Revisions.

Most of the time, I appear to be a genuinely happy person. I have good friends, family and all that jazz but more so than not, I've got a lot of dark and twisty (Grey's Anatomy fans know what I'm talking about here) going on beneath the surface.

I have an insistent and neverending urge to worry and be constantly anxious about damn near everything around me. It's exhausting. It makes me crabby and one giant Negative Nancy when it surfaces, usually around events I have little to no control over. I feel like its my masochistic job to carry these worries around, constantly rolling over them in my head. It's ridiculous, yes, but telling me not to worry is like telling a dog not to bark. It's a waste of air.

So when I wrote this post last week, I was in full dark and twisty mode. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, I was anxious and worried to say the least.

Over the weekend, I had a talk with my husband about everything and I finally got how he is feeling about all of this out of him. And the weight seems a little less heavy and I seem a little less worried.

The I don't want babies of my own thing is a lot more complex than ever....and I'm trying to figure out the best way own it, and not let it bother me when people try and tell me, "oh that could/will change blah blah blah" because I'm going to hear it for the next 20 years. And I'm already sick of explaining myself. In a few years I can just start lying and saying I can't have kids...that should shut people up a bit faster on the subject.

Maybe if I can get over my own issues from childhood (try being chubby with gigantic early 90's glasses, frizzy hair AND a speech impediment and NOT coming out scarred) I may want to procreate, but right now, the thought of creating a little person to possibly go through what I did just seems wrong.