Friday, January 31, 2014

Call Me Potato Head

It's come to my attention that my post evoked sadness in people. Some people felt sorry for me. Please know this was not my intent. I was not seeking a pity party. If it makes you feel sad or feel sad for me, that's fine. I just need you to know that my intent was not some self-loathing-please-feel-sorry-for-me blog. Rather, it was me speaking out against what people think I SHOULD be doing with MY life despite their lack of knowledge of what it's actually like to be me and live as me.
You know those metaphorical bubbles that surround each of us? Mine isn't very large, partially because I'm a tiny person, but mostly because I'm not ashamed of who I am, what I do, etc. I mean, I recently took one of those quizzes circulating Facebook...

My response? I laughed because it's kind of true, especially when I'm online. You see, computer mediated communication has a disinhibition effect, Basically, I say shit I might not say in person. Most of what I say online, I would actually say if I were standing right next to you. Depending on who you are, I might not say what I'm about to say. Thank God for computer-mediated communication (do blogs count?) because your desire for me to birth a child needs to fucking stop. 

Yeah. I typed it. And you read it. 

Don't get me wrong. I want to have a baby. And it's not some far off in the distance thing either. I even remember the exact moment I realized I was ready. I was watching fucking Twilight (whatever the last one is called). I was sitting in a fucking movie theater, watching a fucking stupid cinematic (ha!) rendition of a ridiculous "book" that I stupidly like when I realized I was mentally ready to have baby. There was some husband gazing involved in all of that, but it's hard for me to get over the fact that I had such an important revelation during fucking Twilight.  

All of that was more than a year ago. I'm not pregnant. We aren't trying (I really hate that word. Blah!). Why? We (really just me) are not financially ready to have a baby. Literally. No one is ever financially ready to have a child. Kids are fucking expensive. And I also shamefully accept help paying for my bills. I don't want the money, but not taking it would be irresponsible. And if you think this is all bull shit. Think again. The people who want me to have babies the most would turn on me if I actually had said babies because I'd be just another person shamelessly sucking off the teat of the government. Except! My mom wouldn't let that happen because she's just like that. And this is why someday I plan to repay her with a condominium. At least I hope-- I hope I have the money to do so, and I hope she actually let's me do it. She's one of the most selfless and understanding people I know.  

But anyway.

I know what you're thinking. I have a job. I could apply for another job. Yeah. Been there done that. I, a well-educated chick with an advanced degree, applied for bank gigs, secretarial gigs, state gigs, any gig other than fast-food and prostitution (is there an application process for that?). I even applied at Menard's, and they wouldn't hire me! I worked at Lowe's Home Improvement for fucking years, and I knew a former employee of the very Menard's I applied. Nothing. 

So I continue to teach part-time at a local community college. I quite like it minus the fact that I can't provide for my family in the ways I want to provide (I seriously make what equates to about minimum wage, and I don't even have job security since I work on semester to semester contract basis*). I can't even justify having a baby. So every time you tell me we should have a baby, a little part of me dies inside because I feel guilty and ashamed. But mostly I feel sad. I have a wonderful husband, and I know he'd make a great father. He even wants to be a dad, like yesterday. 

So the next time you tell me I should have a kid, remember you're not jut expressing your desires, you're also stabbing and twisting a knife deep inside my soul. I can't have what I want, and I remind myself every damn day. Society reminds every damn day, especially since I'm slowly but surely creeping along to thirty. So I don't fucking care what you want. If you so desperately want me to birth a child for you, buy the fucking diapers, the fucking food. You may also want to save up for possible complications related to my size and my pre-existing health conditions as well as college tuition. And, oh, by the way, do you have money for my student loans and car insurance? No? Then shut the fuck up.

* I refuse to break it down because it makes me more sad, and you can Google it anyway. I make somewhere in between all those numbers they throw around. 

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