A Baby Story

Every few months I find myself in a walk-in clinic office, asking for a renewal on my birth control prescription.  Frankly, it's the only optimistic thing I ever do.  While I'm at no immediate risk for getting pregnant, a very small, nearly dead part of me likes to think I one day might have regular sex again.

Usually the clinic doctor asks some perfunctory questions about whether I smoke or have had my blood pressure tested ever, and I leave 30 seconds later with a small piece of paper and renewed sense of misplaced optimism.

This time, the doctor didn't immediately reach for his prescription pad.  Instead, he asked me if I'd "finished family planning?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, and told him so.  Realizing he was dealing with somebody who may not have the intelligence required to swallow a pill, he spoke more slowly. 

"Are.  You.  Done.  Having.  Children?"

Well no wonder I was confused.  First off, like many people who've known me for less than a moment, he was assuming I had a biological clock and maternal instinct.  He was wrong, but because I do have a lightly used vagina, I suppose it was an honest mistake. 

Most people with vaginas do want kids, and aren't in the least bit terrified by how so many children smell inexplicably like juice.

(Seriously - why is this?  There's no juice for miles, and kids will just exude nasty Tropicana blend.  It's disturbing.)

I assured him that I had no children at all, and wasn't planning on changing that.  This seemed to settle the the issue for him.

"Why not just get your tubes tied then?"

I was speechless.  I know I'm not using my uterus and assorted tubes for anything special at the moment, but that's no reason to just tie things up like old newspapers and clear it out of there. 

(I may be slightly fuzzy on exactly what having one's tubes tied entails medically, but my outrage remains.)

The doctor's concern is that I'm too old to be on the pill, which is so fucking awesome.  And by awesome, I mean not awesome in any way.  I'm at a high risk for blood clots, and cringe-inducing pathos apparently.  At a certain age, if nobody's knocked me up yet, taking pains to prevent such a thing from happening probably becomes farcical.

I suggested that any kind of surgery would be too drastic for me, and maybe, since I'm not married, I might want to keep my options open.  The look he gave me was pure pity.

We settled on a prescription for an IUD, which I was actually delighted with.  No pills to take, and good for five years! 

Two days later I was in another medical office, having finally landed a family doctor.  It only took five years, but I found a doctor willing to accept me as a new patient, a decision I'm sure the man already regrets deeply.

This new doctor is lovely.  Truly, lovely.  Despite a line-up of patients waiting outside, he took a long time to talk to me about all of my health issues.  We discussed my vagina exploding, which I thought was an excellent segue way into getting his opinion on switching to an IUD, given my history.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to say.  Considering how smoothly he'd handled everything else I'd told him, this was unnerving.  Stammering, he asked if I wasn't aware that given the nature of the surgery I had, I probably couldn't have children.  Didn't anybody tell me that?

Well...no.  Nobody did. 

It stands to reason.  I'd actually wondered about it, but never asked because...well, kids are disgusting.  I've never wanted to have one.  I've never even wanted to touch one, but have occasionally given in and held a baby or two here or there just to prove I'm not entirely heartless, and can perform such a task without needing legal representation. 

I figured I probably could get pregnant, but would likely be unable to deliver naturally or even carry the baby to term.  In the weeks following the surgery, I asked the surgeon so many questions.  Important questions, like how I could avoid a colostomy bag?  Would I ever be able to have sex again? If I can have sex, can I have anal?  Not that I really want to or anything, just...could I?

I never asked about kids. 

I count myself as very lucky that I've never wanted to have children.  I'm grateful, because how devastating would my life be if I did?  Nobody wants to date me, let alone procreate with me.

If I wanted to get pregnant, I'd be looking for a careless one-night stand or donor sperm.  I'd be raising the sticky, stinky little monster alone.  Finding a mate, often considered the best first step to having a family, is not in my future. 

It's a little like being relieved New York Fashion Week didn't call me to walk in any runway shows this year, on account of my terribly busy schedule. 

Surely, my busy schedule is the only obstacle standing in the way of career as a sought after supermodel. 

Ahem.

I can dislike children as much as I want, and remain relatively dry-eyed when told I may as well convert my womb to office space, but the truth is, it would never happen regardless of what I want.

That said...it's one thing to choose not to do something.  It's something else entirely to have that choice taken away.

Flash forward to two days later, when me and my questionable uterus are sitting in my office, texting with Alex.  Like any other time I've ever talked with him, I ask him what's new.

His exact answer: Nothing.  Baby's due soon.

Funny, because he never told me his girlfriend was pregnant.  Not once, and we chat nearly every day.  He had nine months to remember to say something, because she's due in October.  Funny, because he swears he told me, but I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that little nugget of info.  No baby brain over here to make me forgetful. 

Funny how everything happens all at once, all the time.  I know very little about his girlfriend, other than she's gorgeous, normally a size 0 with improbable double D breasts, and was at one time, married to somebody else.  Her and her husband tried to have kids, and underwent IVF treatments - but nothing took.

Funny, that this week would be the best week ever to learn one last thing to know about his girlfriend and the goddamn miracle baby she's about to drop. They're both over the moon, as everybody always is.  And why not? She has what she always wanted, and...I suppose I do too.