On a regular basis I am perplexed by my relationship with Cody. The ease with which we came to be a pair in this world is unlike the rocky and somewhat non-existent road I traveled with men before he came along. Cody was the first guy who liked me without any strings attached. He wasn't scared by my intensity. He didn't mind that I was/am nearly taller than he is. He understood my humor. He constantly chipped away at my walls. He bought me flowers and wrote me sweet notes. He constantly reminded me that I was different in a really good way. And I needed that so much when I was younger.
Cody is the best part of my life today. The longer I am with him the more our relationship has transformed beyond those two kids in college. Cody's support over the past two years of us trying to get pregnant has made me love him more than I knew possible. He now fills so many roles for me that I simply wouldn't let him have years ago. I trust Cody more than I used to. I respect his opinion more than anyone else's. I believe in his loyalty to me as his wife and his friend. I savor his positive attitude and unrelenting faith that there is an end to this process. He is the best human being I know, and I am grateful to have celebrated the last nine years of his life as his girlfriend and wife.
Regardless of how or when our infertility story ends, I recognize the difference between Cody and Katy before and after the discovery of my busted ovaries. Every once in a while, I am perfectly okay with the idea of keeping Cody Wayne all to myself for as long as possible. Or at least until I'm thirty five at which point I realize I have to get serious about finding a kid to call to our own.
Happy Birthday, CP!
