth paint. It felt so therapeutic to me. I don't have control over my body, but at least I can control how our walls look like (and ceilings, but I don't like painting ceilings...).

Around the same time, I began reading house improvement/renovation blogs and stopped one by one reading infertility blogs. Most of them already had or expected babies and the few still struggling stopped blogging; understandably so. All the babies of *my* pregnancy cohort are born safely by now. I cheered for each and everyone of you. It's a bit bittersweet though to be left on infertility island.

The place I stayed at temporarily - or so I thought- on this island looks more and more like a permanent dwelling. And if this is my permanent dwelling, shouldn't it be as nice as possible? I think so. And so I will go on and try to make the best of this place that I find myself in.

Right now I am painting my fence. And it feels good.