I'm sure most of you out there in never-never land don't have to worry about middle age and the things that result in it's wake. Quite a few would freak if they thought they were pregnant at my age. Before you freak the fuck out, so far I don't think I'm pregnant. I'm six days late for Aunt Flo to start and part of me so wishes this was the time in my life for a 'miracle' to happen and part of me knows it's not probable. I've been told by experts to never expect it and with this age? It is not on my side. I have to listen to the little voice in the back of my head that 'this month' is finally the start of peri-menopause in the midst of my life's story. Sadly I'm such a chicken-shit to take that actual test to disprove my wishes and more so my husband's fingers triply crossed wishes. Mainly because of human nature and wishes and wants are just that.... full of wishes and wants and man, I don't and can't be disappointed in another failure.
Earlier this week I posted a link on my Gorillabuns Facebook page from a fellow blogger who lost her baby during her first trimester. I posted it because as a silent supporter I felt the pain and anguish she so whole heartedly put out there for anyone and everyone to read. A fellow parent thought I was the one who had a miscarriage at 9 weeks and compassionately so, worried how I could withstand another loss and how it is so unfair to our family. Part of me is quite surprised that people in my close wake still remember and think of me as the walking wounded. Though when I pull my head out of my ass, I know that I am so openly fucked up. Part of me (the loving part not the crabby part) wanted to make sure she was comforted in her mistaken grief. Though, I did not. As another friend pointed out, this would be the end of story for me if I miscarried and sadly, she was quite right though I wouldn't admit it to her face. I just laughed and said, "how sweet she cared. Ya'll are so funny."
This aging thing is a bitch and a half. I'm tired of being happy for others while my uterus is drying up with want or my perceived want. My husband wants me to take a test tomorrow and I don't want to do so. Mainly because I've been told it's impossible and mainly because I don't think I can come to grips with the fact.....I'm getting old and I've become such a broken machine. I so don't want to disappoint him.one.more.time.
Keeping my shit together with that fine embrodiery string of art is taut and tight. Ready to pull loose from my fabric of life, unraveling and man, I'm so tired of picking myself up to restring another picture for myself for others and myself to pleasantly view and admire. Because I'm not brave to handle any of this news. Good or bad.