Just a heads up: this is going to be somewhat of a girly post. But don't worry, my male readers. Even though there will be no testosteroney tales about rolling around on a mat trying to choke out sweaty men, I promise to throw in the occasional reference to boobs. And in order to help you out I will even put them in bold.
Boobs.
There, wasn't that nice.
Every month I have a little dialogue with myself. It goes something like this:
Me: So, it's about that time sweetheart. You feel that headache? Those achy muscles. Yup, you know what that means. Your monthly buddy is on her way.
Other me: Hooray! I like feeling exhausted and moody and slightly anemic for three days. I can't wait!
Me: But at least you're not pregnant.
Other me: Yes there's that.
Me: Hmm. What if we made a mistake last month? What if you don't get your period this time? What if you do, in fact, have a bun in the oven RIGHT NOW?
Other me:_
Boobs!
(I thought you might need it. After all, I was talking about the unmentionable......ewwww....don't say it.....yeah I'm gonna.....my PERIOD. I know how you dudes feel about that.)
I am a grown woman and sometimes my husband and I have sex. I know that this is how babies are made so we are very careful. There is absolutely no logical reason why I would have to worry about pregnancy. We are VERY careful. Still, there is always a few moments every month, while I am awaiting Auntie Flo, that I contemplate the what ifs.
Before becoming a parent, like when I was young and carefree and clueless, I used to say what most people say. That I wanted two kids. A girl and a boy would be perfect of course, although I was aware that I did not get to choose. Then I had Maya. I had a very easy pregnancy, very little sickness, lots of energy. (Except during the first trimester where all I wanted to do was nap.) I remained active, ate healthy, gained very little weight, slept ok until the end. So I can't complain. But still, I hated being pregnant. Mostly, because of how long it took. Months and months and months and guess what? Still freakin pregnant! Seriously, it went on forever.
As much as I despised walking around with a basketball for a belly, once Maya was born it was great. I really LOVE being a mom. It is a testament to the power of nature that parents can honestly love being parents when so much of it sucks balls. All the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the stinky diapers, not to mention the hitting and the times she calls you the "worst mommy EVER", all that and I still love my daughter to pieces. Sometimes I just look at her in awe, amazed that I could love something so very much.
Boobs.
(Still with me fellas? Good. It's all downhill from here, I promise.)
The thing is, I always wanted to be a mom. It was on my mental to-do list, along with become a black belt (did that!) and spend a year living in a tiny house in Florence. (I know, I know. But I used to be all dreamy and romantic. I used to write poetry, for chrissake!) So now I have Maya and it's going great. (Mostly) I am a mom. Check that one off the list.
It's not that it wouldn't be nice to have a cute little baby around. It would. For about a month. Maybe two. Hell, maybe even six. I would relish in the sweet baby smell, the bond of nursing, the wonder of his first tiny giggle. It's all the other stuff that I do not want to do again. I don't want another one year old. Or another terrible two year old. Another putting everything in her mouth stage. Another frustrated screaming because he doesn't know how to say "I am HUNGRY mommy. Give me your boobs" stage.
(The hidden boobs are the best aren't they?)
Maya is in school now. And I am selfish. I like to write my blog in the quiet of my living room. I like to sleep through the night. I like doing jiu-jitsu. I don't want to take ten months off of training so I can grow another watermelon in my belly. I don't want to attempt to push said watermelon out of my hoo-ha again.
So every month I get my period, and despite the extreme unlikelihood of my getting pregnant, I feel a touch of relief every time. But for some reason I also feel a little guilty. As if my choices, my selfishness, is something bad. As if it is not good enough to work my ass off try to be the best mommy I can to one beautiful little girl. As if I am not a real mommy unless I give her a little brother or sister.
As if there is something wrong with liking my life exactly the way it is now.
Anyone else feel this way?
My devoted male readers, if you have come this far with me you are troopers. (Or your wives are making you read my blog.) I will leave you with this.
-
-
-
-
-
-
Aren't boobs great?
Boobs.
There, wasn't that nice.
