I know I've been a bit absent lately.
reading, writing, commenting... the whole bit.
Truth is, I had a hard week.
It's not often that I'm at a loss for words.
But you see, January Seventh came.
It came. And then it went.
And January the seventh marked the one year anniversary of my hysterectomy.
I thought I would be fine. I thought the day would be just like any other.
Turns out, I was wrong.
I still don't know how I feel about the whole thing.
Of course, I'm grateful that I'm still here.
Grateful that I'm not in pain.
But I'm confused.
Am I considered infertile? maybe.
Barren? definitely.
But it's just that those words are more in tune with another definition. One that I don't fit in to at all.
Infertility implies trying. Trying and not getting anywhere.
I was the complete opposite of that.
I mean, I AM infertile... now. I recognize that.
It's just that I don't think that's my personal definition.
Of course, I don't think there is a one word definition for a girl that had a hysterectomy at the age of twenty six.
Twenty. Six.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
Because I had options. I had choices.
And now, at twenty seven, my life is pretty much planned out.
It's set.
Sure, some things will change, they always do.
But BIG things, exciting life changing things... those are gone.
I still don't know how to eloquently dodge the questions I get whenever I meet somebody new.
"So, four kids! Gonna have another one?"
No. No I'm not.
"Oh, well, you never know!"
Yes you do. I know. We're done.
"Sometimes things surprise you!"
And sometimes they don't.
It's not that I'm sad.
I realize how blessed I am.
I have four great kids.
A husband who loves me.
A home of my own.
And my faith.
But every now and then, the resentment creeps in.
Why me? I ask.
I'm still putting those puzzle pieces together.
Sorting through my life, trying to make it all fit.
The only thing I know,
The only thing that comforts me,
Is that He has a plan.
And He must know something I don't.
