On so-called "biological imperatives"

Tomorrow, I will be 30, and not once have I felt or heard the ticking of the "biological clock". Sure, there was a time when I thought I would have children. When I was a little girl who played with dolls, I thought babies were pretty rad, and that I'd definitely like to have some. After I grew out of the dolls stage, I really didn't think much about having children, just that it was something that I'd do because that's what people do, right?

High school was when I was introduced to the full reality of babies. My brother and sister-in-law had my nephew when I was a junior. Of course, I immediately loved him, redness, wrinkles, flakiness, and all. Around that time, a few acquaintances and friends became pregnant, and after the initial shock, they all seemed to be pretty psyched to be having a kid. My mind recoiled in horror that this is something that people my age, with the whole world in front of them, considered to be a good thing. Sure, it's either make the best of it or get the big A, so I suppose they were putting on the brave face, which is commendable. At that age, I can't say that I would have chosen to keep the pregnancy.

But back to my nephew. I'd occasionally watch him for a few hours so the grown-ups could do their thing, and boy, did that drive home reality fast. Around that time, I also babysat an infant and his five year old brother (who routinely kicked my ass at Mario Brothers), and as much as I enjoyed the time when the infant was calm and curled up in my arms sleeping or just hanging out and drooling on himself, it always scared me silly when he'd start crying or screaming. OMFG. The diaper is dry. I just fed him. I am holding him. CLEARLY THIS CHILD IS IN MORTAL PERIL. I had that experience with both my nephew and my infant charge, and boy, that feeling of panic does not suit my disposition in the least.

Still, I felt that once I was the ripe old age of, 25, I would be this totally different person, ready for the 9-to-5, a nice, clean-cut husband, a house in the suburbs, and a couple kids. Suffice to say, my life didn't turn out like that. At 25, I'd been dating my now-husband for over a year. We were in dire straits financially, just barely making enough for both of us to survive. Money was incredibly tight for us for the first few years we were together, so tight that when his roommate went nuts (literally) and told him he had two weeks to get out, the best option was for him to move in with me. We'd been together for two weeks at the time, and my family wasn't terribly pleased with this, but thankfully they understood that, as someone new in town, I had very few options. My roommates had just moved out on me, too. I couldn't afford my house alone. Brandell didn't have deposit money. So we made an agreement that regardless of what happened with our relationship, we'd always put our friendship first, and if we had to part ways, we'd continue to help each other until he could find another place. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary.

About two years into the relationship, we started talking about eventually (OH GOD, NOT NOW, OF COURSE, BUT EVENTUALLY) having kids. Two seemed like a good number. Eventually, we'd want to do this. Eventually, it would seem like the greatest idea ever, and we'd go for it. We'd grow up. We'd settle down. One day, the urge to have babies would start to percolate in both of us, just like it does for every human...right? A year later, we'd decided on ONE. ONE KID. THAT IS ALL. And for the love of butter, NOT NOW.

About a year later, something just...clicked. We were talking about kids, all the money and hassle involved, the patience both of us lack, the sacrifices we'd have to make, the frequent migraines we both have, the fact that both of us get very, very annoyed in the presence of anything loud, and the fact that neither of us felt any particular drive to be a parent. Neither of us craved that opportunity to nurture and teach a small human. We have friends with kids, and while we're totally fine with playing aunt and uncle for a few hours at a time, by the end of it, we're both thinking "DEAR GOD, GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME!" I can't remember who said it first, but it was probably me. "We just...shouldn't."

That settled it, save one moment of reconsideration at the urging of a friend. She wasn't trying to pressure me, she just wanted to make sure I'd fully weighed my options, and the experiment she suggested, "Spot the Good Kid", absolutely changed my attitude towards other people's children (yes, curmudgeonly 20-something, there ARE good parents in the world), but further cemented my resolve not to have my own, there's been no looking back. We agreed that if, later in life, we felt we'd missed out on something important, we'd get involved as foster parents, or perhaps consider adoption.

Last summer, I was working at a call center when I, for lack of a more fitting term, completely lost my shit. I was constantly anxious, and the depression that I'd gotten a pretty good handle on over the past few years came roaring back with a vengeance. I immediately got involved with my county's Behavioral Health program. Soon, I realized that if I was to have any hope of being a functional person, I was going to need to be on an antidepressant for the rest of my life. Quitting for a year and a half or so (pregnancy plus breast feeding time) would likely result in a nasty downward spiral, culminating in horrible postpartum depression.

