I've been feeling really old recently. Turning 40 last year wasn't so bad. Turning 41 in June was a shock to the system. Particularly as it coincided with me being diagnosed with going through the early menopause. What fun. Just at the time I was about to go back to the fertility clinic to try again with another round of injections, inductions, in-whatever else they could think of.
Ho hum. At least I had an explanation for the hot flushes, headaches and truly incredible mood swings. A couple of months of HRT later and I'm feeling more human. Still partial to the odd low key tantrum, kilo of chocolate and mooch about feeling sorry for myself, but generally OK.
It was our son's 14th birthday this week. He's now as tall as me and I was brought low the night before by memories of the smell of his baby hair and the final realisation that I will never have that again. A couple of hours of mooching ensued.
Husband pulled me out of it by telling me that, if he was granted one wish, it wouldn't be for a baby. He would wish that I would feel better about all of this and enjoy our life together, just as it is. As he's been as desperate for a baby as me, that really struck home and I've started to feel better.
Of course, the fact that we've booked a couple of ski holidays for next year has lessened the blow.
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