I suppose, in order to make a proper introduction, one must know both parties to be introduced. You, are you, of course, and he is the elephant. And at this moment in time, that’s pretty much all I know about the big grey beast.
I started my Unfilled blog several weeks ago to address my issues with food, because I didn’t really want to delve into that too much here. I’m pretty sure that blog will be forever abandoned. The problem is that, in order to write my story – my real story – I can’t separate out the physical from the spiritual and the mental parts of myself. They’re all so intwined with each other… connected.
The elephant is here, and is fighting for my attention. He has it now, but I don’t understand the message. I don’t really understand the problem. All I know is something’s not right.
I suspect I could be peri-menopausal. I don’t want to be that. Not the “M” word. Not yet.
I can accept the aging process. I accept my wrinkles… and the dry hair… and the other assorted, disgusting things that come along with growing older. But this “M” thing – that’s different.
I knew when I divorced that I probably wouldn’t have any more children. When I asked my husband for the fourth child (we had originally agreed on five), he told me I couldn’t even take care of the 3 we had – why in the world would I think we should have a fourth? In retrospect, I realize that he was a child himself, and did not get all of his needs met when I was pregnant (and no, I’m not talking about those needs – some pregnant women are very much in the mood all the time, you know). For a full year or so, he was no longer the center of attention. Why would he want to go through that again?
But I digress…
I know I could have a baby right now if I really wanted to. I wouldn’t even need a man, although the Belgian has graciously offered up his fatherly services. Now is not the time.
My son, the baby, is now in school full-time. He has 4 permanent teeth. He uses grown-up words like “apparently” and “antagonize.”
At the same time that I am losing my baby, my oldest is already talking about college, which is 4 short years away, and I’m planning my next house with a nice little craft room where her bedroom used to be.
And now, potentially, the “M” thing.
It’s a strange place to be. It’s uncomfortable. It makes my skin itch. I want to unzip my whole body and step out of it into some warm sunshine and just be me.
I don’t know if that counts as a proper introduction, but there it is.
Can someone please call animal control?