I don’t want no babies.
At one time I did, though. If you’ve ever peed on a stick and used a clock radio alarm to time the pee’s progress, you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve ever come thisclose to knocking your doctor upside the head for suggesting fertility drugs “so that all of the implanted embryos have a chance,” you know what i’m saying.
All? All of that what? It would’ve been a crying shame for that fool to walk funny for the rest of his life for trying to persuade me to have a litter…and really, Octomom, I can’t believe you signed up willingly. The very thought makes my womb shake her head in disbelief.
Mary Cheney knows. She knows it so well that she and her partner, Heather Poe, will have their second child sometime in November. I take my hat off to her bravery. At her age, it’s either a hormonal short circuit or bravery. Out of respect, I choose the latter.
I wish other folks would remember Aretha’s “R-E-S-P-E-C-T”. People are already trying to find out who the sperm donor is…as if that’s anyone’s business but the parents. Will there ever be a day when a lesbian couple can announce the anticipation of a new bundle of joy without Mr. Donor being put on a need-to-know hit list?
As much as I wanted children before, I don’t want them now. I can’t even picture myself with a little one running around. The only running I do now is when I’m taking care of errands and when my love and I are…never mind that’s too much information. Shoot, we are perfectly happy with the young’uns in our lives. They’re like library books. We take them out and enjoy them while in our possession and return them when we’re done…which at Mary’s, I mean our fabulous age, works out perfectly. We’re too busy scraping the burn off of our ice cubes.