The Weary One

I was reading some of my older posts, like, back in November. They’re interesting, but I really shouldn’t do it. I was having so much success with WW back then, it seemed almost effortless. I was spoiled. Now I feel so stuck and lost and hurtling in the wrong direction.

What frustrates me the most is that I created this shitty situation. It’s no one’s fault but my own. Talk about impulsivity. I didn’t do any research first, I just jumped right on board. If I’d done my homework, I’d have known about all the side effects. Too bad the medical staff didn’t.

But in all honesty, I might’ve done it anyway, because, knowing me, I would’ve probably thought: “Well that’s not going to happen to me.” Or even worse: “I won’t let that happen to me.”

Why did I decide this instead of surgery at the last moment? That’s what I want to know. I’m really, really done having babies. Right? I can’t afford anymore babies. But let’s say I could afford another baby. Would I want one?

I don’t think so. Postpartum with Aislyn was really rough. I gained so much unnecessary weight during that pregnancy. I was tired caring for a baby at 39. I’m five years older than that, now.

What if money was no object at all and I didn’t even have to work? All I had to do was tend to the children. Hahaha, “All I had to do…” I make it sound as though it’s easy. I don’t mean to.

I don’t know. It’s hard to say. Because that will never be my situation. I will always need to work, and probably for a very long time. It doesn’t bother me right now, but I don’t know how I’ll feel when I’m a tired old lady.

I guess we’ll see.

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