I’ve never been the type of person that longed to be a mother. Quite the opposite in fact. I always wanted to be free. To decide for myself. To pick up and go on a wing and a prayer. I mean sure, I’ve had moments when my friend’s or relative’s babes were in my arms and I thought, I could do this, this could be really awesome.
But then he makes a squintchy face and a smell that could only be created by the devil himself emanates from his tiny bod. Or she punches her brother directly in the face only to take his nerf gun and start pelting him mercilessly. It’s those moments that connect me to my true sense of being. And I look down at my designer purse and think of my upcoming birthday vacation to San Francisco and realize that I am perfectly happy being the “aunt.” It suits me. I enjoy buying the cool gifts, letting wee ones eat too much sugar, and getting all the good hugs.
Nevertheless, I found myself wanting nothing more than a baby of my own the other day. But not for any of the reasons normal people want babies, like having this longing deep down inside or because I’m stable and mature enough to guide another human being on this crazy life path. You see, when I get depressed I surround myself with adorable little things that need me in order to fulfill whatever it is inside me I can’t seem to fulfill myself. But over the years this has meant our house has filled to the brim with abandoned farm dogs and forest cats—and during a particularly awkward stretch of time, some fish. And so, when I found the sweetest cat in our alley and was all ready to give it the good life the other day my insufferably cruel husband said no. Instead I was to walk it to the no-kill shelter and let someone else take care of it. Even though nobody could possibly love it more than I already did.
Then came a realization; he was right. I have avoided truly dealing with every tumultuous event in my adult life by burying my problems in puppy kisses and kitty cuddles. It then became obvious. I need to grow the fuck up. I need a baby.
*Cory, let’s go have sex.
Uh, sure, I mean um, during the day? Yes please.
You see we have to have lots of sex now because I’m almost done with this pack of birth control and I’m not going to refill it and we are going to have a baby.
Wait, excuse me, what?
Yeah, I’m bored and depressed and you work a lot but I can’t find a job to save my life so I get lonely and I want to grow a baby. And I mean that means lots of sex until I get knocked up because I’m obviously not going to like track anything so I’m sure you’re cool with it too. But after that I doubt I’ll want to bang for like 12 months. You know during the entire pregnancy and then some after because God man I’m not a machine…..I just birthed another human being!
I don’t know if I like where this is….
(Interrupted) And you also won’t be able to drink or do anything else because I’m sure you’ll want to be in solidarity with me. And you’ll have to buy me whatever I want because I’m moody and crazy now but I doubt that will be anything compared how I’ll feel when I’m sharing my body.
So you’re pregnant and get whatever you want but I’m not allowed to do anything fun?
WHY ARE YOU SO TERRIBLE! I’m growing your child in my teeny tiny body! I do look really skinny right now, right? It’s basically like I’m harboring a parasite that steals all of my food and makes me really fat. But I’ll like totally be one of those people who only carries in their stomach and doesn’t get cankles or a fat face, right? And then I have to shoot this watermelon-sized parasite out of my lemon-sized opening in terrible pain on the bathroom floor—because we are obviously good parents who will be doing this at home without drugs, right?—all the while trying to keep the dogs from eating the placenta so that we can dry it and put it in pills to take because I hear that’s super the thing to do right now.
This is honestly the best idea I’ve had in like 3 days. Why aren’t you answering my questions?
I’m not having sex with you. Eat your toast.*
And this is why even though I’m off this idea for the moment and did indeed refill my birth control prescription I’m 90% sure Cory is grinding up pills and making me drink them in my morning orange juice.