IF blogging tends to be a bit of a depository for negative thoughts (at least it is for me), a way of getting stuff out there.
But soon, the Boy is "a five" as he calls it. We are all very excited.
Hights of the last five years, that make it worth all the IF crap and then some, are to do with travelling. I love travelling, so does my husband. The Boy does also.
There was the time we took him to a caravan when he was a toddler. He - and I know this sounds like Bad Parenting - got into a box with a lot of switches and played with them. We turned on the oven and the caravan lights all went off.
We found someone to turn them back on but in the meantime it was past dinnertime and we'd only bought stuff to put in the oven, so he demolished half a ginger loaf we'd bought. We all like ginger cake and I have some ready for his birthday.
I have to travel sometimes for work and when the Boy was very little we often combined this with a family weekend away (tbh, we still do). I'm not sure whether kids are happier staying in hotels than they're generally given credit for or whether this is early experience - I didn't stay in a hotel until I was 13 and he seems to just take it all in his stride.
If we're staying in a hotel or airBNB now he likes jumping on the bed, checking out the toilet, trying to persuade us to let him sleep in the biggest bed, going through the TV channels and all the sorts of things you do when hotels are a novelty.
If he particularly likes the hotel room we sometimes have to work hard to persuade him that the rest of the city is worth exploring.
He hated camping in the Lake District; I've got a photo taken of him just after we got there and it started pouring rain. He's sitting in his car seat, staring straight ahead, scowling (it did get better, he loved the waffles we got in Penrith).
He liked camping in Galloway. It was sunny but windy; I blew bubbles for him outside the tent.
He loves Romania because of the trains, the pub at the beach that had a trampoline, that everyone was kind to him (they really were), the bread and the amazing playparks in Bucharest.
We went to Spain, unexpectedly after the miscarriage, becausse neither I nor my husband could face the dark days between New Year and school starting back without a distraction. The Boy kept us going; he loved the room, loved the toy shop in Malaga, and was generally happy with his toys afterwards. And he even ate his dinners.
The other thing - for me - I love about being a parent is teaching him to try different foods (we've got the encouraging him to travel bit ok - although I do worry about where he will end up! - and are trying to set him up not to be fussy about food).
We have a game where he gets £1 if he tries a new food, and his Dad or I get £1 if we end up eating it. He always tries the food in the end, if only to stop one of his undeserving parents from ending up with the money.
Maybe, reading this back, I should be so hung up on the infertility years that I'm training him up to move two blocks down, only eat my food and go to the same resort every year on holiday.
But maybe he'll take us somewhere exciting that we wouldn't have tackled without him, someday.