The whole concept of the hysterectomy catches me at the oddest moments.
The other day it was in the pharmacy, picking up Azo, which they keep with pregnancy tests. And realizing I will never need another. I’m okay with that.
Someone will ask about mama cloth, or heavy periods post baby, and I realize that is something I will not need. Ever. No more periods. The tiny bit of bleeding I still have is nothing like a period, nothing like lochia, it is just so different. That rhythm is gone. And I feel relieved.
Things for little babies… realizing I will never buy newborn diapers for my own baby again. Seeing newborns, and being utterly okay with the idea that there will not be one of my own anymore. Miles has no newborn left, he is barreling down on toddlerhood full force with all his baby might. He hasn’t been a newborn since he was about a month and a half old. Shiny was a newborn forever, is still barely not a toddler, and he will be through and past that so very soon. I’m dizzy with it. And yet, I see people mourning how not-baby their babies are, regretting not cherishing every baby moment… and I think I did. I spent almost 9 months cocooning with him *after* he was born, and it was enough.
It does not feel like a loss. Just a moving on. The only twinge of an inkling of a regret is that I kind of wish she’d shown it to me. Except I did ask if it was possible, didn’t push it because I didn’t actually care that much, and no one had ever asked her that before. My friable cervix, friable uterus, a weakness at the core, it did what I needed it to do, not very gracefully, not very easily, but well enough, I suppose. And mostly I’m just very, very, very glad it is gone. If I wasn’t so utterly done with babies I might feel differently, but I’m done, and it’s gone, and I’m glad. I’ll find another way to say goodbye to that. Maybe I already have. There is an odd similarity between how I feel about it and how I felt after my mother in law’s passing, strange as that may sound. An intense rush of complex emotion that mingles relief and regret, honoring a job well done and a less than graceful end.
For whatever reason, I’ve lost 10 pounds since the surgery. Without trying.
I will never have another period. Or need to take another pregnancy test. Or have another pregnancy. Or a postpartum. I feel like I ought to feel some sense of loss over that. But we’re all here. And I don’t need that anymore. It feels like one less thing dragging me down.
