So, tomorrow is the day I go in to finally see about fixing my broken girlbits. Am I excited? Wellllllll…sort of.

The sane part of me is doing a jig of pure happiness. (That’s a jig, not a jigger, people. Happiness doesn’t come in a bottle. Well, except the bottles marked Grey Goose. But I digress.) The sane part of me is saying, “WOOHOO! No more periods, no more birth control! YIPPEEEEE!”

There is, however, this not-so-sane part of me that’s piping up with stupid shit like, “What if you regret this? There’s no going back once you do this. This will likely mean no. more. babies. It for sure means no more biological babies. And do you really not want even just one more baby?”

To which the sane part of me responds, “Bitch, is you CRAZY? Do I need to recount the hyperemesis? Or the prodromal labor? How’s about the PPD — how’s *that going these days?? And lest we forget — OUR UTERUS IS TRYING TO MAKE A RUN FOR IT!!!”

Then the not-so-sane part says, “Oh. Right. Never mind me.” And it shuts up, at least for a little while…well, mostly until Tricia smiles or coos, and I realize that it’s very, very likely I will never experience this again. :sigh: