I have three babies and their names are Amy, Jennifer, and Selena. Selena is my favorite because she pees in her diaper when you feed her. The bottle looks like it has milk in it, but it's just water. I have lots of Barbies and stuffed animals, too, but my favorite toys are my babies. That's because I'm going to be a good mommy. I'm going to have a girl and her name will be Giselle, because that's my favorite ballet and it's my mommy's name, and she's going to have black hair and black eyes and skin just like me.
I can't believe it! Tom* and I are dating! At least I think we are. He kissed me two weekends ago and last weekend we hung out and went to see Titanic together. I mean, that totally means something, right? He's so sweet and awesome and I could totally see myself having babies with him when we get married. They'll look exactly like me, a little boy and a little girl, but with his blue eyes. We'll have the most beautiful little girl... I like the name Chiara, but Serafina is pretty and it goes better with his last name.
Phew. That was a close call. Have to remember to take that damn pill at the SAME TIME EVERY DAY. I can't believe I was so careless and forgot. Even though Mike* and I have been dating for 2 years now, I'm way too young to get pregnant. I have to finish college first at least. But, if it did happen, it wouldn't be such a bad thing, right? Not terrible. We love each other, and he's going to be a doctor, and I'm going to be...something important. We'd make it work. But it would be better if we waited until after he finishes medical school so that we could have enough money to raise a kid. And also because college is too much fun and kids would totally ruin it.
Oh. My. God. I'm standing here alone in this elevator and all of a sudden, these two moms and their 10 kids crowd in. It's summer and the kids smell gross, like sweat, worms, and dirt, and some even have BO! This is the first time I've ever felt claustraphobic inside of an elevator. Ugh, kids are disgusting. The other day at work, this kid came up to me to ask a question and, no joke, he had a dried trail of snot across his left cheek and a corresponding splatter on his left forearm. I wanted to vomit. Why do people choose to produce these little parasites? They're more trouble than they're worth. They suck the living essence out of you and leave you as just a shell of your former brilliant, spectacular being! Who would want that? And, not to mention, people who breed are just adding to the gazillion problems this world has to cope with. People who have kids are so fucking selfish.
I can't believe it. I found someone who is my perfect fit. I feel like everything is possible when I'm with him. I'm even starting to think that creating a life with him is a good idea! Imagine that. I'm in head over heels for this one.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit....motherfucking shit! Is that really two blue lines? No way. Take a deep breath. Calm down. Re-read the instructions. Oh shit! But really, what were you expecting? You, above all people, should know exactly how making a baby works. Yet you were way up there in the fucking clouds, all mad love and shit, and now you've got an embryo implanted in your uterus. Good job. I can't handle this. Oh God. I'm not ready. I can't be a mom yet. Life's too much fun...I'm in love, I'm young, I still want to travel. I've got to finish my schooling. I can't have this baby! I don't care if it is with the man I love. What should I do? Should I tell him? Maybe I should start thinking about other options before it's too late. Fuck. Can I even consider that? What's he going to say? Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I was seven weeks pregnant.
My embryo had a beating heart and all its major body parts. Would it have looked like me? Was it a girl? I call my boyfriend to tell him. He comforts me, but I really don't feel like I need to be comforted. I mean, I'm relieved, right? Not pregnant anymore. But all I can think about are how tiny those little arms and legs must have been and whether or not I might have accidentally flushed him or her down the toilet.
OK. Here we go again. This time, it was planned (sort of) and I'm hyping myself up for this. This is going to be great. I'm going to take care of myself while I'm pregnant, I'm going to read everything there is to read about pregnancy and doing shit the right way. I'm going to keep going to school. I've got a wonderful fiance who's being so supportive. I'm actually feeling pretty good and happy and excited. For some reason, I feel it in my gut that this little growing being inside of me is a boy. Not sure if I'm saying that so that I'm not disappointed if it turns out to be a girl. Whatever it is, I'm going to be so excited to see it. I bet it will have my dark hair and my fiancé's blue eyes. It's going to be perfect.
"You're kidding, right? But you hate being a mom."
That's what my husband said to me this afternoon after I asked him what he thought about us having a second baby. I didn't speak to him the rest of the afternoon, I was so angry. Partly because who the hell says shit like that and partly because it's true. These past 2.5 years have proven to me that my character is more suited to the non-maternal category: I have little patience, hate loud noises, am quick to anger, am filled with resentment, etc, etc, etc. I know that I shouldn't even think about having another kid and that I should just focus on being a better mother to this kid. And I love him so much, I really do. And maybe that's why I want another one. But I think that deep down inside of me, I know that my culture has instilled in me that big families are better, that having a single child is tantamount to abuse for that child, that every child deserves a sibling. But I also think that I secretly wanted what I longed for my whole life: a little girl who looked exactly like me.
Was that it? Was that worth going through all of the pain and agony, both physically and emotionally, to fulfill some 6-year-old-girl's fantasy or some societal norm? Yes. And maybe I need a redemption, a do-over. I can be a better mother. Now I just have to convince my husband.
Again.
I had an hour-long cry today in the car outside of the doctor's office. My son was worried that something was wrong with the baby. How could I explain to him that I felt like something that I never even had, had been ripped away from me? That I would never have a little girl? I mentally gave myself a slap and decided to get over it. I was going to be a great mother to a little boy. The best goddamn mother a little boy has ever had. I'll have a whole house full of men to fuss over me. It's going to be great.
Ah, fucking Facebook. Why do you taunt me with articles about photographing births and newborns? Of course I'm going to click on them, damn you. And now I am overwhelmed with a sense of sadness so profound, its depths are even shocking to me. I grieve for the fact that I will never feel another one of my newborn baby's skin against my own, their little fingers wrapped around my own. I grieve for the fact that I will never have the kind of relationship that some of my girlfriends have with their daughters and that I grew to have with my mother. I especially grieve for the fact that I will never be able to hold my daughter as she gives birth to her first child. That I will never know what it's truly like to hold the child of my daughter, to be a witness to my creation bearing hers.
Right?