Tuesday, August 2, 2011

It should be uterME, not uterus.

Friends. Family. I love you. But please, kindly back away from my womb.

Do not misunderstand. I'm more than happy to discuss my reproductive future with my loved ones. Ask me if we plan to have kids. Ask me how many. Ask me how I feel about crib bumpers and prenatal yoga and breastfeeding. I have fascinating opinions about all of these things. If you have time for a little bit of a discussion, you can even ask me when and under what circumstances I'd like to birth said babies. (The time requirement is a result of my personal confusion regarding when and under what circumstances I'd like to give birth. Confusion = long answers = a time commitment from you, you understand.) But if you could do me a favor and just not pressure me, that would be fantastic.

I totally get that culturally, Rob and I are a little behind the curve. We've been married for more than three years now and heaven knows we're not getting any younger. I've been made aware that my prime childbearing years have come and gone while I've selfishly chased useless degrees and pursued a lucrative and rewarding retail career. Meanwhile, my ovaries are slowly shriveling like raisins in the sun after so many years of neglect. These things I know.

Additionally, I've tricked you. I've gained weight for reasons like "laziness" and "depression" rather than baby farming. Then instead of letting those extra pounds grow into a nice round baby bump, I've turned around and lost them (and gained them and lost them, etc.). I've complained of nausea and heartburn that turned out to be just heartburn and nausea. I've worn billowy tops and tunics just because I like them. And every once in a while, I eat for two despite there being only one of me.

Here's the truth: the Whalens want to have children! If one were to grace our home in the next 9-10 months, we would be elated! And terrified! And eager and anxious. We would make any and all necessary arrangements. We would laugh and freak out and giggle and melt down with horror and glee. But this is not a race, my friends! Rob and I are growing our brood at a nice Whalen pace. I promise you, we're doing it thoughtfully and prayerfully. We're not waiting for the "right time" because, as you all well know, there is no such thing. And we're not waiting until we have the money, because we never will. (Despite my many fervent prayers, babies still don't come wrapped in hundred dollar bills. Unfortunately.)

Of course, there are things to think about. I'm smack dab in the middle of a graduate program that is both wonderful and stressful. And the two of us are just about as poor as welfare church mice. But that's what makes this all so exciting! There are many bridges in our future, and we'll cross them when we reach them.

But in the meantime, remember: good things come to those who wait for Baby Whalens. And a Baby Whalen? Now that's a good thing.

5 comments:

Hilary said...

I just want to know more specific details about your actual uterus.

just kidding.

With a title like that, I was REALLY hoping you'd just give me unsolicited sex advice. But aside from THAT obvious let down, your post was great and I can't wait to see little hipster Whalen's running around Silverlake. xo

Team Huffaker said...

Touché!!
Very well put. We totally know how you guys feel!

Jen said...

I love you for this. And if babies came wrapped in Benjamins I might be willing to get pregnant again tomorrow. My womb can totally be bought.

Gretta said...

@hilary
you'll have to check out my other blog for the sex advice. it hasn't launched yet, but when it does it will revolutionize the way working married couples are too exhausted for intimacy.

@team huffaker
you already have two kids. they're adorable! they look just like their dad. ;)

@jen
i love you for so many things. and we should talk about your womb for hire. there's a market for that. a black market, but a market all the same.

Jessie said...

Three things:

1. I love your blog. It's my crack. Please, don't ever stop blogging.

2. A-men. Of course, Jason and I jumped on the baby-makin' bandwagon fairly soon after we were married but oh I can't tell you the hatred and loathing I had for people butting into my business pretending it was their business. And guess what? Now that Norah is one, it's started all over again. Like we're not supposed to take a breath and enjoy being parents to the most darling one-year-old, but rather make another. And another. And another.

3. My word verification is "nesten" as in back-country-Utah speak for nesting. Coincidence? I think not.