Thank you for your concern but I'm fine.
I started this blog for a few reasons: One - this stuff is really running about in my head at all times and I was hoping that putting it on virtual paper would ease the manic ‘what if...’ circles my brain will get itself into. Two - I have no one here to have these random conversations with. I am female in a new place and we females don’t make friends like the males do. Or at least I don’t. I can’t very well tell the parent at work I regrew my uterus during class. It would get awkward when her kid asks what a uterus is and then, before you know it, we’d be in a birds and bees discussion when we're supposed to be pretending we're at the zoo. The boss would not approve.
Rest assured, I will not put up or share online or anywhere anything I have not thought through. A lot. I realize that the Internet is forever. I am comfortable with the fact that someone might someday approach me and point and laugh as they call me on my prominent cervix or my bad grammar. I discovered long ago that I was prone to getting myself into pretty awkward situations and if I didn’t point and laugh at myself, I was going to end up alone or dead.
On that note, here's another awkward story from Wednesday:
After my crazy morning re-growing my uterus, I came home and spent some time moving some of the 4 cubic yards of much I had delivered Tuesday in an attempt to make our yard look landscaped and not ravaged. It was drizzling but that worked in my favor for a while. When it actually started to rain and I started slipping down the hill, I decided to call it quits. I was attempting to push the wheelbarrow up beside the mulch pile when I hit a bump. A small bump, I thought and backed up to take a run at it.
And that is how, at full speed, I ran the wheelbarrow into a large rock and the handle of the wheelbarrow, at full speed, into my pelvic bone.
The pain was pretty intense I almost lay down on the driveway and cried but, smashing my pelvic bone the same day I regrew my uterus? I can’t make that stuff up. Alanis Morissette could write a song about it. So, instead of crying over my possibly shattered pelvic bone, I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. Because really folks, this stuff happens to me and if I don’t laugh about it, I’m a sad, middle-aged woman with a broken pelvis, lying on my driveway crying.