Saturday, October 31, 2009

My ovaries name's are Benedict and Arnold.

As in, named after Benedict Arnold, worst traitor in American history? Yep, those are my ovaries. Now usually my ovaries and I have a pretty nice relationship; they do their thing and I do mine, we were good. But lately they've been pitching a full scale revolt. Lately they've been doing this thing when I see a baby or small child (mind you this only happens when they are being well behaved, my twinging ovaries are sneaky like ninjas and they know better than to try this shit when a kid isn't on their best behavior) and the ovaries start twinging and going "Aw hey look isn't that cute? Ya know, you could have one of those! It'll be sweet and warm and cuddly and call you mama.. " and suddenly my brain, the part that knows that a baby will also scream and puke and be very needy and live with me in my in-laws house, starts to forget all those things and turns to useless baby-filled mush. And then? That's where I start throwing punches. Because you see I've tried reasoning with them. Explaining very gently how yes babies are very lovely and I would like one but now is just not the time, thank you very much. Now be quiet. That didn't work so I had to escalate. It may seem drastic to start punching oneself in the ovaries in the middle of IKEA but I'm telling you, there is no other way. I can not lose this fight! And now my husband is on my shit list too. Because as we were shopping yesterday with my 7 month old cousin he actually said, out loud - where my ovaries could hear him- "I'd like one of these of my own" and my ovaries cheered, they had bells and whistles and a fucking marching band and not even the punches would rain on their parade. So if anyone knows where I can pick up some of these...

I'd be really thankful.