I received a massage this afternoon. A whole two hours of doing absolutely nothing. My mind was racing.
I felt so vulnerable under that blanket, completely naked. I worried about everything from the size and condition of my body to worrying if my massage therapist was bored. Yes. I worried that somehow I was boring her.
I thought about how I was going to floss more regularly.
I contemplated finally doing it… finally getting a personal trainer and getting into fitness again.
I thought about my friend who is having an abortion tomorrow. Afterwards, she will go back home to mother her children. I thought about my abortion. I thought about shame, embarrassment, and regret and how those emotions and words are so intimately mingled.
I thought about my children. I thought about the finality of my family. No more babies. I thought about the phrase “just be satisfied with what you have.” Would someone tell a mother with one child that same phrase if she were unable to have any more babies? Is it because I have five children?
“But you already have FIVE… how many kids do you want?”
I don’t know. But there is this unsettling inside of me. A longing. An ache.
I don’t have any fertility issues. I actually could conceive if I were to try to. But, that wasn’t the deal. There are to be no more babies here.
No more full, round bellies pregnant with the anticipation of a new life.
No more aching breasts full of milk. No more little bottoms to wipe. No more first smiles, first coos, first haircuts.
I should just be satisfied with what I have; I already have five beautiful, healthy children. I should think about how much time and effort a baby is and place that into working out. I should focus on my oral health. Finally get into that habit of flossing. Maybe even buy an oral rinse.
Then the massage was over. I was left alone in a room with my empty heart, a head full of wild hair, and mascara smeared across my face. Alone. I got dressed, tried to put myself back together, and thanked her.