Ah, Easter, and the pleasant boing, boing, boing of Lindt balls throwing themselves into my mouth. Easter, is a time when we eat even more chocolate. There is a mysterious series of leaps, or hops, between the story of the sacrifice of Jesus and the symbolism of eggs, and fertility and rebirth, and then chocolate eggs, and then rabbits, and then chocolate rabbits. Of course, some people are described as being “about as much use as a chocolate condom.” Perhaps that is the link. Theologians please note.
At my age, the abundance of rabbits and eggs on every supermarket shelf also reminds me that I no longer have any eggs in my personal basket. Hooray! Fertility is no longer a part of my life, and I love it.
There are two milestones in every woman's life. They come with the package. They are puberty and menopause: Whatever happens in between them are matters of taste, preference, luck, judgement, biology, geography, skill and cunning. Puberty and menopause are givens. The start line and the finish line of the hormone marathon. Of a woman’s fertility.
Being done with fertility can be a liberation. No more worries about periods, about leaking, flooding, pain and cramps, hormonal mood swings and migraines. Gone are 30 years of resentment over over-priced sanitary products.
No more worries about getting pregnant or not getting pregnant. No more staring at your diary trying to work out how late is your period, or blowing out birthday candles while wondering how long your fertility will hang in there? Gone are worries about how many children, if any, do we want? Too many and you may be seen as having them for religious reasons, or for benefits. Too few and perhaps you can’t, poor thing. Gone is the stress of suitable mating, years of ruthless sexual auditioning, as our DNA seeks out suitable DNA from the available males of the species, questing for stronger, faster, smarter, richer, more handsome inseminators and providers. (And we end up with our husbands anyway.)