The other night I was chatting with ABK. This is one of my favorite things to do. ABK is like the snarky, cool sister that I never had. Anyways, we got to talking about our exciting Friday night plans. She was in a self-induced over carbo-loaded state because of an indoor bike ride that never happened – something about her trainer being someplace else other than her house where it needed to be. So I suggested she run laps around her condo to which she responded with “oh I never disobey my coach” when I really meant seriously ABK run laps around your condo inside with your dog to burn off the carbs and release some of that energy.
Seeing as it might be impossible to top those exciting Friday night plans and being the competitive little world champion she is, ABK asked what my plans were for the night.
My reply:
We are making waffles for dinner and arguing how Chris’ biological clock is ticking and he needs a baby now.
I wish that was just a joke but those were his words exactly. Since Chris is turning 35, I guess his ovaries are shriveling up and all of his eggs are cracking. But really I think this discussion came after a discussion a certain someone had with a certain someone in which they decided I was behind in the baby making schedule.
Thank you to those keeping that schedule for me.
Of course ABK, honest as always, had a suggestion for me:
WTF? How exactly is a baby gonna fit into your ATP. Don’t think so.
I fully concurred. You can’t train to be a champ AND a baby machine. It’s actually a law of physics – she can only train to be one type of machine at a time. Can’t everyone see that? No? Well I’ve got to tell you then that I am really enjoying this stage in my life – early thirties – where people feel obligated to tell me what to do with my ovaries. I’d like to tell those same people what to do with their own feet:
Pssst…..stick one in your mouth and the other in your….shoe.
*I’m trying to cut down on cussing here*
Naturally then the conversation turned to ovaries. And I started to think maybe I had used the term incorrectly. I can’t really remember anatomy and so I had to ask:
We do have two ovaries, right?
Work with me here. How can you know if you’ve never seen? I know I have two feet, two arms because they are right in front of me. Ovaries – we learned about that stuff in the 5th grade. Been many years since then and things have gotten a little hazy. I could have one uterus and two ovaries or is it two uterus (and if so are they uteri?) and one ovary. Surely ABK would know. I felt like an idiot for asking but then I got this reply:
I have no idea. I know there are 2 testicles, though.
I guess you know what you need to know.
The confessions continued to roll out from the both of us:
I don’t know where the ovaries are, the falopean (sp) tubes, or my uterus. What’s the difference?
You see, this is why both ABK and I should put off kids for many, many years. We can’t spell it, we can’t locate it so right now it’s obviously not something we need. And for that matter I have no idea what the difference is in any of those parts but as we both suspected there is probably a 5th grader somewhere that could draw us a very detailed map.
The conversation then turned to ovulation. Sorry guys, you might want to tune out now. My vote was that it felt like a small man punching you in the left side and then trying to pull that ovary (maybe?) out through your rear end. It lasts roughly 3 hours until you either pass out in self-medicated coma or ride your bike really hard to deflect away from the pain while also putting pressure on pooper to keep ovary from falling out. Somehow I’m sure the joy of having a child will rid me of 20 years x 12 months of memories like that. But somehow I also think I’m willing to wait.
It’s a funny thing to get into your 30’s and not have a child. People feel compelled to tell you that you shouldn’t really wait. That you don’t know what you’re missing. That you’re never ready so you might as well start now. Here’s the thing – years of caring for and teaching other people’s children have helped me sort of know what I’m missing so that is why I’m ok with waiting and holding off for now. But too bad for us that our town is literally exploding in small children. Plus our friends are literally exploding in children. Everyday there is a reminder that in this race I am falling far behind. Add to that recent husband fear of moldy eggs and you get a FlavaFlav-sized clock hanging in front of my face every day.
If it were up to Chris he would rent ovaries (I’d get two just to be safe) and start hatching kids on his own. This recent itch for children is endearing at times while at other times I just want to tell him to…pipe down. His reasoning is that he is getting old and he wants more than one. I wish the math were as simple as that. I tell him that even if we try it doesn’t mean we will and if I have one there is a very good chance I won’t want any more. But then again I did Ironman twice. I have a history of repeating painfully stupid things.
The more I think about it the more….I just would rather not think. And until I am ready for it to happen I would like to just “be”. I am finally at the point in my life where I enjoy who I am and what I do. More than ever I just like being me. I’d like to revel in that for a few years before I add someone else to the equation of myself that I just balanced perfectly.
Until then I don’t care if I have three ovaries and a testicle. I don’t care what functions they perform or how old they are getting inside of me. When the time comes I assure you they will function just fine. One day I will have children. My husband may be elderly but the timing will be just right – plus if I change one diaper I might as well change two. And if for some reason I’m broken or missing a testicle or whatever it takes…I’m ok with that as well. Because I already told Chris if and when the time comes we are naming our second dog “Champ”.
Isn’t that a great name?
