You know that dreaded moment. The one where AF (aka Aunty Flo) just decides to disappear?
With MY history in trying to fall pregnant, you would THINK that a late start is a sign of hope. It would have been… back then. Not so much nowadays.
Most months I barely have time to draw breath before I start getting symptoms for the following month. Symptoms that see me screaming banshee style at all and sundry, among other fun things.
Last month though it went AWOL.
I was starting to fear the un-thinkable – the possibility of having another baby. Doing the calculations it would be nearly EIGHT years after our first. I would be EIGHT years older than I was with the first and TWO years closer to that magical age where I see the baby factory officially closed for good. I won’t lie to you – the mere thought terrified me.
While to the outside the past three years have seen me cursing at the powers that be and alternatively crying why us; inside I have been working through everything. From my emotions to my mental health and my physical state. I have been rationally weighing up the pros and cons of our decision. I have been recovering from the heartbreak of giving up unfulfilled dreams. I have been stitching closed a wound that has threatened to bulge open on numerous occasions.
Sometime recently, almost unnoticed to even myself, I found that that need is no longer there. On the odd occasion the wanting still oozes, but the dire need that felt it would never end has dissipated.
When AF was late last month (& when I say “late” I actually mean spot on a normal 28 day cycle… such is the erratic nature of mine.) I had a million thoughts run through my head, without saying anything to hubby – who I could see had another million thoughts running through his brain – I waited not so patiently and finally she arrived and I sighed with relief.
The following night as I was gripped in pains vicious circle, huddled into my heat pack I finally found the words I’d been needing to say to hubby.
“I’ve never been so happy to see AF arrive”
Admitting it to myself was a long time coming, even longer to mention it to hubby. Admitting it here, almost feels like the end of a really long book that has frustrated the heck out of you.
I think I can freely admit that our baby making days are officially over. I am shutting up shop – so to speak.