Okay, so it’s been over a week. I’m doing my best here, people.
Today I turned 38. Not a very big milestone, though it’s odd to think I’m merely two years away from 40. I’d like to say I’m another year wiser, but you’d probably all laugh at that (rightfully so). So really, 38 isn’t very big news. But here’s the thing—in just over a week, I’m having a procedure that will end my reproductive years.
I’ve known since we had Little G that we were done. I have no desire to give birth again.
Still, I mourn.
I mourn the passing of that stage of my life, and I wonder what to expect in the years to come.
I wonder about the woman that I am becoming. The woman I can become. The woman I will become.
I push down the little voice inside of me that says I will be less of a woman when I’m no longer capable of procreation. Womanhood is not dependent upon the ability to bear children, I tell myself, and most days I believe it.
I imagine the relative freedom of life with older children. What will I do with myself? How will I fill my time? I have so many questions, and only time will provide the answers. I’m not a patient woman. It grates at me to not know what’s coming.
Still. Whatever may come, whoever I may become, one thing is sure: it will be glorious, because it will be me.
*For those of you wondering, I’m having an endometrial ablation on July 1. So I’ll still have all my girl parts…they just won’t function like they used to. Whee!