I want to get pregnant.
OK, not really. I do have a morbid fascination with being pregnant, with all that’s going on inside your lady organs, except I don’t want to actually have to haul the baby around the next 18 years. Or maybe it’s I want a baby, I just don’t want to be pregnant.
Truth be told, I can’t decide what I’m having for dinner tonight (Frozen Dinner A or B?), so asking me about any hypothetical babies is also a lost cause. I’ve been reading the spiffy Bebeh Blog and there are some aww-worthy moments, like look at the baby clothes! And some others, like your baby doesn’t want fudge? WTF is wrong with that fetus? I like to say fetus, by the way. I especially like saying Cletus the Hypothetical Fetus. Since it’s sure not going to get real anytime soon.
There are many many reasons for be not to procreate. One of them is called Zoloft. That, and the anxiety that my cats provoke in me when I’m worrying about if they have fleas, or if they’re going to knock over the fan and get chopped to bits, or countless other things. But they’re pretty self-sufficient and calming, for the most part. I grew up around dogs and I still love ’em, but cats are better for an anxious person like me. Less barking, for one. So if I can’t handle a dog, how can I handle a child?
And, perhaps I have issues for Freud to explore, but when I picture taking care of a baby, I’m doing most of it. I’m changing diapers, getting barfed on, waking up in the middle of the night. All that. I’ve heard something like even men who think they help around the house still only do about 30 percent of the work, compared to 70 percent for women (I think that’s from sociology of gender in college, but maybe not). I picture doing it alone, mostly.
This may sound weird and wrong and like I don’t know my own mind (I don’t), but I think the key thing will be if I ever find a man to cohabitate with for life. If I know he’s the one, I think I’ll also know if I want to bear him a child. Just one, as that cuts down on the “Mommy, he’s breathing on me!”
Until then, Cletus will remain hypothetical. I will, however, continue to get my Sims knocked up. Often. And I feel like a cold bitch for saying this, but if I got pregnant now, my first instinct would be to run to the nearest abortion clinic. Even if I loved the sperm contributor. I’ve heard women say they have no probs with others getting an abortion, but they could never do it personally. Yay for them for being pro-choice, but the older I get, the more I think that I could and would do it. And I half-wonder if something is wrong with me. Thank you, Protestant guilt!…..And do not Google “fetus” if you’re looking for something to put on your blog. It’s just…not good. Also, avoid searching for “baby” on Google Maps, as I believe it showed me somewhere in France.
Any thoughts on babies/ovaries/the name Cletus? Share below.