I Think I Want a Baby

or, how to * not * get laid 101



“Ugh… I don’t think I’m * that * person…”


Shit.  NO.  No-no-no-no-no.


That came out wrong…  Soooo wrong.

Smooth moves there chickie…

What The Ever Loving F*ck Did I Just Do?

FFS.  Didn’t I warn you?  I’m horrible at this whole ‘dating’ thing.


Yep.  * I * just told a man I want to have another baby.

Like I said.  Smooooottthhhhhhhh.

Except, that’s not what I meant. Sort of. Well…  Not really.

Allow me to back up for a moment.

See, I called my Dr. this week

Not to get too personal but things have … ahem. changed.

I think I want a baby

My baby-canon is (might be?) planning its retirement.

The cave of wonders will slowly dry up, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a few cobwebs.

Though a cloud of dust is probably better than a cloud of smoke, all things considered.  Can you imagine?



I digress.

Someday in the not so far future my fortune nookie will become a mysterious black hole.  The Privy Council shall consult sans your truly and decide Time’s Up.

Supply will dwindle.  The cockpit and Mount Pleasant will dry up.

My baby cannon an artifact in the museum of my youth.


Feet in stirrups, sweaty ass-cheeks hanging precariously half off the table, I flip-flop between asking myself if the end [of my procreating days] is nigh and whether I sprayed enough deodorant on my crotch.  Good Lord, why is it so hot in here!?

Three is a crowd, four is a …?

After Chloe, I wanted a 4th – but not with my ex.  As a single mom of 3 I know the likelihood of meeting THE man with whom I’d want to spend my life AND who’s open to more kids are slim to non-existent.

I know that even if he doesn’t have kids, at our age – there’s usually a reason he’s yet to spawn.

My procreating days are likely over

It’s bittersweet.  A chapter finished but not done.

Bad Plumbing

As we speak, the decision to not sire an army is mine. I CHOOSE to lock that shit down.

However, I’m NOT ok with not having a choice.

I’m not ready to accept my lady garden being a mere penis fly trap.

I’m not ready to be told I have to opt-out due to a glitch in the matrix.

I may have let a few tears run down my cheeksOr it totally could have been sweat.  Who knows?

I felt dejected and abandoned by my ovaries and apparently doctors need fluorescent beacons of heat to explore the nether regions of womenfolk.

Sooo… ends up my thyroid is just being a whiny little bitch.

And I still told this man I want to have more babies – practically banishing myself from the Promised Land. 

What if I never again get laid?  Ever?

Is my love taco locked out of the family jewels as well as sentenced to perdition?

Back paddling up shit’s creek

It took some back paddling and a more careful selection of words, but I managed to clear up the air – if not the cobwebs.


I want to be able to hatch more eggs.   I want to elect when dynamite gets thrown down the shaft.

Me. Not some imaginary man behind the (meat) curtains.

Besides, I’m too young for this shit. A goddamned spring chicken m’kay? Right?

… Right!?! Shit.

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