32 years

happy birthday to me!...and to my son...

happy birthday to meeeeeeee

Is it too hard...?

I just don't get it. -What makes one man romantic and another bone dry?
I know a man who send his wife love letters to their house. Another man who stops by the side of the road and picks wild flowers for his wife.
Or take a man who just holds his wife's hand or rubs her shoulders. I just don't get it.

My man? Not a romantic bone in his body. I ask for affection. I ask for specific things. It never happens. I get so tired of saying, Honey, I need some attention. I get laughed at.

Last night we had awesome sex.
As we caught our breath, I said to him a bunch of sweet things, and how much I loved him; how he was the only one for me. You know what he said? He said, You know since the baby is asleep, you may want to try to get some sleep. Now you want to make a woman feel worthless,then do just that. He definitely made me feel like shit.

Is it too hard to make me feel special or that you care? Or is it just that I'm not worth it? Do I really deserve nothing?

My insides so crave that special love, special attention. I hurt so much where I should be full of happiness.

I just so want to feel his strong arms around me, telling me how much I mean to him, without the pressure of sex. Give me love and I'll give you all the sex you need. Just feed my heart first.

Is it so hard to leave a note? To bring a flower home? To hold me and speak words of love? To tell me that I am beautiful, even knowing that you lie...just to say it...just to hear it.

SM is my very best friend. He just isn't my romantic man.

In spite of it all, I love that man.

Been a long while

It's been forever since I last had a good verbal vomit. I lie awake at night writing this blog in my mind, yet never give it life.

Things have been hectic with the new baby and all. There is so much I could say from the past six months I have neglected my blog spot. But there is one thing one my mind.

You see, I had a secret. A secret I kept from everyone since I was 13. Not even SM knew, not my sister, not my mom. My secret was my sex life at that young age.

SM knew that I wasn't a virgin when we married. But I led him to believe it was only one man I had been with. The truth is that I had sex with three different men. Not that the number is outrageous, but the fact that I was a young thirteen is appalling.

He and I were sharing some personal things today and he asked some uncomfortable questions.
I answered truthfully. Even confessing that the second man was married.

Thank goodness that we are at the point in our marriage that we can share things like this.
I have been with SM since I was 17, and I never thought I would ever tell him. Only because I was so ashamed.

It was a horrible thing I did, not once, but several times. I was way too young and I could have messed my life up badly.

It has all ended well though. SM and I are cool as well as that heavy burden full of deceitful secrets I had been carrying around.

In my old age I tend to be more supportive than judgmental of people. Because I have been there and walked in those shoes. It is this reason that I have been able to help young girls with their personal problems without ever disclosing mine.

Also, due to the fact I have three girls myself, I have to be understanding. Understanding beside my shotgun.

strings and all

I find myself lying on the table, my legs in stirrups, chewing my gum and staring at a popcorn ceiling.
The tiny white sheet they provide not doing so well covering my lady bits. I hear talking outside the door. Piss, they passed by.

I glance over at the counter. There it is. That magical little thing. The one thing I have been waiting to get. It looks innocent enough. Yet I am still apprehensive. It's just the unknown of the process that makes my knees wobble.

And about that time the doc walks in. She explains what she is about to do and how it all works. I can't help but smile as the thoughts of what it's for runs through my mind.
She pulls it out of the package and my smile fades a little. I start to feel nervous.

Doc sits down on the stool and pulls the light down towards my lady bits. The light flickers, it's weak. She inserts the speculum. It's cold but tolerable. She begins the process.
Then stops. She can't see she says, the light is too dim. The nurse runs out for a replacement. Minutes pass by. Doc looks at me and says how uncomfortable I must be and gently slides the speculum out. My face is red.

Nurse comes back in and fixes light. The process begins again. This time it is completed. She warns me about the possibility of bleeding. Also that in order for it to settle in my uterus, she has left the strings long and will trim them on my next appointment. That's fine, I say.

She walks out. I get up, dress and go out to the nurses station. Nurse asks i I know how to check the strings. I do, I tell her, but she precedes to go into detail about the best position and insertion.

I leave thinking, I am gonna get me some tonight. I have just been installed with a sperm killing machine. I call SM, tell him he better drink a red bull before he gets home.

I go home, go through the rest of the day and start to feel something poking me. It's uncomfortable. I sit on toilet to check the strings. My legs are spread; I pull my lady bits open and look down. The freakn strings are hanging out. That's what was poking me, those darn strings. And they have been, every since then. I have to get them trimmed...a lot.

But the best thing is, is that visit made it possible for me to have sex as much as I want and to not get pregnant. So if I have to get through a few days of poking by a little string, then so be it.

I feel liberated and it shows, just ask him.

If it looks like a duck...

I swear. How dumb can you be.
Tell me you feel like there is something wrong. Tell me one day you hope I find someone who cares for me. Tell me you know you don't do enough. Tell me you know how horrible you are. Tell me how sorry you are.

And then what?

Do nothing? Do absolutely nothing? Are you kidding me?

(rhetorical questions )

Promise me the moon and stars; promise me some companionship; promise me a few minutes of your time.

And do what?

Sleep? Go to sleep? Are you kidding me? Not once, but again and again.

(rhetorical questions)

Ok, so now what?

I will tell you. And I do.
I tell you what I need and want. Tell you how I feel.
Tell you that I need you. That I have to share my heart and soul with you. Tell you I need you to touch my body with love. Tell you how I need your security. Tell you that I love you.

And you do what?

You say no...and you sleep. You justify it by saying some other time.

Well, you know what? There wont be another time.
You see what you fail to realize is that I supply your needs. You have no problems because I do as you ask. I am aware, compassionate, considerate, dependable and I am there for you. When you ask for something, I give.

But not you. No way. You don't have the depth to give like that. You know you should and even feel bad. You are even sorry at times. Truly sorry. But it just isn't there.

For that I pity you. I have an emptiness that is saved for you. It will never be filled; I, as well as you, know that. Yet it still hurts. Hurts worse by the fact you know how bad you hurt me. You know and yet you wont allow yourself to even try.

...then it's a duck...isn't it?
(rhetorical question)

My Absence.

SM read my blog. Disagreed with me about my reasons for blogging.

Asked me to stop blogging; I did. But now, I am back.

Had my baby also. One day I will blog about that. One day.

Out of the wild blue yonder...

I had no idea that a certain someone had such negative feelings about me.

It kinda came out of nowhere.
Actually in all fairness, there was a situation that a certain person created. I was a little worried...then upset...then mad about said situation. After I finally talked to the person, I learned some things that left me thinking where in the world did that come from. Things from persons own mouth.

Look, I even apologized for feeling so upset/worried/mad. Only to have said person tell me my apologies mean nothing to them. What the fuck is up with that? And then for them to say that I ruined their whole week-weekend for being so worried about them.

I can honestly say that I had no clue whatsoever that they held such low regard for me. All I could say was wow. Wow. I mean how can you even fathom that?

Out of the wild blue yonder came a bombshell. I wasn't prepared for it and it almost got the best of me. So, I type out my thoughts/feelings at almost 1am.

You know deep down inside me, I know that person is dead wrong. Yet I can't shake the feeling wondering if or what I ever did to give them that impression of me.

..........time passes, seconds, minutes, an hour..........no answer or peace still........