The Ache in my Ovaries.

I have not picked up a knitting needle since June 1 for sure. Possibly since mid-may. This is the longest I think I’ve gone. I’ve pulled out the yarn, re-organized it, squished it, thought about re-balling the balls that are messed up and tangly, and promptly put it all back. There is yarn in my bedroom closet, yarn in my hall closet, yarn on the shelves. I need to do something about it. I need to knit.

Something happens when things change; when life turns in a direction that you hadn’t planned for. We lose our motivation to do stuff. I don’t knit, I don’t write. I spend a whole lot of time playing bejeweled blitz on facebook and staring into space, enjoying the fantastic weather we’ve been having these past couple of weeks. Are the people who have higher scores than me even less productive than I am, because I am a whole lot of unproductive when I play that game? (Also I don’t feel like a question mark really belonged at the end of that last sentence.) I’ve been staying away from it these past couple of nights, and I think I’m starting to feel better. For awhile it was all I could do to play that stupid, mind-numbing game.

And then last week happened. I spent my lunch hour on Thursday catching up on the feeds I’m subscribed to in google reader. If y’all aren’t using that to keep up with the internets, I suggest you start. Give it a whirl. (Incidentally I’ve also given tweetdeck a third look. I hated it the first couple of times around. Now I’ve played with it a little more and what do you know, it might be fantastic. Support for fb statuses is useful – I don’t have to stay logged into fb to stalk my friends.)

Back to Thursday. Catching up on blogs. Heather Armstrong recently gave birth to Marlo and her words and images are always perfect. Stace Dayment, while not writing much, posts pictures, and recently had Nina. (Both kids are girls.) And I think I read it totally late, but Amalah wrote this and I kid you not, I was a mess.

I don’t know if it’s because the odds are very much in favor of it never, ever happening, or because I was ovulating on this day I decided to read every entry written in the past month that had to do with babies. Girls, to be specific. (Really, I didn’t know it until after I had made the joke, but I *was* scheduled to ovulate that day.) I love my son. He’s the cherry on top of my mediocre sundae. But to know for pretty darn certain that this is it, no more kids, no possibility of dresses and hairclips, and that perfect didymos that I am always on the lookout for? It will be awhile before I’m ok with that.

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