Mating season must have happened in my office, oh, say, about 9 months ago, give or take.
Why didn't anybody tell me???
We’ve had two babies born within 3 days of each other, and 3 more are expected in the next 3 months.
WTF
Should I stop drinking the water here or something?
Prior to this point, I haven’t had much experience with pregnant women and babies. None of my high-school friends have procreated yet, and while Brian has a friend who popped out a kid last summer, I didn’t really know her all that well back then, so I was spared most of the goings-on.
Well, spared no more am I. Since this week has been a veritable Baby Bonanza, the women in the office (who comprise about 90% of the office, btw) have been swapping pregnancy, delivery, and child rearing stories all week. Now, normally this would be about the point where I throw up my hands and take a long lunch involving several margaritas, but to be honest, I find myself sucking this information up faster than a fat kid sucking up a double-malt milkshake.
The truth is that my own biological clock has been ticking in a not-so-subtle way. My uterus is collaborating with my brain and my hormones on a stealth mission to convince me that the only reason I’ve been put on this planet is to make babies. Not to travel. Not to advance my career. Not to experience life and love and wring every last iota out of life. No. According to my uterus, my only job is to be born, squeeze out an infant, and die.
So much for 4 years of advanced education.
And while my intellect has been fighting the good fight, telling my brain/hormones/uterus that there is plenty of time for a kid, and I have a lot left in life that I want to accomplish before being saddled down with a rug-rat for the next 18 years, I find myself losing the battle. I’m 27. I have a good job. I’ve already traveled quite a bit, and my clubbing/partying days are happily behind me. Hell, I’ve already been engaged, married, and divorced, which is more than a lot of mid-twenty-something-year-olds can attest to. So maybe…just maybe…I’m ready to start thinking about a family.
Of course, being pregnant is no walk in the park. Over the course of 9 months, most women gain between 20 and 40 pounds, only 8 of which are designated to the actual little person growing inside of you. So, yeah, you get fat. And sweaty. And hormonal. And you get up every 2 hours to pee, because that little person is invariably going to be digging his or her elbow into your bladder on the regular tip.
And let’s not even talk about the actual birthing process. I’m hearing stories around the office so frightening they make you want to run home and hide under the blankets.
The phrase “grade-4 rectal tear” was used today.
***
Allow me to give you a moment to let that phrase sink in.
***
I swear I almost simultaneously passed out and threw up. I'm never going to look at that woman the same way again.
And once it’s over, and you’re – *gulp – stitched up and ready to go home (and no, I’m not referring to C-section stitches. Use your imagination), you’re responsible for this child who is guaranteed to make your life a living hell for the next 18 years, if not forever. You will be sleep deprived until the point that you cry. You will be vomited on and pissed on and shat on and drooled on. And when they get older you will be tested and argued with and generally despised until they go to college, at which point all you can do is hope that they can support themselves and maybe drop you a Mother’s Day card once a year.
And yet…I want one. Well, my uterus, a master of persuasion, wants one.
What. The. F*ck.
I guess my massive intellect (*snicker) is no match for 2 million years of evolutionary instinct. Despite a B.A. in English and a crap-ton of world experience, when it comes down to it, I’m really nothing more than a walking, talking baby machine.
HOT!
So who knows what the next year will bring? Excitement? Travel? Marriage? A career switch to become a titty dancer in a skeevy south-Jersey strip club?
The world is my oyster.
The only thing I do know is that, in the meantime, I'm going to start drinking bottled water here at the office...just in case ;-)
3 comments:
I'm not even sure what to tell you..
First, I'm sorry you heard about some of the horrors of giving birth. That's too much information that no one should ever tell a woman thinking about having a baby. Let's face it, the human race would have died out long ago if women really knew all the gory details! Yet, we still do it. There is a good reason....I just can't think of it because I'm too busy and too tired to remember. ;)
Seriously, I get where you're coming from. I have two great kids and think I'm done with baby making, yet my uterus strongly disagrees. It's a big decision, and I wish you all the best, whatever you decide.
Also, in defense of that woman- having a baby and enduring the pain becomes like a battle story. I tell people all the time about my experience because I SURVIVED it and it is my badge of honor. It gets me sympathy for life from my boyfriend, and approval/Awe from other women, mothers or not. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I'm proud of it. However, I do leave out the part about....well, you might find out one day! And believe it or not, we'll want to hear all about it so we can sympathize with you and cheer for you for your courage and strength. It's one of the stories that bond us together. Motherhood is all about that - the struggles and the triumphs.
I'm sure it's not that bad. I'm on the same wagon too, only from the male side of the coin. I want to have kids but the wife decided to... not be with me anymore.
By the way, there are better strip clubs here in NYC.
: )
Hah, you're hilarious. I know what you mean though, it definitely baby making/having/talking season around my office too. I love babies (like, really, really love, as in I'm that annoying person who won't give your baby back to you unless you pry it from my hands) but CHILDBIRTH?! There is nothing I'm more afraid of. Things stretching, things tearing, things being in unspeakable pain... and then when it's all over it doesn't even go back to the way it was. Sometimes EVER. So like you, I'm going to hold off. And tell my uterus to shut up.
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