My fibromyalgia diagnosis absolutely cements it. I can't imagine the pain I'd endure carrying a child to term with absolutely nothing to mitigate the pain I already have just lugging my carcass about. Once the child was born, even if I opted out of breast-feeding to resume my medications, what would I do on the bad days? Sometimes, a gallon of milk feels like the weight of the world. Lack of sleep makes my symptoms worse, so until the baby started sleeping through the night, I imagine I'd be pretty miserable on a daily basis. And the migraines. Oh god, the migraines. Mine last anywhere from hours to weeks. How the hell could I possibly care for a helpless infant in that state?

I know that my husband would do his best to help, but he's got his own set of issues, physical and mental, and it wouldn't be fair to him to have to constantly pick up my slack.

But you know what? I'm 100% fine with all of this. I simply do not want to have a child. I will be a proud aunt. I will be a good godmother. When I have the spoons, I will give my friends some free babysitting so they can enjoy the luxuries that I have every day, like an uninterrupted shower, a chance to sprawl out with a book, or go to the mall or grocery store, or hell, spend time with other adults.

Brandell and I agree--we love our life as it is. We have my family, for better or for worse. We have an amazing chosen family of friends. We have our cats, who we love and spoil--who ARE our furry, mostly self-sufficient, quiet, cuddly kids. And most importantly, we have our freedom. Not only can we do what we want, when we want, we can do absolutely nothing at all, and I swear to you, that is my most cherished freedom.

So no, I'm not some evil child-hater. I believe that people who truly want and have the ability to care for children are the ones who should have them. We are not those people.

Well, I should be in bed...

I'm supposed to be on the road to Tallahassee by 10am with Jenny, Jeff, and Brandell.  I'm definitely better than yesterday, but I still feel like I was beaten by a bag full of hammers.  TJ left to go back to Denver today.  I spent a good chunk of my afternoon speed-crocheting a dice bag for him.  Steve came over for a few minutes.  The day was pretty chill, but I have no idea where it went and I don't feel rested at all.

So why the hell am I even considering this trip to Tallahassee?  New Leaf Market, my dears.  It's literally the closest thing, both in distance and in concept, that we have to a Whole Foods around here.  And while B and I aren't afraid of trans fats and yellow #5, we dig the meat selection there (all the normal critters, plus lamb, goat, bison, venison, rabbit...the list goes on) and all the fancy cheese.  Food snobbery and being a fatty tend to go hand in hand.  We've made the agreement that we're going to choose things that don't take long to prep or cook.  We spend way too much money eating out, and hope to rectify that.

I also want to pick up a few home remedies for fever blisters.  I was born a carrier because my mom has 'em.  I had my first one at 16, and this, my darlings, marks #2.  Yes.  Less than a week until my 30th birthday.  I'm going to turn 30 with some shit on my lip that's got some shit on its lip.  RUDE.  I've been running damage control with medicated Chap-Stick, and so far, that's kept it at bay.  Thankfully, I have propolis on hand, which is a natural, bee-produced anti-viral, anti-bacterial, anti-fungal WONDER SUBSTANCE.  Seriously, that shit took care of an abscessed tooth at one point.  Lysine and licorice powder are also on my to-buy list.  FULL ON ASSAULT.

So I'm going to just...shut up and go.  I have a Monster Java in the fridge, and Brandell's word that he'll drive on the way back, so I can totally do this.  It's making me rethink other things I've committed to over the next week or so and wonder--is this really the best use of my spoons?  Well, what the fuck else would I use them for?  But that?  Really?  Sigh.  I'll strike a balance one day.  Until then, I'll do my damnedest not to over commit myself, and drive that lesson home by making myself keep the commitments I make when humanly possible.

I guess the fever blister really drives home the point of my current stress levels.  The last time I got one, it was one of those worst case scenario times...for a 16 year old, at least.  I guess I'm a bit more frazzled than I'd like to admit.  Lately, I haven't even wanted to bother calling bullshit on scenarios when it's greatly deserved, which is highly out of character for me.  I've forgiven when I probably should have stuck to the promise I made to myself.  I've taken a deep breath and let some dumb shit go.  These are all probably things I should have been doing all along.  The only problem is, when I don't speak up, I internalize shit and stew about it.  I have an incredibly hard time truly just letting shit go.  It burns a fucking hole in my gut until enough time has passed for me to lose some of my give-a-damn.  It can be hours, it can be years.  And don't tell me to journal that shit, because it would all go right here (pen and paper writing, at least in the quantity that would take for me to purge this foolishness, is hell on my hands) and I would lose friends and alienate people.  The fucking quandary of the thinking woman, I suppose.  It's a shame people don't respond well when you grab them by the face, stare into their eyes, and say "YOU ARE BEING STUPID".

