Tuesday, August 14, 2012

And then there was the time that I talked about my lady parts in public.

Breaking news: I’m not a mom and my eggs are drying up. Also, I need a pedicure. But not in that order.
So I’m sure it’ll come as a really big surprise to all of you that I am not, in fact, hiding a child somewhere in my one bedroom apartment in between my “Donna Martin Graduates” t-shirt and my glitter shoes However, people like to check in every once in a while (read: monthly) to make sure that I’m (a) not already a mother and (b) aware of the fact that TIME IS RUNNING OUT AND YOU MUST PANIC-PROCREATE IN ORDER TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE ANXIETY I’M HAVING OVER YOUR VAGINA! Or something. And when I say “people,” I mean complete strangers.

Example: In line for coffee this morning, there was a woman and a young girl (maybe 5? Or 11, I have no idea about kids and their ages) standing a few people in front of me and the girl was being cute because she was little and cute, and that’s what kids do when they’re not screaming. There was also a 40-something year old woman (again with the guessing, could’ve been 15) who repeatedly commented to me about how cute the little girl was.

And then this happened:

40/15 year old woman: “Isn’t she adorable?”
Me: “Yeah, she’s cute.”
40/15 year old woman: “Do you have kids?”
Me, laughing: “Nope, no kids.”
40/15 year old woman, in shock: “What?! Oh, you really must.”
Me: “Like, here in line?”
40/15 year old woman, not getting the joke: “You really won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t do that.”
Me, pointing to the woman with the little girl: “Maybe I can just take her?”
40/15 year old woman, still not getting it: “Why don’t you want kids?”

Insert Scooby Doo sound here.

Me: “Uh…..”

40/15 year old woman: “Women from your generation really think that the world revolves around you and your time table. But you’re going to wake up one day and you’re going to want children and you won’t be able to because you’re too old.”

Cut to: me laughing awkwardly, looking around for someone to save me, then deciding that I didn’t really need coffee all that badly (lies) and leaving the line.

I do realize – and I’m pretty sure that this is written in the Constitution somewhere – that I could’ve just punched her in the face and it would’ve been justified. But, I’m not great on my feet, especially when strangers start talking about my reproductive abilities and desires, and so usually I just walk away and feel really weird for about 20 minutes.

I also start to panic-analyze why I don’t have a kid, until I realize that it’s because I’m actually not a selfish basketcase who had babies a few years ago to satisfy the anxiety that the woman in line feels over my childlessness. I mean, I’m a basketcase, but for totally legit and not-baby reasons.

Also, perhaps it’s none of your business, perfect stranger?

I mean, I get it. And I’m not here to have a debate over the right age to have a child. We all live in, you know, society. I read. I hear stuff. So I know that whatever might come to pass, it’ll fall into the realm of “DANGER! DANGER!”, or, as the gynecologist likes to so delicately call it, “A Geriatric Pregnancy.” You know, just to ensure that I definitely feel awesome when I leave her office.

Hang on, let me just grab my walker……..

I don t know what you re talking about, I have YEARS until I have to think about kids. Let s party!

Anyway, I just wanted to make sure that everyone was up-to-date regarding the goings-on inside my lady parts. You know, because I’ve already done some over-sharingthis week and wanted to make sure that I kept the trend going. Plus, I wanted to make sure that I cleared up any questions about whether or not I was actually thinking of making babies like a Duggar sometime this century, or if I was actually already a mom who has just been waiting for the right time to bring the kids out and surprise everyone with 'em at a party or something. I mean, that’s what you have kids for anyway, right?

See? I’m totally ready to be a mom, perfect strangers. I’m so glad you asked.

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