Sep 9, 2007

Just Girl Stuff.

One week out of every month of my entire sexually active adult life thus far has been spent worrying about whether or not my luck has finally run out, and indeed, the seed of a wee babe has been planted in my belly.

The week usually starts off with me running into a friend with a little one, and enjoying time spent with whatever tiny human it happens to be, followed by a comment from said friend, or whomever else happens to be around, indicating to me that I would be one heck of a mommy one day. Afterwards, I think about how having a kid wouldn't be all that bad, and daydream about what it would be like to show off my preggers belly, or drag my beautiful baby around town, bragging about how gosh darn wonderful they are. Shit, I love everyone else's kids, I'm sure I could love my own.

A couple of days later, when I realize that I have completely lost track of when my last period was, and when the next one is supposed to arrive, I snap out of it. I can't believe that I was thinking that being impregnated was A-Ok, and start to dread the thought of my easy-peasy rock and roll lifestyle being tipped over backwards. I am much too selfish and irresponsible to raise a child. I can't even keep track of my cats, and only remember to water the plants when I notice that they are droopy and brown.

Even though it isn't time for Aunt Flo to arrive, by the next day, I am a mental wreck. I come up with master plans about how I am going to get out of this predicament that I am in, and cry over the thought that I no longer will be able to have the adventures I dream of, and I am now stuck in the rut that is raising a baby. I get out my day planner, and go back and try and remember when Aunt Flo's last visit was, "Did I have cramps when I was camping?", "Did I have to run home for tampons when I took the group home girls swimming?", and vow to myself that if my period does show up, I will start keeping track of it, just like my mom taught me to when I was young, so I don't have to go through this anymore.

When I awake the next day, and I am still not bleeding out of my vagina, I all of a sudden believe in God. I pray to whatever higher power that will listen, that if they just let me be baby- free for one more month, I will never ask for anything again. I remind them about how irresponsible and selfish and unhealthy I am, and that they shouldn't let a baby go through life with someone like that.

Usually, by the next day, I have accepted my fate. I'm going to be a mom, and I'm just going to have to deal with it. I celebrate my new found calm and rational thinking with many drinks, and good times with friends, who have no idea the mental anguish I have been in the past few days.*

I awake the next morning, and low and behold, I am menstruating. I rejoice! I grin ear to ear, thank the gods who listened to me, once again, and I do a little dance. Sometimes, I give a wink and a gun, to the bathroom mirror as I strut out of the bathroom like John Travolta a la Saturday Night Fever. It is always the happiest day of my life. For 2-3 hours.

Throughout the day, my joy is diminished as I notice zits, the cramps kick in, and I realize it's 3 days before payday, and I'm going to have to spend the last of my pennies on a box of tampons. Oh, and of course, I'm horny as hell, but the thought of having sex with these cramps makes me want to vomit in my mouth a little bit.

I make some popcorn, crawl into bed, and turn on the tube to some lame-ass sitcom, and hope that this week of moodiness and pain will zip by with no major hormonal events, so I can get back to my old self, and fit into my pants again.

Oh yes, being a woman is a truly amazing thing. ;)

* I realize that this is probably reason #1 why I am not ready to push a baby through my vagina.

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