In my quest to deal with my less than prime fertility, I've uncovered a new personality. Okay, maybe not so new - I suspect she's always been lurking just under my surface of civility - but she's been beckoning more and more often, inviting me to leave my gang of insecurities behind.
Exit, barren old hag. Enter, sexy sex kitten. Purrrrrrr.
It goes something like this: if I can't be the kind of woman who makes babies for her hubby, I can be the kind of woman all his friends want to screw. I've grown my hair long again. It is full and shiny, and, if I do say so myself, quite lovely. I get a lot of compliments on it, even if I think I'm having a bad hair day.
Let's not forget the boobies, either. They too are quite lovely. They are my solace, at times. If I had completed a pregnancy and nursed an infant, they'd surely be less perky. In my childless state, they rarely require a bra (bonus, because I hate bras! Oh, the humanity!)
I've also been told I have a nice rear. Hubby likes to tell me, when I go to work out, "You can do sidebends or sit ups, but please don't lose that butt." Apparently, wifey got back.
And so, when sexy sex kitten makes an appearance, all self doubt regarding my appearance disappears. Nagging thoughts about my flabby arms, large thighs, fat ass, chin hair and the like - gone! and replaced in an instant by a desire to show my assets (for all too soon they will disappear into the wrinkly mess of old age). I wear flimsy shirts and tight jeans and vamp up the makeup, and get a little thrill when men (Hubby included, of course) can't take their eyes off of me. I know I should feel objectified, or less than, or whatever my Women's Studies prof would have said, but it makes me feel whole. It makes me feel more like a real woman, and less like an imposter with a bum uterus.
I'm just glad Hubby's not the jealous type.