Project Runway recap is in the works...just wanted to get this one out there while it was on my mind
That title is only loosely related to anything in this post, and that's only if you get pretty creative with your association. But I couldn't help myself, as "Reckoner" is currently my favorite song by Radiohead, and I am GOING TO SEE RADIOHEAD LIVE IN LESS THAN 20 DAYS.
Yeah, that's right. Excited doesn't even begin to explain how I feel about that. But anyway, I'm not writing about Radiohead, not today anyway.
I am writing about my broken ovaries. Ha! I just pictured whatever male readership I've got going "oh great, ugh" and clicking the back button rapidly to erase that sentence from their minds. So, guys, once you've clicked yourself away from here, I'll continue. Or stick around, I'm totally okay with it. I mean, I'm not gonna get grossly detailed or anything; this is much more about what my ovaries AREN'T doing rather than what they are.
Namely, my ovaries are not trying, in any way, to entice me into having kids. And I am seriously beginning to think they are broken.
Before you try to convince me of my relative youth (27) and how I've got plenty of time to have kids, let me politely interrupt to say I KNOW. I don't feel old, I'm not worried about all my eggs drying up, and I am not concerned about making sure that I'm young when my kids are young, etc. So that's not the issue at all. My concern stems much more from the concepts of "ovaries speaking" and "baby fever" and "biological clock ticking". Because dudes, I seriously think either my ovaries, biological clock, or both are broken.
You know I live in the south, where it's perfectly normal to get married at 21 and have at least a couple of kids by 24. I mean, it's fine NOT to do that as well, and I'm certainly not suggesting that everyone here does that or wants that, but I am saying that it's not out of the norm or shocking to meet a 25 year-old mom with two kiddos in tow. And here I am, going on 28, married for four years (today! happy anniversary, Cody!) with no kids and no real desire for any.
Actually, that's not completely true. Every once in a long while, like when I get to hold my best friend Amy's precious baby girl, or when I have a particularly funny conversation with a certain 3 1/2 year old and meet her week-old baby sister for the first time, I have the "I could do this, couldn't I?" thoughts go through my mind. And occasionally when I see a mom and her kiddo out on the town, doing something fun together, I'll think "that looks nice". But honestly? That's as far as it EVER gets with me. In the next 30 seconds I'm back to thinking about toenail polish, or whether or not I'm about to run out of green tea and should I go to the grocery store for more? Ooh, and I forgot about these sunglasses in the console, I love this pair! Oh yeah, and it's 7:30pm and I haven't seen Cody or thought about dinner, maybe I should get on that. All thoughts of babies and/or having them are gone.
My ovaries never kick, prod, or speak to me, at least not about babies. Occasionally they'll convince me that eating yet another Dove dark chocolate square at 1am is a good idea, and every once in a while they do horrible things to me, like grow massive cysts which then rupture and put me in a world of pain, but they really never do anything nice and cozy, like suggesting parenthood, ever. In fact, as I think back on my relationship with my ovaries, not a lot of good memories come up. They may be trying to kill me.
I've been trying to reconcile this mystery with myself. I mean, I like kids. Mostly I think they're funny, and it's pretty incredible to watch them learn things constantly. They're enjoyable, for sure. If tomorrow morning I woke up and someone had dropped a baby on my porch with a note saying "you have to take care of this kid! you're the only one who can do it!" attached to the diaper, then I'd do it. I wouldn't hate doing it or anything. So yeah, if you want to get really logical about it, I COULD have a kid (I mean, assuming my Evil Ovaries would cooperate), and I COULD raise the kid and I wouldn't want to kill myself.
But shouldn't there be more? I mean, is that going to be my decision maker? "Well, Cody, I'm 35 and I guess it's now or never on the childbearing front. I still haven't felt any urges, but I can honestly say I wouldn't become suicidal at the thought of a child. I guess it's time!"
That seems like a pretty sucky way to bring a child into the world. Shouldn't I want one? What gives?