I never wanted kids. It’s true. Kids kind of freak me out. They always have. That amplified the moment I saw the son of a friend of mine with his hand down the back of his pants who for the life of him could not stop smelling it. Kids are a little strange. They do things that don’t make sense, as well as things that make so much sense things become strange. You’re simply not supposed to smell your own ass, are you?
All of that changed when I met Toby. Now, I want nothing more than to give birth to something that will one day smell its own ass. Even if it means destroying my most amazing female figure^, giving up caffeine, wine, fatty foods, and life. I want one. I do.
That’s not to say right now but someday.
As I mentioned yesterday, I am concerned about what I have put my body through over the years. While I am not a recovering heroin addict, nor have I ever done anything particularly damaging, I have gone though and inhaled more cans of spray mount than I care to admit. I have drunk booze regularly since I was 23. I didn’t always eat well. And I’m 31.
The most bizarre things sets me off, too. The other day, while waiting for the movie to begin, I was reading those horrible slide advertisements they project before the movie. One of them was for NYU Medical School. They are willing to pay 8,000 dollars (pennies if you ask me) to any woman, age 21 – 32, in return for her eggs. 32. Why will I lose this option in a year? What’s wrong a 32 year old egg?
I made an appointment with a gynecologist/baby doctor to find out if I should start considering adoption or if I have a chance on one day maybe having a healthy baby who might one day smell its own ass.