My dog keeps trying to bury his bone in the couch.

My head is throbbing, my throat hurts and I keep thinking I need to turn the heater on, even though it is 80 degrees outside.

I hope this is just a virus and not some infection from the surgery.

I went to dinner with my dear friend, a writer, and five of her other closest friends. Most of the women were writers. Most of them published. In fact, the reason we were brought together, was to celebrate my friend’s new book and watch her give a reading at Skylight Books.

She was magnetic, reading, and talking. I was so proud of her and honored to be one of the six women she chose to be there for her. She drew a large crowd.

As I listened, I was blown away by her brilliance. I feel small in comparison. But then I remind myself, that I am not a wordsmith, I never have been. I am a yarn spinner of a particular sort. I can tell my story well. That is about it.

I think.

I can write some poetry.

I think.

The fact is, I have never formally studied writing or seriously edited a piece. I have a collection of almost thirty short stories from my life that I have read around town, in storytelling venues, but that is about it. I have not submitted them. I have not polished them, like maybe, I should.

I was encouraged to write a letter or perform a ceremony for my womb.

It was from the director of my daughter’s new school.

So here goes:

As soon as I am done texting this guy James, a potential hook-up from OkCupid.


Now I can focus.

Dear Womb,

Holy shit, I love you. You have done an incredible job- pause to let this thought sink in- creating and sustaining life. Oh my God. My womb! You nurtured and helped feed and keep warm not only all my darling little eggs all these years but most importantly the one egg that mattered the most- my daughter. Oh Womb, I love that kid. She is something else, can I tell you about her? I think you probably already know, but she is feisty and sweet and goofy and smart and sensitive. She is the love of my life. Thank you so much for being an integral part of bringing her into the world.

I am so sorry for the times that I have hurt or mistreated you. You only wanted to do your job, and I forced instruments into your space and pulled things out. Things of beauty and possibility. But I wasn’t ready, or I was wrong. And I am so sorry for that.

I also shut you down on and off for most of my life. I stopped you from doing your job when shit got real. I couldn’t handle the womanness you brought every month. At times, I wished you dead and gone away. I hated fearing what you could do. That never felt good. And how feminine you made me.

I wanted to be like a man. Cold. Callous, and able to walk away, and forget.

You wouldn’t let me.

You kept me soft and squishy. My heart open and curious.

Until I met someone who was willing to merge.

And then you were ON sister. This was your arena. Your game.

You had it.

You nailed it!!!

My daughter is PERFECT!!

If I had messed with any of it, I would have failed miserably.

But not you. WOMB. You killed it.

That did not sound right.

You LIFED it!!

You did!

Now I am paranoid that I am using too many exclamation points.

“It’s like laughing at your own personal joke”




I can’t even touch the abortion I had after giving birth to my daughter. I can’t. I can’t even go there. You know how much I grieved that. You know that shit hurt in a way that I have never fully recovered from. My marriage certainly never did.

And I can’t go back right now. I can’t. I just can’t.

SO I beg of you, to PLEASE please forgive me for this last atrocity that I put you through.

I never want to feel that way again.

Plus I am TOO OLD! I know you think you got viable eggs up the wazoo in there and think I am crazy for feeling that way but here is the deal, I am tired, a lot of the time, being an older mom and I just can not see how I could be the best of me going through another newborn experience AGAIN. With a kid already!

Plus, my daughter even said she didn’t want a sibling.

And you heard what all those astrologers said, baby number two was no bueno.

I can’t fathom it. Having two. There is no reality that looks appealing when I imagine that.

Tubal Ligation honestly seemed like the best form of birth control for me. I know it was severe. I know. And I know how much it hurt. We are still both hurting.

But I know we will get past this. We will persevere. And we could even wind up closer than ever.

Because from now on, I can’t hurt you anymore.

I let you go. I leave you in peace.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

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