Jeffrey has seen things here and there that put questions in his mind. So far, I have been able to put off answering some of the more uncomfortible questions. But this week, he just had to know what certain sanitary products that he has seen on TV and in the house are for. I decided, he is 10 1/2, he can handle the truth. I explained very technically about how eggs are realeased each month and if that egg does not turn into a baby , it causes a girl to bleed. I then told him, perhaps more info than he need to know about how it happens to all girls once they reach a certain age and it happens every month. He took it all in stride, no disgusting look or anything. I said, 'Doesn't seem very fair to girls, does it.' Well, my 10 year old, ever the example of empathy paused, then said, ' Well, boys do have to stay on their missions for 6 months longer than girls.' Hmmm! 'poor boys,' I thought. Isn't their live rough!
Now, I am not complaining or anything, but I do sometimes wonder why Eve was so tempted by that fruit. I mean, if it had been a snickers bar, a slice of pizza, or a hot fudge sundae, then maybe all of this would be worth it. But a piece of fruit? When has that ever been tempting? And what did Adam get? Mow a few lawns, a few bouts with poison ivy, maybe a splinter or two. Oh yea, and he did have to stay out on his mission 6 months longer.
I have a friend who posted a picuture of her belly on her facebook page. She has the bare skin poking out of her shirt, revealing a perfect basketball shape and creamy, smooth skin. I wondered what my profile looked like. I stood sideways in the mirror and saw gaping stretch marks the size of the grand canyon. I turned around, yep, same ones there. I don't look like a basketball, but more like I swallowed 2 canaloupe--which lodged in my backside and one watermelon that hangs over--what used to be my waisteline. All that supported by 2 legs shaped like candycorns teetering on top of size 5 feet that can barely support the extra 40 lbs of fruit~!
But mind you, I am still not complaining. Afterall, pregancy does have it's perks. People are always telling me not to lift things. After 9:00, I can tell Rocky my day is over and he pretty much does anything for me. I get to feel a real life inside me. Hmm, I am trying to think of more, but am distracted by the little athlete inside the watermelon who is practicing kickboxing moves. I am still trying to figure out how 6 extra months of missionary service compares to 36 months total (with at least 2 more to go) of being pregnant, 2 miscarriages, 20+ years of menstration, cramps, 3 labors (with at least one to go) and the future of menopause and hormone replacement therapy, weight gain and permanent strech marks.
I could mention 7 months of post partum depression, morning sickness, heartburn, hemerroids, and stitches in places I don't even like to recall, but that would border on a complaint, which apparently I have no right to do. Rest assured dear Jeffrey, there is a great reward to all boys who serve that last 6 months of the mission. If you work really hard like daddy did, you can come home and find a terrific wife just like me who cooks your meals, sorts your socks, carries your babies, and never complains about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment