Inconceivable!
When I was little, maybe two or three, my mother became pregnant with my youngest brother. My oldest brother who is ten months younger than me (yeah get the wise cracks in now) was just as fascinated with my mothers expanding belly as I was. We decided, my brother and I, that if mom could grow a person in her belly then logically we could grow whatever we wanted in ours. My brother chose chicks and I chose kittens. For the rest of the pregnancy we insisted that we were both pregnant and would eventually give birth to our pets. To the best of my knowledge that never happened. Of course, I haven’t spoken to my brother in some time and he is into some weird stuff so for all I know I’m the proud aunt of a healthy baby chicken.
Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if I was. It seems like everyone I know is pregnant, just gave birth or had a baby within the last six months. People who weren’t even trying, people whose lifestyle seems entirely hostile to the whole concept of pregnancy and even people who I’ve secretly hoped would never procreate are pregnant and I’m bitter. I would say I’m mad enough to have kittens but I fear I’m not even fertile enough for that. This is the way it’s always been, everyone around me always seems to be pregnant. My theory is that I emit pregnancy inducing pheromones that while 100% effective on anyone within a ten mile radius of me have no effect on me. The problem is that now I am actually trying to get pregnant.
Let?s go back to a time when I thought I could have kittens and my only concern was if they would eventually eat my brother?s chickens. From time beyond memory I’ve wanted to have kids. You’d think growing up poor and surrounded by women who not only had a ton of kids but secretly felt trapped and cheated by the experience that I would prefer a child free life. I can say with all honesty that many women in my family had their kids to young and for the wrong reasons. That, being combined with the time and the way our society thought at the time made a lot of them feel that motherhood was not something they chose but a prison they were forced into. After all, girls were supposed to be barefoot and pregnant, preferably cooking a large chunk of meat for their man. That isn’t my idea of a fulfilling life but then I don’t think that’s the way motherhood has to be.
For years I dreamed of being a mom. Not because that’s what I’m supposed to do, not to please my husband or family or society, not to fulfill some fantasy or create someone to love me or so I won’t be lonely or to feel whole as a women etc. I want kids because I think that raising children is A. something I would be good at, B. something I would enjoy, C. that I would be a good mother which is something we desperately need in this society, and D. because I don’t view children as a chore but as a blessing and an honor that I am privileged to be a part of. Plus kids are cheap labor and no one really scrubs the underside of a car like a four year old.
Because of my desire to have children and even more to give these kids the life they deserve, I didn’t do drugs or drink. I didn’t party, I didn’t have sex, I didn’t get in trouble and I studied hard in school. There were times when I certainly wanted to be a kid and just have fun and get into trouble like everyone else; lord knows it would have been easier and more fun to give in. But every time I was tempted I thought of my little babies and denied myself. I was the picture perfect model of a ‘good girl’. Of course then I left home at 17, found out I was majorly sick, got married and pretty much cut off my entire family. Amazing how often life doesn’t go like you planned.
So here I am, twenty four years old with a maternal clock that sounds more like a ticking bomb and a free pass to baby land. After six hard years of work and school and struggling all on our own without asking the help of anyone, my hubby is going to graduate and get a fantastic job (cross your fingers) and a real home and it’s time to make a baby! Sounds great huh? It should be but after just two weeks of trying to conceive I had a major meltdown. I mean full blown combustion. I’d always assumed that it would be easy to get pregnant. We’d just stop using any kind of birth control and wham we’d be expecting. But apparently years of pushing the desire down and ignoring the ache in my heart that said something vital was missing I completely blocked out all rational thought on the subject. Normally I am in charge, in control and I know exactly what to do. I make lists and game plans and research until I have a clear plan of action. But this time I didn’t and I was blown away by how little I know.
So after two weeks of perusing infertility message boards, reading medical journals and articles on every pregnancy website, after stuffing myself full of steamed carrots and grapefruit juice and having sex until I felt like a turkey on thanksgiving morning, after two doctors appointments and fourteen sleepless nights and prenatal vitamins that make me feel pukey I found myself dancing spastically like someone having a seizure for the third time that day (because being fat effects your fertility) with painfully quivering muscles and bawling my eyes out while chanting “this is for the baby, this is for the baby” I realized two things:
1. If you?re going to cry while you exercise don’t try to wipe your eyes with a two pound weight in your hand unless you really want a black eye.
2. I am acting insane.
See, as much as I want a baby I want to be sane more. I figure, an insane mother is not what’s best for my baby plus I think crying while we have sex is starting to turn my husband off. I still think he’d have sex with me (unless mortally wounded men will have sex with you and even then it’s a coin toss) I just think my sobbing might make him feel he was inadequate. So I’m not doing all that crazy stuff anymore. I’ll do what I can as long as it’s something I feel good about and if I don’t get prego in a few months we’ll take the next step but in the meantime all this insanity has to go. No more charting temperatures and bodily fluids, no more force feeding myself things that look like they came out of a diaper and no more laying awake at night pleading my case to the creator.
It will happen or it won’t. I want it to happen, hell if it was up to me I’d have five or six kids, but if I don’t then my world won’t fall apart. I still have the very best husband ever and now that school is done with I can look forward to a disgraceful life of leisure as a house wife. Just think of all the soap operas and infomercials I can watch. Think of all the second rate merchandise I can get through QVC just waiting for a home in my closet. Imagine the various snacky cakes I’ve yet to sample and the weekdays I’ve yet to nap through. See, there are so many possibilities it boggles the mind! Lucky me! So no more craziness, we’ll just let nature take its course and in the meantime I’ll educate myself so that if nature doesn’t get with the program I know what my options are.
Wait, here?s an interesting article….Apparently if I crack a raw egg into my girly parts and then have sex I’m more likely to conceive! Remind me to add eggs to the grocery list. But don’t tell my brother. Something tells me using chicken menstruation as a lubricant might be offensive, after all his kid is a chicken.
Good luck and blessings, Prana