I’ve been a bit fed up in recent weeks. I heard once in film I think, that if your dreams aren’t working out, get some new ones!
Is there a statute of limitations on our dreams?
Now my gripes are small for the most part, but one or two are insurmountable: 1. I can never have another child of my own; 2. Any childless man who wants children is not an option for me. Yes, there is adoption but the hoops you have to jump through are daunting. And yes, a childless man might say I mean more than the gift of children but life has shown me that if somebody really wants to have children, that feeling never goes away and it would be wrong to deny it and end up feeling unfulfilled or worse, resentful of your partner. Someone in my family thought his current relationship would be his only relationship but he is young, younger than me, his partner is much older and has children already. He spent years saying not having his own kids was fine, but now as he approaches his forties the climate has changed and their relationship is in trouble. He wants children. She doesn’t and is now too old (in her eyes) to have a baby with him.
I saw on the news a couple of years ago that a woman without a womb had a baby via a womb transplant and I thought, “There’s hope…”. But not for me. It is a dream I have applied a limitation to, but honestly have a bit if trouble accepting almost 2 years after the hysterectomy. I still feel a twinge of anger towards my ex-husband for refusing to have another child with me when our son was six. In retrospect he was right because of the hell that was our “family” but it still hurts, that I could have had a beautiful daughter or another lovely son. I would have loved to have known a girl version of the two of us and our son is so wonderful that I know he would have made a brilliant big brother. But it was not and is not to be. I know I am lucky to have been able to have one child before my womb waged all out war on me. I was lucky to get pregnant at all and carry my son to 8 1/2 months as it was.
What else am I fed up about? I’ll share a few of things here. My weight for starters which is something I can act upon and have begun to do more about. I lost quite a bit of weight last month but recently, through being fed up, I put almost half of it back on. Damn it… I’m making a more concerted effort now because being in my forties I need to take even better care of myself if I’m to avoid a miserable, illness ridden old age. If you want to be well in your 60’s and beyond, your 40’s are the Last Chance Saloon.
I’m fed up with the cracks in the house that the developer and property owners are still doing zero about more than a decade on. My neighbour and I keep fighting them and they make one step forward then ten steps back. She got rid of her carpets, put in wood floors but because the wall we share keeps bloody moving (hence the cracks) the edge of the flooring is being pushed in and up gradually. It is so frustrating. So many promises have been made, some effort was put in a couple of years ago but because of the high turnover of staff, any permanent resolution is nigh on impossible to achieve. We’ve sent shitty emails, we’ve complained nicely, had people in and out of our homes checking, umming and aaahing and promising and agreeing there is a fault in the construction, to still come to nothing. They are taking the piss because they think we know nothing. Unfortunately for them we do and we’re not going away but without a solicitor we are severely limited in our actions and neither of us can afford legal representation. It’s a fucking joke.
I’m fed up that I don’t have enough money to have a break in the sun, say Italy or Greece with my son before he heads to Uni. I’m fed up that my ex husband (who never has any money and took out a loan to revamp the garden at my sister’s house, where he now lives) has been able to go on an expensive summer holiday every year without fail with my sister and their daughter and sometimes with my mum. Great way to make your son feel wanted… Now he could have chosen to holiday closer to home – or not at all – these past few years and I could have afforded to pay for our son to go away with him and them. This year that was never going to happen because son and father are barely on speaking terms after the Christmas incident, conjured up by my sister and which put the final nail in the coffin. My ex keeps trying to mend fences but our son is having none of it. Sad thing is, my son told me the other day that last year, things were actually improving but now, there’s no hope of a good relationship between them because of what his Dad did. It still makes me sad and I am limited in what I can do here. I worked furiously behind the scenes to get them to a good place and then my ex fucked up large. I can only counsel my son to not pick up the phone to tell his Dad to go to hell and even that is not so easy to do, particularly if he’s pissed about something.
The second part of my life looms large and I think maybe this is what we call the mid-life crisis. Trouble is, I have plenty on my plate but don’t want any of it! I’d like another menu please – send this shit back to the kitchen!!
The reality of living alone doesn’t exactly fill me with joy and it could go one of three ways:
- I get very fat watching movies and documentaries whilst snacking on the sofa.
- I plough into all the crap I have to do but don’t want to and feel a sense of achievement as I tick each miserable, boring, soul destroying task off my list.
- I change what I don’t like, do something new, get fit, meet new people and enjoy my freedom.
Perhaps what will occur is a combo of all three and potentially in that very order. It’s all such a cliche though isn’t it?
I’ve watched movies (yes sometimes whilst snacking so shoot me) with divorced men and women waving good bye to their kids, then joining an art or foreign language class, moving to Tuscany, falling in love and having a fabulous life after a few hilarious hiccups along the way. A friend of mine actually suggested I join a book club,. get back into swimming, etc – and so the cliche is complete! I groaned inwardly and gave myself indigestion. I’d never join a book club for a couple of reasons: My attention span is such that I read several books at once and it would take a really good one for me to read it in a week or two so the pressure would be too much and I’d be tempted to skim it and likely miss something vital. Secondly, the idea of discussing in a group setting what made a particular scene a stand-out in the story just makes me cringe. If you’ve watched “Date Night” with Tina Fey, the book club scene is exactly why I don’t want to join a book club!
I have good friends and family, great people in my life who love me, I have a job, a roof over my head, food on the table, I am not being attacked by my womb anymore to the point of death… But the bald truth is that I am alone. In fact I feel very alone sometimes.
And I don’t like it.
Not. One. Little. Bit.
I need to engage myself more in looking up and out and less on looking down and in. I can do it, I have done it but something is different this time. It’s harder to see a happier future for my lone self right now and perhaps it is because of the stage of life I have arrived at presently. I’m not alone in that – one thing I can be confident of – but where do similar souls go? Is it really art classes, the gym or book clubs? If so, nothing will change anytime soon! I like taking long walks and going to museums and galleries. I can strike up a conversation with a stranger but real life is nothing like the movies . You don’t end up in a bar together realising you have everything in common and wanting your life to begin right there and then. I can flirt but I lack the confidence it takes to chat someone into a date. I want to be found and swept off my feet. Yes, ironically, just like the movies…
Is there a statute of limitations on my attaining lasting happiness?
Quite frankly, time is against me at this point.
Drops of Sanity 