The blue dot.

I was driving to work the other day and noticed a freckle on my right forearm. To be honest, I don't know if that's the first time I've ever noticed it, or if it was a new discovery at that moment. However, a freckle is as freckle does, and there was a (possibly) new one on my arm. 

I've got freckles all over me. Not in that adorable fair-skinned redheaded kind of way, but in a "here lets put freckles in random places all over my body" kind of way. No rhyme or reason, just random ass freckles. 

I've got more scars from cuts and scrapes than I'd like to admit, but the stories behind them are just plain hilarious. I won't bore you with all the details, but here's some of the highlights.

Left two toes: Near toe amputation. Filleted open my big toe, almost chopped off my index one. LOTS OF BLOOD. NOT lots of fun.

Right foot: Tore off my big toenail, tore open the nail bed.

Right foot: Stepped on the dog de-shedder blade. Cut the bottom wide open.

Right calf: Motorcycle burn. 

Right knee: Kneeled on a broken mirror, lots of stitches.

Okay.... So my lower extremities have been through a lot. I have a lot of scars, and I have a lot of freckles. That's all there really is to that.

So back to reality.

I was laying in bed with my folks and sister earlier tonight after work (not the first time) and we were just visiting about work and live in general. For those of you tuning in for the first time to our show, let's catch you up on what you've missed. I'm getting divorced. It is not my choice to end my marriage, but his. He finally has realized that you can't have your cake and eat it too. Except he chose the skanky cake. But it is what it is. Anyway...... So while I was at my folks, we were visiting about how I had recently discovered this new freckle and how EVERYTHING reminds me of my husband and generates a feeling or memory of what was instead of what is. 

He had a blue freckle on one of his knees. Don't judge me for not remembering which one. I still have to pull my pants down sometimes and look in the mirror to see which hip my birthmark is on. It may not have even been a freckle. (Did I mention it was blue?) It was really a dot. I don't know. All I know is that I've known it was there for forever. And what makes me sad is that once upon a time we used to sit and poke each other in the scars, and joke about how anything needing more than 5 stitches definitely warranted immediate amputation. We celebrated all the little scuffs and scratches that we each had, that made us unique and wonderful. And now we don't anymore. All of my little blemishes are ugly to him. It's terribly sad that he looks upon divorce as the best thing that will ever happen to him, and that I will never be gazed upon by him ever again. And I sit here and miss the blue dot on his knee. Or the scar on this thumb from a piece of sheet metal. Or the scar on his hand he picks on constantly, and has as long as I've known him. 

I still look at the two scars on the back of my right hand and remember how scared I was of ruining our wedding photos because they had barely healed by the time we got married. 

What a waste of time that was apparently...

6&7

I don't even know what to call this feeling.

So let's preface this whole thing by saying that I started back on my anti-depressants today. Against what I have wanted to avoid for months, I finally realized that it's okay to have something to take the edge off.

So take a trip with me, if you will, back to yesterday. Not far, but far enough. In the neighborhood of 9:30AM CST, if we're aiming for something more specific. I had my feet IN THE STIRRUPS, with the doc doing the "peek and poke" in my lady bits. So during the routine 150 point inspection, we are having the usual conversation about everything else going on in my life. So once again, for the umpteenth time, I told my doctor we didn't need to have the "making babies" conversation. Not my total choice that I'm not having/or haven't had kids, but more so a lack of interest from a husband who promised me forever, but has spent the last two years entertaining women who do have young children. 

I've gone both ways regarding having children. I love being an aunt. I have the best nephew that God could give me, raised beautifully by a mother and father who love him like nothing else. And his mother (my sister-in-law) has always welcomed me to spend what time I can with him. And he's so smart. I would be proud if he were my child, as his mother is proud that he is hers. I've had other friends "loan" me their kids when I need to satisfy my craving for fun kid activities. And I've enjoyed all the time I have spent with all of them. While I am not a mother, I can at least be someone they can look up to. Even if for a short time. But I am most definitely not a mother. I'd like to think that I'm the "mothering" type, and my group of friends can definitely attest to that. With respect to little ones though, I have gotten so used to the idea of being on my own, that I don't feel the need to be a mom. I've been married (so far) for 11+ years, and no babies. Most of the people I went to school with are already parents to 2.5 kids, and some divorced, remarried and even more on the way. So I really don't know. I truthfully feel like there is nothing constructive for me to teach a child of my own. So far, how I've experienced the world as an adult has kind of sucked. I don't think bringing a baby into this world is the right thing for me right now, or possibly ever.

Let's continue our time machine excursion to 7:30PM CST, yesterday. Visiting my folks, dropping off meds for dad, and mom is sharing with me a babysitting story. She was watching my sister's friend's little one, and they were watching the Olympics. They were having a dandy time apparently, and while sharing this story, my mom thought it was a good time to bring up how I haven't graced them with a grandchild yet. Now mind you, I'm the middle of three girls, my younger sissy is special needs, and probably won't be producing an heir, and my older sis and her hubs don't seem to be making anything happen on their end. (Not trying/not preventing I think they call it?) So that leaves me. To continue the family bloodline. I've expressed many times to my mom how I feel regarding having kids, and EVERY time I'm met with "you're just going through a phase" or "you'll change your mind" and "you don't need HIM to have a baby". She tells me that I should have hurried up and gotten pregnant when I had the chance, or to hurry up and find someone new to produce grandkids with. Never mind the fact that I'm still married. I don't know how long, if ever, it will take me to be healed from the inevitable divorce. I'm not in a hurry at all. IF EVER. But no matter how many times I've said that I don't want to have this conversation, it still happens, and it still ends in tears. And then I have to shake if off and move on.

So today, after sleeping my feelings away and reminding myself that I'm a dog-mom, and that's good enough for me right now, I popped a pill, went to work and had a great day. Made a delivery to a patient who is very special to my heart, who has one of the most fabulous moms ever. Then when I get home, I notice a box on my porch. Nothing big. Two-thirds of a shoebox maybe. Wrapped in plastic, with a fake bow printed on the box. Nothing came to mind, I wasn't expecting anything. Maybe it was dropped at the wrong house, probably for the same address on the next street over. So I picked it up and had a look.

It was samples. Of Similac BABY formula. Addressed specifically to me.

WHAT. THE. HELL. 

I don't click on ads for baby stuff. I don't buy baby stuff. I don't look at baby stuff online. Not to mention the fact that the last time I PRACTICED baby making was at least 18 months ago. Somebody PLEASE explain to me how I ended up with samples of baby products? Is someone playing a joke? Did my husband get his latest tramp pregnant before he left? I'm so angry that I haven't even cried. I skipped right past upset and am now tremendously PO'd. And if it wasn't deliberate, why is the universe doing this to me? I don't need any more reminders that my life has gotten to where it was. I already know that according to the smartest (or so he thinks) human being on this earth, that I am not one worth cultivating any type of future with. Especially a future that includes children. 

Pardon my explosion of negativity. Nobody wants to hear about baby formula. Like I said, I really don't know what to call this feeling. If you figure it out, let me know. Thanks. 

The End.

6/7