Posted by: Kristy | May 7, 2009

Writer’s Workshop: My girly parts might disagree

I skipped last week’s Writer’s Workshop because I was really busy Wednesday night watching “House” and becoming best friends with a couch after a few very tiring days of travel.

However, Mama Kat is at it again, so here we go! This week it was difficult for me to choose a prompt. I’m sure you don’t want any more of my poetry for a while, even for Mother’s Day. And I would vlog but that requires looking at myself on tape and we all know how I feel about that. (It makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a fork.)

I’d just get myself in trouble if I talked about “Who got in big trouble this week” and there are too many places I want to travel. (Like Cancun. For a conference. That now is canceled. Damn swine.)

Soooooooo, I bring you …

The prompt: Do you want a baby?

Now Wait Just a Minute
By Kristin

Judging from events transpiring the past few months, the entire world — with the exception of myself — is getting engaged or becoming pregnant.

One of my closest friends is engaged.

My sister in law is pregnant.

Another friend became engaged Monday. And another the Saturday before.

I have four weddings to attend within six weeks.

Then there’s me.

I’m working. And dancing. And traveling. And, you know, not getting engaged nor knocked up. I’m OK with that.

For the time being. (I also would be OK if that changed in the next couple years. Or sooner. But we don’t need to talk about that right now.)

I still have a lot I want to do before I begin a family. I want to travel. As in TRAVEL LOTS. Once I’m married I want there to be time to travel TOGETHER to do all the silly, spontaneous things you can do with two people that you can’t do with three or four or more. (Oh, good lord, MORE?)

I want to have the ability to still be at the office at 9:30 p.m. because there is crap I HAVE to finish, like, yesterday.

Not to get all political, but I’m going to. This is a crazy time to bring a kid into the world. (More power to the ones who are doing it!) I’d like the changes our country is undergoing to settle a bit so I can see the new climate we face in, oh, about four years. THEN I can make a plan so as to parent through whatever lies before us.

I want to invest. In ways more widespread than I do now. Gosh, the plans I have that could lead to MMM (Making More Money). I want to start thinking NOW about how to MMM so by the time there’s a drain on the ol’ pocketbook my nerves won’t crash and burn at the smallest expense.

What’s that? That tiny voice screaming? Oh, no one. Just my neather regions.

Those that must expand and stretch and contort and basically assume super powers for nine months. Yep, they’re staging a protest, I’m sure of it.

Then there’s my brain to contend with. Ah, my crazy, crazy brain. See, at the age of 17, I became obsessed with my weight.

I don’t say this lightly, in a “every teenaged girl obsessed about being skinny.”

No, I was a gymnast and a dancer. And muscular. With a performance, overachieving complex. Which led to many hours spent paying homage to my school and home waste-removal-systems and developing the ability to almost touch my vocal chords with my finger. And even more hours staring in a mirror twisting and turning and crying.

Good times. (FYI, prom dress shopping? Not a day made of rainbows and puppies. And at each event my dates seemed oblivious to the fact they were escorting an elephant. What stand up guys. I even had this conversation with one of them on a non-prom-related occasion years after the night of a bad updo and a shiny dress that made my hips the size of the Titanic: “Do you think I’m, you know, pretty?” ** Insert shocked well-duh voice ** “Kristin, I think you’re beautiful.” Two years later and I still hold on to that and pull it out, oh, once a week. Except then he had moved from prom date to boyfriend and kind of didn’t have another acceptable answer. 😉 )

ANYWAY.

While the destructive tenancies are banished from Kristinland forever, I still get locked in the vortex of insecurity in a more intense form than, “Oh, I should wear my fat jeans today,” from time to time. I just finished a decade of standing in front of the mirror twisting and turning and crying. I’m finally cute, damn it. Who would want to risk that just to bring another life into this crazy world?

** Waves arms wildly and spins in circles. **

Ooooh, me! MEEE! Pick me!

I do. I don’t care. Give me that baby fat. The aching backs. The tourture on my already destroyed, permenantly stress fractured feet. The threat of permanent stretch marks.

Bring. It. On.

Because despite my logical rambling above, the answer to your question, dear Mama Kat, is that yes. Yes, indeed. I DO want a baby.

A cute one. Preferably little (I’m little; there is only so much room in this body for another body to develop). Who will drive me batty and steal my heart and totally change my goals and attitudes and desires.

In fact, I want two. I’m a fan of even numbers — that way no one is every the odd man out — but four just seems like a lot. Not that I would knock God if he thought four was a ripe number for me and whatever sucker totally lucky guy decides he loves me enough to put up with me for the rest of our natural lives — and consider it fun in the process. (Let me say in advance that I think you’re amazing just for being brave enough to jump into the adventure that is, well, me.) I just think two kids would be a grand plan.

And kids? I apologize in advance for embarrassing you and not knowing anything and making you take ballroom dance lessons and generally giving you a reason to roll your eyes from the minute you hit puberty until you graduate suma cum laude from graduate school. I did all of it because I love you, ya little punks.

Yep. I’m so there.

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Responses

  1. i’m glad you’re back at the writing workshop. love reading those. and you’d be a great mother someday. and i love you tons! 🙂

  2. This was just crazy…I love it! You have so much energy, very fun.

    Visiting from Mama Kat’s!


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