The next baby step....and the baby misstep

New Fella and I were talking about his team's latest football game tonight. His team is undefeated, with four more games in the season. Keep in mind, he works in another town, so seeing one of these games is logistically difficult for me. But I'd love to see him in action, so I've been wishing for a chance to do just that.

There's a game on Saturday. I just might be able to make it on a Saturday.

So, I asked him. "Would you mind if I came to see a game?" There was a pause. Then he laughed. "That would be fine, but it's a hell of a long drive!" Okay, so the perfect answer would have been, "That's great! I'll pick you up and we can go together!" But he didn't think of that. Okay.

Still, this is my first venture out with him on his turf, among his friends and colleagues. His best friend is one of the people he works with. He has his home life and his school life. So, this could be...something. Or nothing. We'll see if he lets me into his school life as much as he has his home life.

In other news, I think I figured out a small part of why the fast track to sex may have backed off a little.... And I think it's my fault.

A couple of weeks ago, we were at a restaurant and at the table next to us was a family, with a baby and small children. They were adorable! We did a lot of smiling and waving at them. Laughing when they laughed.

Then, I made a comment. "Sometimes, I miss my kids being that little," I said. I do. They were so cute! And sweet! And now my son is 16 and ugh!

But I looked up and saw New Fella shoot me a look. It was that moment of panic guys have when women talk about babies. The look that said Babies?! You want more babies?! And I let it go. Silly me. Certainly he knows that, at nearly-40, I'm done with babies...right? Right?

Maybe not, silly-Blogget-girl.

This occurred to me during a conversation we had the other night. I was babbling about my week ahead. We have this conversation every Sunday night. He was tired and yawny, and I was on about what I needed to accomplish this week. On my "to-do" list is some bloodwork that my new doctor wants, and that I've procrastinated on.

"I just don't look forward to arguing with another doctor about why I don't want to be on hormone replacement therapy," I said. He's quite suddenly silent. Oh great, I thought. My verbal diarrhea has led to over-sharing.... Just great.

"Well," he says, picking his words. "Why would you need to be on that?" He's not sounding sleepy anymore. He's alert.

Oh bother. My little over-sharing is about to become BIG over-sharing, but it's too late to bail. This horse is about out of the barn.

"Because....I had a complete hysterectomy in 2001." Yessir, I've been spayed.

"Well," he said, picking again. "Why did they do that?"

Sigh. Too many details, too soon. "I was just having a lot of bad problems."

I expected a silence that didn't come. He didn't miss a beat. "I'm sorry," he said. I assured him it was okay. I had decided I didn't want more children. It was a good decision.

He headed off to sleep and I've been thinking about that conversation ever since. His entire tone changed during that small exchange. You could hear the light bulb coming on -- but what light bulb? My gut feeling is that he was afraid I wanted another baby, and at 51 I'm sure he doesn't. So, what if there was an "accident"? But he just learned that's completely impossible.

Again, we'll see....