Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Reasons I Fear To Breed, Part 2

I was talking with a buddy over instant messenger last week, a brave and intrepid woman who recently packed her second grader, her infant twins, and her husband in a minivan and moved to the complete opposite coast. On purpose, too, not as a condition of parole or a "penance before her god" scenario.

Even though she recently regaled me with the story of how her twins will never, ever have chapped hands, arms, lips, tongues, throats, or even eyeballs, and oh yeah, she was out of petroleum jelly... DESPITE this extremely recent conversation, she was still teasing me about having kids someday.

It's not even the moisturizing aspect of child rearing that really scares me. No, it's what the child bearing part will do to ME. As I was telling my pal, women in my family (both sides) don't get a "baby bump," they don't "barely show," they don't look beautiful, and they absolutely do not glow. They look like rhinos with glandular issues. We're not talking about swelling ankles, we're talking about swelling the way blimps swell the day before the Super Bowl.

"And don't tell me about how great my hair will be during pregnancy," I told my friend. The first pregnancy is when the women in my family grow their first mustache. Sure, tell me how luxurious and silky my hair will be. I'll have the nicest mustache in the whole office.

They never recover, either. There's a horrifying photo of my mother, with her mother, and her grandmother, near a picture of her GREAT grandmother. It's like looking at a time lapse picture of Jabba the Hutt.

My friend was quiet for a moment.

"Your nails will rock," she typed.

That's our girl, always finding the ray of sunshine.

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