Aaaand cue my back hurting like hell again.  O hai, PMS.  Joyyyyy.

/Negative Nancy

The Rise and Fall of One Magnificent Weekend

Now that I've become conscious of what's going on with my body, I'm learning pretty quickly that there's two sides to this coin of feeling better.  I decided to have my birthday party a week early this year.  My dear friend TJ came to town this week, and since I'm going to be out of town on my actual birthday, why not rally the troops to hang with TJ and to celebrate me getting hella old?

So, me and 12 of my nearest and dearest got together Saturday night.  Since I can't drink due to my meds and I'm slightly bitter about that, the party was BYOB.  Thankfully, if I take all my meds together, it's like taking a trip without leaving the farm, so I was a good little patient.  My husband grilled hot dogs (and veggie dogs) and Kristin brought potato salad and her AMAZING olive dip--seriously, the stuff is THE BEST EVER and if you eat enough, you smell like a salami the next day the first time you sweat.  God, I love garlic.  Pretty simple spread that required very few spoons to get together.  I even bought my cake, which would have been unheard of previously.  So glad I did though--Publix Bakery makes a damn fine Caramel Pecan Crunch cake.  Leftovers?  There are none. 

I'd had some fancy-pants party outfit planned, but I wound up staying in my t-shirt and cut-off shorts.  I dunno, I guess my priorities are slowly but surely rearranging themselves.  I wanted to be comfortable and have fun with my friends and not have to act ladylike in the least. 

And the guest list--oh good god, some of the finest human beings I know.  Brandell and myself, OF COURSE, and TJ, who lives in Denver and we get to see him maybe once or twice a year, Jenny and Jeff, who brought Rock Band and always make for a lively gathering, Eric, the fantastically hilarious artist who I hadn't seen since training class at the failed experiment which was my employment at Convergys, MY GREGGIE PIE, who's been my BFF since age 12, drove up from Jacksonville.  I spent a good portion of my night attached at the hip to Greggie, including making Two-Headed Snuggie Monster while watching Gorillaz: Demon Days Live at the end of the night.  And of course, Jared and Steve and Scott and Samantha and Kristin and all those fantastic people who make my world go 'round.  Try to show me a finer group of human beings and I'll call you a goddamn liar.  I'm so grateful to have all of these people in my life, and to have them all show up to celebrate with the old gimp who's politicking on the alcohol?  I feel loved.  <3

So, we stuffed our faces and played some Rock Band, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't indulge in a bit of herbal refreshment.  Hey, if this were California, I'd be prescribed it by my doctor to help mitigate my pain, so why the hell not, especially on a night when pain is the last thing I need.  And god, that was good times too.  There's something magical about the campfire circle, how it can take a group of people who don't know each other and turn them into friends by the time the joint's out.  Especially those moments when everyone is quiet and you look at the faces of those around you and think of how lucky you are to be surrounded by these people, folks who probably never would have come together were it not for that one common interest.

And since I wasn't drunk at the end of the night, Brandell and I got all the food put away and the house mostly restored to its pre-party state.  I crawled into the bed and was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow.

Yesterday morning, the other side of that coin came down HARD.  The grocery shopping trip/Kohl's run (because TJ needed a party outfit, ain't that sweet), what little party prep there was, plus being all over the place all night, sitting in uncomfortable positions, and generally acting the fool took its toll on me.  My back was screaming.  Muscle cramps and spasms that reached into my lower abdomen and hips.  I spent most of the day trying to find a comfy place to sit.  Couches?  Fail.  Comfy computer chair that ALWAYS helps my back?  Well, I found the exception to that rule.  I think the most comfortable place I wound up was sitting on the edge of my bed, a pillow behind me, leaned up against the wall.  Thus, I spent a good chunk of yesterday after Greggie left in my room crocheting.  Not a bad deal, if you ask me.  Still, the pain was nearly unbearable, even with all of my meds.  And...I just had to deal.  I distracted myself as best I could.  More importantly, I accepted that after a big, busy, active day, this will likely be the fallout. 

So, lesson learned.  Go on, have fun with your friends.  Do the things that you want to do.  But don't overestimate your spoon count.  Schedule relaxation time, and if you can't schedule it, take it anyway.  People will understand or they won't.  It's that simple.  I feel incredibly lucky that I do have so many understanding, supportive people in my life.  Anything that enhances my gratitude for what I do have and the things that are going right can't be entirely bad, now can it?