Okay. So I need a moment to mourn and I promise I will do my absolute best to never mention it again.
I love my uterus. I really do. Of all the things in my lovely little body, my uterus is one of my favorites. I know it's been a royal pain in the past five years. I know I've been hormonal and in pain and I've missed work and missed my kid's special events. I know all that.
But of all the things I love in this life, the most important to me are children. I love my two boys and would do anything within my capabilities and am willing to stretch the realm of possibilities to do even more so -- for them. They are it, they're why I do everything I do -- the driving force behind all my decisions. It is always a constant source of amazement to me ... how truly wonderful children are. So many people treat them as if they don't hold the capacity to experience the same circle of emotions that adults feel, or that they don't need the same things we need. I feel so blessed to work in a place where I can daily oversee the academic and moral growth of so many little children. I know what I do each day matters, I know I am shaping something so much greater than myself.
I try to carry these thoughts with me, when I am tired or grumpy or feeling worn down. I know that my responses to my childrens requests and behaviours will effect them in some way, will carry through to their future, will become a part of who they are. The slightest detail, from the tone of my voice to the arch of an eyebrow, will be something that goes along with them as they become parents later in life. If even they choose to.
I know this, as I see my father's anger in my eyes and hear my mother's bewilderment when I lose my temper. I remind myself that a person who has lost control and is screaming is a person who no one can respect, especially children. But my children won't ever know a life like I grew up in, because it is my constant vigil that I am a resource for them and not a wrecking ball working against them. And I think we do okay, my guys and I. The sudden news that I had to stay overnight at the hospital tonight was shocking to them, especially the oldest. But through his sadness he hugged me and told me he loved me.
And I know that, above all else, my children love me. They do not fear me, there is no hidden angst between us. I only pray that these things remain true as they become teenagers. I hope we remain honest. I hope I will be able to push aside my fears and my discomfort long enough to really listen, the way we all want to be listened to, whether we are 15 or 30. I hope they know how much I want for them, and I hope they know how much they deserve, and of course, I hope they see in themselves what I see in them.
And so, when I think about the fact that tomorrow morning when I wake up (the second time), my uterus will have been strangely alienated from my body, I can't help but be sad. I know it's not healthy, and I know I don't need to be thinking about having more children ... it's not responsible, it's not intelligent, and it's just not an option. But oh, how I will miss that dream... the possibility of another little one to take care of, the comfort of snuggling close while feeding my child, the hope in a new life.
And yes, I even know that I should shut up and be happy that I have been so fortunate to have two incredible children. And I am happy.
But I am also very, very sad.