You called the other day with a simple question and it has thrown me into a certain angst. The question, "Would you like your crib back?" Crib. My crib. The crib that three of my children slept in, a crib that held laundry when not in use. A crib I recall picking out being full and round with baby Oona. A crib that held so many hopes and dreams.
Do I want it back? What would I do with it? But more importantly why would I hold on to it? Keeping it would mean there was still some remote possibility that it would be used. That my uterus would be used, filled once again with life. I thought I had come to terms with the idea that babies are a thing of the past for me. I have moved on to a new place in my life. But there it is, "Do you want your crib back?" It was like you asked, "DO you think you may have another baby?" I still can't answer the question. I picked up the phone several times to call you and say, no, I don't want the crib back. But I always hung up. I am in a nowhere place. Not ready to give up babies and not ready for grandchildren.
This still does not answer your question, but I have to answer it first and this I seem unable to do at the moment.
G.
