Did you hear that? That was my inner banshee letting out a wail as -
through choice snippets of conversation - I gathered that another
colleague is expecting. Lapped again, naturally.
PG announcements still sting whenever they arrive (though less than
before Linnea was born), but I always feel extra sensitive while I'm
near or in a cycle.
I wonder if the banshee will ever tone it down to a croak or a sighing moan.
I can see myself at 60 - who knows lucky enough to be a grandmother
myself - trying hard to tune out the other grannies boasting about
their scores of grandkids. As if their conception, gestation and
successful delivery is their personal reward for hard work and right
choices. The innocent question "do you have grandkids?" will be met
by a dark look and gritting teeth. I'll be popular, I'm sure.
I can see myself at 90 - as my mind has set adrift - sitting in a
nursing home yelling at any of the poor nurses who appears a bit round
under the midriff. "You lucky b****!" To my roommate, a sweet old
thing, into mindfulness and such all over again, I'll bark "don't give
me that look, this is the gazillionth time I've been lapped since we
started TTC again. Back in 2009." The nursing home doc I'll greet with
"Finally! Now pull out your magic wand!".
When they finally cotton on to what I'm raving about all the time,
they give me a nose spray (saline solution) and keep telling me I'll
get to start stimming next week. It keeps me quiet, if not quite
I feel better having let that out.