Push the door, I'm home at last, and I'm soaking through and through.Then you hand me a towel and all I see is you.

So yesterday I realized that as of last week, I've been blogging for five years.

Five years.

I've known some of you invisible and not-so-invisible friends for longer than I've lived most places, longer than many of my friendships, longer than I've kept all but my current job.

I've made some in-person friends who are really my people, who I'm quite sure will be my people for life.

Those of you who have stuck around have known me since I was single, broken-hearted, and trying not to walk by my ex-boyfriend's place, which was inconveniently located just around the corner from mine.

Some of you stumbled here with my job rant, in which I fantasized about my backup career as a foot prostitute. You subsequently saw me contemplate placing dead bugs in my new boss's office.

(In other words: you probably wouldn't hire me. But that's not what this is about.)

You saw me make one bad choice after another, go hopefully on date after date after...and do one stupid thing after another. I'm pretty sure a number of you cringed in vicarious shame after I smeared butter on that guy's nose.

You were outraged when that journalist asked me what was wrong with me for being single.

You rooted for me when I finally met Nick, because he seemed like a good one. And thankfully, by that point I'd had enough therapy to be able to articulate what I'd learned about love. You rejoiced with me when we got engaged, and not a single one of you told me it was a bad idea, even though we were complete strangers who'd just met on the Internet.

You were equally horrified with Nick's taste in wedding attire. You sent us off with the best honeymoon wishes.

You supported me immensely through my dad's suicide attempt and subsequent long hospitalization in 2007. Through another attempt, and then his death in 2009.

You welcomed Jordan to the world when he was born, and you sent me notes when you thought (and you were right) that I might have postpartum depression. You shared amazing stories with me.

You opened your arms in virtual hugs when I talked about my struggles with infertility, and you were so kind in your joyousness last week when I shared our big news.

I just want to thank you for making me laugh, and laughing with me (rather than obviously at me). For making me think. For supporting me in my struggles, and for sharing your own and making me feel less alone.

Thank you for still reading, and thank you for still caring. Five years is no small feat. (Although five is kind of small for feet.)

Big hugs to all of you.