Every month I have a little dialogue with myself. It goes something like this:
Me: So, it's about that time sweetheart. You feel that headache? Those achy muscles. Yup, you know what that means. Your monthly buddy is on her way.
Other me: Hooray! I like feeling exhausted and moody and slightly anemic for three days. I can't wait!
Me: But at least you're not pregnant.
Other me: Yes there's that.
Me: Hmm. What if we made a mistake last month? What if you don't get your period this time? What if you do, in fact, have a bun in the oven RIGHT NOW?
Other me:_
Boobs!
(I thought you might need it. After all, I was talking about the unmentionable......ewwww....don't say it.....yeah I'm gonna.....my PERIOD. I know how you dudes feel about that.)
I am a grown woman and sometimes my husband and I have sex. I know that this is how babies are made so we are very careful. There is absolutely no logical reason why I would have to worry about pregnancy. We are VERY careful. Still, there is always a few moments every month, while I am awaiting Auntie Flo, that I contemplate the what ifs.
Before becoming a parent, like when I was young and carefree and clueless, I used to say what most people say. That I wanted two kids. A girl and a boy would be perfect of course, although I was aware that I did not get to choose. Then I had Maya. I had a very easy pregnancy, very little sickness, lots of energy. (Except during the first trimester where all I wanted to do was nap.) I remained active, ate healthy, gained very little weight, slept ok until the end. So I can't complain. But still, I hated being pregnant. Mostly, because of how long it took. Months and months and months and guess what? Still freakin pregnant! Seriously, it went on forever.
As much as I despised walking around with a basketball for a belly, once Maya was born it was great. I really LOVE being a mom. It is a testament to the power of nature that parents can honestly love being parents when so much of it sucks balls. All the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the stinky diapers, not to mention the hitting and the times she calls you the "worst mommy EVER", all that and I still love my daughter to pieces. Sometimes I just look at her in awe, amazed that I could love something so very much.
Boobs.
(Still with me fellas? Good. It's all downhill from here, I promise.)
The thing is, I always wanted to be a mom. It was on my mental to-do list, along with become a black belt (did that!) and spend a year living in a tiny house in Florence. (I know, I know. But I used to be all dreamy and romantic. I used to write poetry, for chrissake!) So now I have Maya and it's going great. (Mostly) I am a mom. Check that one off the list.
It's not that it wouldn't be nice to have a cute little baby around. It would. For about a month. Maybe two. Hell, maybe even six. I would relish in the sweet baby smell, the bond of nursing, the wonder of his first tiny giggle. It's all the other stuff that I do not want to do again. I don't want another one year old. Or another terrible two year old. Another putting everything in her mouth stage. Another frustrated screaming because he doesn't know how to say "I am HUNGRY mommy. Give me your boobs" stage.
(The hidden boobs are the best aren't they?)
Maya is in school now. And I am selfish. I like to write my blog in the quiet of my living room. I like to sleep through the night. I like doing jiu-jitsu. I don't want to take ten months off of training so I can grow another watermelon in my belly. I don't want to attempt to push said watermelon out of my hoo-ha again.
So every month I get my period, and despite the extreme unlikelihood of my getting pregnant, I feel a touch of relief every time. But for some reason I also feel a little guilty. As if my choices, my selfishness, is something bad. As if it is not good enough to work my ass off try to be the best mommy I can to one beautiful little girl. As if I am not a real mommy unless I give her a little brother or sister.
As if there is something wrong with liking my life exactly the way it is now.
Anyone else feel this way?
My devoted male readers, if you have come this far with me you are troopers. (Or your wives are making you read my blog.) I will leave you with this.
-
-
-
-
-
-
Aren't boobs great?
Motherhood is complicated and tends to be mythologized. While it is exciting and rewarding, it is also demanding and dificult, always worried about being on the edge of disaster. There are emotional aspects and financial aspects and physical aspects. No one needs to explain why they want . . . or don't want . . . to have a baby. : )
ReplyDelete(and yes, sometimes I feel the same way. Sometimes I am also sad to not have a baby around!)