Monday, September 10, 2012

Totally Tubular.

I went to the zoo last week. The day after, I went to the lady-doctor and demanded a tubal ligation. I don't want to say the two days were in any way related, but come on.
You spend a few hours at the screamy-est/tantrumy-est place on earth and tell me you still want to breed.

Prior to visiting the new penguin exhibit at the zoo, a staff member stopped me and gave me the harshest speech ever about not touching the penguins or getting too close to the penguins, and rightfully so- I would probably have a house full of penguins right now if the opportunity had arose. However, two minutes in the penguin enclosure with a bunch of small children and stressed parents, and my heart was full of panic and frustration.
Pets are no big thing to me (even probably penguins). You feed them a couple times a day, hug them when you feel the need for warm contact, and they pretty much take care of the rest. Kids, on the other hand, what a commitment. Yiiiikes.

I have the utmost respect for those who can value the happiness and well-being of their offspring over their own, but I am never going to be one of those people. A large chunk of my friends and acquaintances have produced the most lovely of children. I even enjoy being around said children, to a degree (so long as they don't touch my stuff). Hell, I work with teenagers, who are just like children but significantly less likable in all regards.

This bears mentioning: there are people that do my job and also have children. Those of you who have children and work high-stress jobs are downright saints. There much be some sort of magical reserve of energy, brought forth by the joy and fulfillment of parenthood, because I can barely make it through a full day at work without dropping dead from exhaustion, and sweatpants and "alone time" are my only saving grace.

Here are some things I love about kids: when they wear mini high-top Jordans, when they ask totally inappropriate questions, or when I get to watch them annoy the living shit out of you. I even enjoy babysitting, but as much as I enjoy a few hours with a little person, I dually enjoy handing the child back into the loving arms of their parent, who has to love them, no matter how upset or covered in body fluids they may be. You take him. I opted against this.

I recall staying up at night when I was very young, and dreading my adult years. I hated the thought of paying bills and going to work every day, but more so, I hated the thought that at some point, I would be unwillingly coerced into give birth to something that would attach itself to me for eighteen full years. I was panicked at the thought of feeding this thing and clothing this thing and making sure that it didn't ditch school sometimes to go hang out at McDonald's and drink milkshakes all day. It all felt awkward and unnatural and concerning.

It wasn't until somewhat later in life that I realized that nobody was forcing me to do anything. The reasons why I was terrified and concerned with my abilities to parent a child were because I was not supposed to ever parent a child. Call me selfish. It's true. It is much more important to me to have a full nights' sleep and the freedom to be a selfish dick than to pass along my (not-so-desirable) genes to another human being. This is reason enough to be sure that I am not suitable mom material. This and the bi-monthly wine binge I am not willing to do without, ever. Check and check.

Major surgery was not my first option. I'm not a fucking moron, you guys. I've been on birth control of some form or another for my entire adulthood. I've gained weight and had to deal with moodiness and cramping and all kinds of other marvelous side effects, but that's not what made the choice for me.
It's that breathless few days every month, the ones where I wait and see if I am safe for another four weeks, or going to become that 1% birth control failure rate statistic... This has been my strongest motivation.

I don't want kids. Not now, not ever. After years of butting heads with doctors that did not agree, I found a doctor that told me my request "sounded reasonable", and booked me for surgery in November, the day after the US elections. The TV viewing during my recovery period will be dull at best, but hopefully with a mix of Rx painkillers, and the thrill of being able to have irresponsible sex for the first time in my life without the worry that I may unintentionally make another human, I will be absolutely, totally ecstatic.

This will not be the first time I have taken a stand against Mother Nature's best laid plans, but certainly the strongest, and also probably the only time I will even be remotely successful. Wish me luck.


~sarah p.

p.s. Friends: please continue to procreate without me, preferably mixed-race and/or well-behaved children. Or don't. I don't care.

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