This morning I read some dumb ass article about when women should not become mothers. Not to my surprise, four out of the five "don't have a baby ifs…" applied to me. Awesome - off to a great start. This is why I should not savor my pointless decaf coffee in bed on the weekends and actually either a) join my husband at the gym or b) help my husband clean the house or c) do something else to be a productive, non-piece of shit member of society. Whatever.
Anyway, the article said not to become a mother if these thoughts had crossed your mind:
1. You think you'd regret not doing it;
2. You are doing it to appease your partner;
3. Your biological clock is ticking;
4. You are sick of people asking when you will have kids, and
5. You want somebody to take care of you in your old age.
Can anyone guess which one DOES NOT apply to me? If you guessed Stupid Reason Number 5, you would be right. I am certainly not carrying this shit baby around in my belly for the better part of a year on the hope that she is not a total fuck up and has the capability to earn a large enough livable wage to eventually set me up in the Ritz Carlton Senior Living Center. No ma'am.
As for Stupid Reasons Numbers 1-4, the author of this brilliant piece of writing totally called me out. Somehow she got into my brain, unlocked my secrets and had the audacity to publish them on Facebook. Clearly she missed the part where my husband and I busted ass at work for the last 6 years and are fortunate enough to be financially secure (until he buys a boat, or a motorcycle, or a second home, or hopefully some shiny bauble for my right hand middle finger…. Jeff, get the hint….) Anyway, the point is, I'm not stupid enough to create a human being so she can slave away during some of the best years of her life only to be stuck cleaning my adult diapers. Like I said before, myself and Benjamin Franklin plan to take care of that on our own.
However, Stupid Reasons Numbers 1-4 totally apply to me. I have to admit that it is somewhat scary because here I am halfway through this pregnancy with no real sense of urgency to raise my little bundle of "joy" and a much greater sense of urgency about finding someone I can trust to come watch her on Taco Tuesday so I can still go out. Sure, I want to meet her, but the overwhelming sense of her permanence is something that freaks me out. I seriously am such a selfish piece of shit. As I write this, we are vacationing with my twin sister, her husband and their kid in Miami. We just stuck the baby in the pool for the first time in her 7.5 months on Earth which was promptly met with screams and left the adults wondering what the fuck we are supposed to do with her all day. (Well, I thought that. Kellie and James probably didn't.) I mean, jesus Charlie, I have a nap to take and all the rest of the adults have been drinking beer since 9am. She is cute and all but... STFU.
I may or may not have written about this in another post, and since I am too lazy to go back and check I am just going to re-tell the story and if you don't want to read it, then go away. The first time we got pregnant we were sitting around watching golf, day drinking, discussing my biological clock, the fact that we probably should have a kid to appease society and what the hell else did we plan on doing with our lives that we couldn't spare the time to make a human and then spend the rest of our lives hoping it doesn't spend its whole life murdering cats. Was that sentence long enough for you? I am exhausted just after typing it.
So anyway we had the sex, and voila, baby in the belly. Seriously, our first shot at conception was grounded in Stupid Reasons Numbers 1-4. But after a lot of reflection (because I have little else exciting going on right now) I have a very big and special message for the author of the Facebook article I can no longer find which is… challenge accepted. We might have started out doing this for all the wrong reasons but they are sort of starting to feel like the right ones at this point. We'll see.