Just A Womb At The Inn

Lately, I have been doing homework. It feels a lot like studying for a Chemistry test or cramming for an Algebra final. It entails reading a lot of blogs, some that I normally wouldn't read in order to become more aware of what's out there in the world of the internet. Lately I will read just about every article that is linked into my FB page, so instead of scoffing at them like an ass, I click on each one and hold my breath. Truthfully, I have read some pretty interesting stuff and I'm always pleasantly surprised to find authors whom I look forward to reading over and over again. Then there are the rest of them. The ones that make me cringe inside, not because of any grammatical issues, but because the author's ideals are so far off from my own (and they don't soften the blow with humor) that it feels like toothpicks to the eyeball .

Recently, I read a well written article by a Christian woman who had six or seven or eight kids. I lost count. Apparently, her piece has been surfing the web for a couple of years, but is so controversial that is keeps showing up in random places for another five minutes of fame. She was professing the joys of motherhood, which I agree with, but then suddenly veered into the dark territory of owing your fertility to God. Had I believed that God was expecting this sort of reimbursement, my husband and I could very well have nine kids in our house and one on the way. (Loses consciousness and falls off bar stool). My paternal grandmother bore eight children, my maternal grandmother bore seven and if you knew how many children my great grandmothers' carried it would blow your diaphragm across the room. My genetic code has blessed me with fertility and my brain has blessed me with the knowledge to know when to say when. Procreation was fairly easy for us and the sperm to egg connection took only a few months, I had easy pregnancies and wonderful deliveries. You heard it, WONDERFUL. But I knew that I could only care for two children the way that I wanted to care for children, so we stopped. Before I knew what it was like to have bleeding nipples, I wanted to have three kids and my hubs was vying for four. I guarantee that without medical intervention we would have had a basketball team and my nipples would have fallen off completely.

Ecstatic high five to those families who desire and are able to have a herd of children, care for them, afford them and raise them into loving human adults. That was not my lot in life and just because I am a fertile myrtle does not mean that I sign my womb over to God.  In my opinion, this article reinforces the idea that because you are a fertile woman that you should take a hearty shit on any other life pursuits and do the one thing God intended for you, popping out puppies until you die. No thanks, bucko. We wanted to have a family that we could support on one income (because I choose careers that create no income, it's a talent) and the opportunity to become successful at something beyond parenthood. Because we are selfish like that. Have I wondered what life would have be like with three kids? Yes. I have also wondered what it would be like to be single, what it would be like to have sex with Christian Bale, and what it would be like to be a lesbian. But they are thoughts. Thanks to modern medicine and family planning, we have two wonderful children and the ability to pursue other ventures in our lives. Fertile or no, there's no more room in this womb.