It is not lost on me that I am of appropriate birthing age. I know this because over the course of my early 20 s, I have been asked by people some that I know well and some I scarcely know at all whether or not I want to have a baby. I have such a deer-in-headlights response every single time.
I have absolutely no idea how to answer this question when its posed to me. I am a mere spring chicken at 23 years old. I have scarcely lived a life. The notion of having a newborn baby right now is hilarious to me because I am still a newborn baby myself. Well, I might as well be, at least. I dont know how to use the oven in my kitchen and I have never used a lawnmower.
The day before payday I typically have no more than $1.33 to my name. I once expended $130 on a pair of athleisure slides designed by Rihanna and couldnt buy food for a week. I attain poor fiscal decisions and Im about as handy around the house as a broken socket wrench. I am scarcely hanging by a thread as an Adult Person. What is it that makes people think that I am qualified to answer such a question?
Also, creating a baby is very pricey. Do you have any idea how much one baby will set you back over an entire lifetime?
A lazy poke around on Google tells me that it is approximately $812,000. Eight hundred and twelve thousand fucking dollars. There are far too many styles an idiot 23 -year-old woman could better spend that money than on a dumb, drooling baby. Not that babies are dumb on purpose I guess their brains arent yet evolved to the point that they can engage in intellectually provocative conversation. But thats neither here nor there.
If you are silly enough to ask, What might you instead devote your thousands of dollars to, Sarah? let me lay it out for you.
I could buy a knife set encrusted with rubies. I could buy a Lamborghini and have it upholstered with fuchsia-died Mink fur. I could buy toilets adorned in Swarovski crystals and have them placed in every room in my house. I could buy a personal assistant contractually obligated to give me daily pedicures and play light, jaunty jazz tunes on the saxophone. I could buy a family of capuchin monkeys so that I can feel less alone when nosey people quiz me on the future schemes of my uterus.
I could keep going, but I think this is enough information to tell you that a newborn is not something I am even in position to entertain on a theoretical level. I mean, I only compared the financial investment of a living, breathing baby to a situated of ruby-encrusted knives .
My uterus and I would very much like the questions regarding our future together to stop, and not only because I dont have all the answers for you. I dont like the style that intrusive topics like this make me feel.
I especially dont like that such a personal topic seems to be a perfectly innocuous topic of discussion in the eyes of so many. Its not as if youd ask person in casual conversation if theyd recently had sexuality with the exhaust pipe on their Honda Accord. My reproductive schemes are for me to worry about , not you .
Not to mention, you have no idea what my situation is. A simple glance at my body will not allows researchers to accurately deduce if Im even physically capable of bearing a child. Perhaps I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome? Maybe I had uterine cancer and had to have a hysterectomy at a young age? Maybe my fallopian tubes were damaged during a sword fight and I feel humbled that I am incapable of doing something that should come naturally to me? Did you ever consider that? Do you think its fair that I am now hypothetically confronting this fact with somebody that I am not comfy discussing it with?
The next time someone asking me if I want to have a newborn, Im going to tell them: Oh, Im unable to have kids. But Ive had a few years to mourn the baby Ill never have, so … The route I see it, lying and went on to say that Im barren does not build me a bad person. If anything, it is the person asking me the very inappropriate question that deserves to feel at the least a little bad.
I mean, if they werent sticking their curiosity where it didnt belong, we wouldnt help find ourselves in such a weird region. Asking women about their reproductive schemes is a practice that we have been conditioned to politely tolerate for too long. If this is the most effective way to route to take the topic off the table for discussion, then so be it.
If the problem is that you were just scrambling for small talk topics and accidentally tumbled on this controversial nugget, maybe simply try and ask us about our favourite flavor of Ben& Jerrys instead. Its still a nuanced, hot-button topic, but not one that will end in an awkward silence and a blunt axe pierced through your left elbow .