The Late 30s

This is a thing which I’ve discussed with my girlfriends, but hadn’t thought to put into writing until now.

For the last few years of my 30s and first couple of my 40s, a thing shifted, of which I was unaware, and in which (it felt) I had no actual part. I always knew that I would make a good parent, but trusted that becoming one was not a thing I could accidentally sliding doors miss. Meaning, and until today, I believe that if it is written that I am to become a biological mother, it will happen even if I’m 65 and it’s some sort of a quantum leap.

But. In my late 30s, my body took over, and made decisions on behalf of the rest of me. Really f.cking bad decisions, in fact. All of them related to men.

What happened? Every man I met, my body clocked as nothing more than a possible sperm donour. It didn’t matter if they had just risen on fire from a burning dumpster, or were addicted to cocaine, alcohol, and prostitutes. What mattered is that they had swimmers.

Here’s the best part – I didn’t know I was doing this. I didn’t have a f.cking clue, in fact, that this was my driving force. I only figured it out once the drive was gone; my body balanced, everything went back to normal, and men returned to being what they had previously been – a want to be appreciated, rather than a need to be held on to at any and all cost. Because bébé? Because bébé!

Again. I have never been driven by the physiological urge to grow a thing inside of me. But my cursed uterus took over, without the courtesy or kindness of a conversation with any other part of me.

Prior to this derangement, Jilly, one of my absolute best, had nicknamed me a ‘man eater’. Why? Because I could never be assed over them. If they couldn’t add to, and elevate my life, they weren’t welcome. They couldn’t meet what I bring to the table? Boy, bye. I was absolutely merciless, and I went through them like candy.

For a man to have captured my attention, meant that he was truly extraordinary.

And let me tell you – returning to this? What a homecoming it was and continues to be. It is truly good to be back.

Also, a big shout-out to my girlfriends (as well as my Male Counsels P and D) who endured the trauma alongside myself. You are each of you a Goddamned angel, and just one of a million reasons why you continue to receive baked goods from these hands.

To all else, I want you each to consider this a cautionary tale. Biology can really your shit up, so a very serious warning to those of you to whom this would in fact apply – watch yourselves. If you notice that your standards are suddenly slipping or entirely vanished, be extra mindful. Talk about this with your friends; make sure they reign your ass in when you can’t see the dumpster fire. Unless you have some extra fish skin laying around, do everything in your power not to accrue any burns.

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