(photo credit: Jeltovski@Morguefile)
I’ve said I would remarry, but really? I think I could be happy as a clam living in sin with my Hotpants lover the rest of my life. The Beatles told us, all you need is love. They didn’t say anything about marriage certificates.
The main reason I’d remarry is, I’d like to have babies and it would be great if they weren’t born of wedlock. But there again, pre-marital baby making is the way in my family. Each of my grown siblings walked the aisle alongside a bride with a baby in her belly; the delivery room staff being very confused when—instead of the standard cry—our little ones were born wailing Mendelssohn’s Wedding March.
Of the unmarried siblings, two of them are teenage boys whose obsessive preoccupation with video games—to the detriment of their hygiene—effectively ensures they will remain sexually pure until one of them takes a break from Halo long enough to google, How do I stop being a virgin? And the last and littlest sibling? Josie Jo is two. She can’t eat a banana without first mashing it down her frontside, so it’ll be awhile before she’s shamefully impregnated.
Are you surprised I have a two-year-old sister? The thing about my father is, outside of having excellent taste in beer and bratwurst, he is Supremely Virile. My dad is 58. He has sired a slew of children (five) over a time span (30 years) in which his mustache has gone from being righteous to ruinous to righteously ironic, in an easy fashion that would put all but TLC’s Duggar crew and their matriarch’s clown car womb to shame. My father’s daughter in so many ways, clearly I’m not living up to my potential on this one.
Even as I lament the failure of my ovaries to produce the surprise pregnancy my birth control pills are successfully preventing, I still have hope for the future. Maybe the far distant future. In one fantasy, sunlight streaming through sheer curtains, a faded flower-patterned tablecloth under our plates, we’re having breakfast. In my hand, a foggy tumbler of Metamucil. In Hänni Jr.’s, a half glass of organic apple juice. Both of us are trying to pass something—for my daughter, it’s time before the bus pulls up to whisk her away to school; for me, the aged matriarch, it’s last night’s Salisbury steak and pureed peas which have become uncomfortably lodged in my increasingly stubborn intestinal tract. Looking up from her bowl of organic raisin bran, Hänni Jr. asks Momma to make her laugh. I take out my dentures, wincing a little at the relaxed suction and sticky bits of adhesive. I grin at Jr. My smile is all wrinkles and mottled pink gums.
I always thought that by this age I’d be a mom—and not just to hairy babies who lick their own butts and subsist on dry kibble (no offense, cats). Blame it on biology and the fact that in three weeks I’ll be 30, but dang it, I’ve got babies on the brain. Not ready to be a bride, maybe I’ll make a baby the way my mom made me, which is by accident. Yes, it might be nice to have something growing inside me … apart from the unease that one day I’ll find Salisbury steak and mushy peas a delicious and desirable supper, that is.
hah. remember the things I was saying in college re: marriage and kids? and here I am 30 and in the same sitch! Life is weird sometimes
accidents are fun, i am living through one now!
30th Birthday Party in Stumptown; can I get a WITness? (Anyone? Anyone?)
Also, I am primed and ready to be the best bloggy aunt EVER.
I married the first and so far only time at 30. Had my first boy at 33. My second at 35 (by a hair). Liam took one “try.” Seamus took a very long and painful year. I say to anyone who can afford it… don’t wait too long. You never know how long it might take… heredity be damned.
I too was a premarital gestation. Just put the cart before the horse a bit… but it all worked!
I like this post but I hate your comments form. It eats your comment when you forget to put your email in. Summary: I don’t know if you should have a baby or not, but it’s definitely better to have one when you’re old. You don’t need as much sleep and shit doesn’t bother you as much. It helps to have a baby daddy around though. Just so’s you have some help, not as a moral statement.
like I said, they’re easy to make… takes a bout a minute… or less. EASY!
When CK up there can grow the baby and have it himself we can have kids. Until then I am more than happy with kittens.
Hmm. Having a baby is a pretty normal thing for your body to want to do. In my experience, marriage needn’t be an issue. *cough* I’m the only one of my siblings who ended up in that boat, but thirteen years later, I’ve got an awesome, brilliant kid.
Making ‘em is easy. Loving ‘em is easy. Getting ‘em out is a little rough, but worth it. Dealing with the complications and responsibilities involved with caring for an initially completely dependent human life? Not as easy… totally worth it, in my opinion, but not easy.
I’m not into the whole “virtual baby shower” bullshit, but if you were knocked up, I’d be ALL OVER that. I’m just sayin’ is all. I’m not compensating for any of my own biological tickings. Obviously. (cough)
Hanni was a wonderful surprise, but joined her brother, dad & I, 7 years after we got married. Her dad busied himself with making those extra siblings after we divorced. Blessings to all. And…Hanni still surprises me in a wonderful way.
Surprise? I always thought you could kind of expect babies when people do certain things a lot, and boy did we ever! (blush) To me it seems that I was always just waiting for you to arrive and when you got here I was thrilled, as I still am. On another note, marriage to the right one – good. Fear…bad. Forging ahead with life -good. Recklessness … bad. Being in present time looking ahead – good. Stuck in the past looking backward… well, you get it.
You are hot. I would like to impregnate you.
Don’t wait forever;
How I wish I could give Josie Jo a younger sibling, but the risk of chromosomal disorders at my age (44) are so high. The chances of conceiving at age 41 (the age I got pregnant with Josie) are only five percent (unless you use reproductive technology).