A Funeral of Sorts

This photo was taken by Lucky Red Hen for my 30th birthday. I miss Lucky and I wish she didn't live in Seattle (mostly so she could take my photo more often,) but I wish a lot of things.

I've lost my fabulosity. That is if I ever had any. I mean, I think I had at least a small portion, but that is gone, baby, gone. All I've got left is . . . a pretty face.

Don't get me wrong, I'd give up my charm to have a baby. I know The Chief is worth my ever-growing boring demeanor (I LOVE HIM!). But I feel impelled to announce to the world that a candle is dimming. My candle.

Because of my previous amount of "spirit" shall I say, I've been invited to many celebrations as of recently (or so I'd like to think). Friends meeting here, friends meeting there. Though I haven't felt anywhere near as festive as I did, say ten years ago, I have kept up with most gathering this year. Sadly, I have disappointed myself at every occasion. I say things too bluntly, I complain of nausea, I work hard for jokes that go no where, I bore myself mid-conversation. After the event is over I go home wondering if I should e-mail everyone present and apologize for specific instances where I had mis-grace.

It is ever so tragic.

For proof's sake, at a recent outing, Chup and I were having a lovely double-date with another couple who share our love of . . . whatever (details not important to plot) when I noticed that the couple sitting opposite from us were actually laughing at Chup's jokes LOUDER than my own. What? Seriously? I am the funny one, he's the tall one. This reversal of fortune sent me into a tailspin.

Who am I?

After that night I have wondered about my state of personality. Where once I complained that my whole life was infertility, I now find that I am Pregnancy. I am Sick. I am Protruding. I am Headache-y. I am Silly. I am Proud. Why I can't be pregnant and friendly is eluding me at the moment. My pregnant self is allergic to good times. Will they ever come again? Now I wonder.

And it is not only my sociality that has diminished, but the physical-me is also foreign. I stepped on the scale this morning to see the needle reach heights I've never seen in front of my own two feet. I think about how all my life I've heard about female-ness being a physical burden that only the brave species endure. I used to laugh in the face of that crap. Cramps? Bring them on! Emotionality? Ha! But I hadn't met Pregnancy. Soon I will meet Labor. Oh help me I pray. I've never been so humbled in all my life.

Who am I? I am a grumpy gestating worry-prone energy leaking ever-expanding tragically serious no-longer funny female who loves feeling her baby swimming inside of her and wonders if her fabuloisty will ever ever return. (At least before menopause?)

Anyway, I can't wait to wear fishnets again.

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