I wish I knew what it was that Meatloaf wouldn’t do. I think we all have our guesses. I feel like if he was anything like the men I know, he would do anything for love…except, oh you know, put a ring on it, move in together and start a family. Every month, as the lining of my uterus sheds from my body and my insides violently erupt into a warzone of hormones, I’m reminded yet again that I have not been given the gift of life. Or that I still don’t have a man who sees a future with me. Or that I’m basically running out of god damn time. It’s the proverbial period to a highly anticipated “sentence”. Pun fully intended.
In 28 years I’ve never had a pregnancy scare. (At least one that I didn’t drink myself out of unknowingly. Kidding, sort of) I’m not statistically certain if that’s even something to feel accomplished about, but hey I feel like a winner. Sometimes I wonder if that means in the event that I do find a viable suitor to bake my beans, will I even be able to bare child? I guess I shouldn’t worry about that until I plow through step 1 of this process: meet a guy who wants to reproduce. Step 1A: meet a guy who will even talk about it.
In between taboo topics at the awkward table, I find three types of men emerge during the “Do you want kids?” conversation:
1.The Already-a-dad’s: These are the men who’s early twenties were just a string of mistakes that ended in two jobs. One to pay for child support and the other to pay for not paying for child support. They usually feel like it wouldn’t be fair to have their already ten year old and the child you want to conceive be so far apart in age. Got it. My future child being born into a financially and mentally stable home would be silly because you’re busy picking out which one of your daughter’s friends you can bang in less than a decade? You know, it wouldn’t be a horrible idea to try this whole kid thing within the confines of a healthy situation. He usually doesn’t want to hear it. Being thrown into fatherhood at an early age typically disinterests them no matter how good you look in a moomoo.
2. The Absolutely Not’s: Selfish Steve doesn’t want to give up his freedom for the sake of anyone carrying on his name. He could care less if he was the last male on earth, he’s not giving up his night’s out with the boys to change a dirty diaper, ever. I always smirk and shake my head at this type because at one point when you’re 80 and widowed, saddened by all of your fallen friends, you’re going to wish you sprayed your spunk all over the world. Who’s going to visit you in your nursing home? Who’s going to tell the story about that time you shot your pinky toe off with a semi automatic in your backyard on New Year’s? Kids are your legacy, and you’re too busy getting drunk at 30 to realize how important family may ever be in the future. This type is the kind I think just needs a few more years to brew. I’ve gotten to them too soon.
3.The Undecided: I let this guy slide from about 18-27 :serious face: I realize that as a man, by nature you can conceive every day for the rest of your life, but I’ve got less years than I do fingers to make this work before my options are depleted. So, “undecided” is not a drop down you’re gonna be able to choose in this menu buddy. When I ask you “do you want kids” I’m not looking to fertilize my eggs on the restaurant table. I just want to know if you fit in my fairytale or if I’m going to have to find eighteen other reasons you’d be worth not starting a family with. Spoiler alert: there aren’t any.
Babies are little assholes. I’d have to be clinically insane to want to invite anymore of that bullshit into my already chaotic life. But it’s what I want, and I refuse to be with someone who doesn’t at least think about the idea of being a parent alongside me. What good are we in ten years if not to at least give someone the gift of my vibrant personality and your dashing good looks? We’d be fools not to. We may not have the money, the patience, or the skills, but all we need is two people who agree to raise a tiny human into a productive member of society. Or at least the next Justin Bieber. Mama needs a comfortable nursing home.