ATTACK OF THE UTERINE MINIONS

In those months leading up to 25 I tried everything to make that happen. I was promoted to an HR/Accounting Manager, making great money. Check. My boyfriend and I bought a house after five months of dating. Retarded, but check. I became a concerned vegetarian. Unintentional, but that makes me more adult, right? Check. Then I turned 25. What was I supposed to do next? Marriage. Get married, Heather! Six months later, check. And then on the flight back from the honeymoon, I sobbed as my new husband slept. What had I done? I reassured myself this was what I was supposed to do! But what was I supposed to be as a wife? I partied, had fun, was unconventional...and I didn't think this was what a wife was supposed to be. So instead I got a big ol', judgmental stick up my ass that lasted for a year and half until a bit of a "You've become a bitch" intervention happened and I found myself again.

The next three years were rough. The marriage was never really good, minus about nine months. We both changed. I was not a good wife. The good part was for about nine month in our last year and a half. We were happier after our move to Arizona. It was just the two of us and we were connecting with the friendship that our relationship had grown from. We talked about trying for kids in a year. My "30 Checklist" screamed with joy. "I will be a real adult now!" I thought. Instead we separated, and a year later we were divorced. And at 29 I'd checked off a lot of my "30 list" and lost it all. I lost the good job, the bad marriage, the house, and my youth. What had I done? I'd wasted five years on bullshit. I let it go and went about reliving my youth a bit too much. I spent my 30th in Flagstaff with my friends there who were all 20 and 21, having an amazing time, and the cops busted my party. For some reason this seemed to re-establish I was still young in my mind.

Now here I am a decade after my "25th freak out", starting on my "35th freak out". I'll be 35 in October and that mental "Oh my god, I'm going to be 40 in five years" fear has surfaced. Thing is, it's changed. It's not about what I feel like I should do or am supposed to do before I hit 40. Instead it's what I want, what I feel in my gut. I don't feel I like I need to be married. I actually feel life would be much better to just be in a long-term commitment with no paper. I no longer feel the need for the house because I still feel like I have some exploring and moves in store for me. I have accepted that I'm not a career person. I'm not going to waste my time or life to work 50-60 hours a week for some bullshit job I'm not happy in. I'd rather just be financially stable and work on the things I love and enjoy.

There are things I want to focus on more, but am not afraid of. I want to travel more. I want to focus on putting the stories I have outlined, into books. I want to make more people laugh, love more, and fear less. I want to dive into life, wrap my arms around it and embrace it wholeheartedly. So where does the freak out come in? My damned girlie parts.

I've written some about the exploding ovarian cysts, the cloudy and severely tipped uterus, the three-week periods and the battles to find a birth control method that will give me a normal cycle, as well as my never-ending search for an absorbent tampon. While these things have been quite annoying and quite painful at times, they were a godsend in my twenties. My body was its own birth control. My doctor would tell me how hard it was to get pregnant. And in the drunken flings of my youth, I'd reason that I didn't need to use a condom because sperm was like NASA and reproduction was like Mars. It could be sought out, but it sure as hell wasn't going to land.

Since turning 30, I convinced myself that I don't want kids, that life is easier without them. I think of all the free time I will have for life. I think of the sleep I will get, the silence I will experience. Now here I am almost 35 and it's turned on me. Thing is, I get bored with all my free time. I only like silence when I sleep. And let's face it, I absolutely love children. I hate to say this, but my biological clock is building it's own Tower of Babel to reach my brain. It's the Tower of Baby. "I want a baby!" it screams!

Fuck.

Now, I will say that through my crazy life I've learned much. I feel that while I'm still a nut, I'm a bit more logical now. I don't want a child just to have a child. I'm not going to hunt down some man to preggo me up. I want that IF I meet the right person, and IF the timing of that coordinates with my ovaries not turning into raisins. Thing is, this impending 35 has made me realize it's much more likely that I'm looking at raisins.

"But women are having babies at 40!" my friend tells me.

"I'm tired now though!" I respond. "I go to bed at 9:00 sometimes! I think I'm going to be a bit sleepy for a first kid at 40. Plus I fear that my child will get out of diapers, and put me right back in them."

"But there's still time BEFORE 40!" my friend shoots back.

"Okay, let's break this down. I am 35 in less than four months. If I met 'the one' now, okay, maybe. Thing is, I am NOT going to meet that person here. So let's say I meet someone in a year or two. This puts me at 36/37. We're great together, I can fart in front of him and we giggle at it. So we are together for a few years and have our selfish time. I am now 39/40. Now we want a baby, and it's raisins. RAISINS I TELL YAH! So unless I want a daily shot of hormones in the ass and twins or triplets shooting out at 40, I don't think this is happening."

And I can laugh about this. It's kind of funny to me. I was the first of my friends having sex, and I was slutty when I was younger. Everyone thought I'd be the first to lay an egg. Instead I just lay on the bed. And this is okay. I tell myself this is okay. And then they send in the uterine minions.

What are the uterine minions? KIDS!

I love kids. I get along so well with my friends' children, and am an Auntie many times over outside of my actual Auntie status with my niece. I love to play and laugh and teach them the things they're parents end up going, "Heather! Did you teach him/her that?" Kids make me happy. They remind me I'm alive. And I tell myself that my friends' kids and my niece are enough in my life. But lately, I think they hear my biological clock.

The first incident was when I was babysitting my friend's daughter and she started calling me "Mommy". It startled me. I told her I wasn't her Mommy, that I was her friend. She then said it again. I responded my same way again. I then just ignored it when it was repeated. I have to say it was something that made me kind of sad. I started thinking, "I wonder if someone will say that to me who IS my kid someday?" Then there was the little girl shouting "Hello" and waving to me with familiarity at the grocery store. My uterus stirred. Shut up uterus! Shut up! Then there was the kicker. I was babysitting for another friend and had told her son how my mom used to drive me to school with a towel on her head, and would sing "I'm Heather's swami Mommy!" We laughed and sang it in the car. The next day, I was wearing a towel on my head after my shower and he sang, "You're no one's swami Mommy!" And I realized I wasn't, and my heart broke. Will I ever have the opportunity to mortify my child the way my mother did to my siblings and me? Forecast - cloudy uterus.

And so I battle to accept what might be my fate. Maybe I'll always just be the cool real or fake Auntie. Or as my friend's son claimed when I told him he could stay up late to finish watching Smallville, "the best babysitter ever!" Maybe I'll just be one to continue teaching them how to make armpit farts, or laugh with them about pooping and farting. Maybe I'll be the crazy cat lady who continues to turn to her Magic 8 Ball to find out whether or not she should go on a date. Or maybe I'll be really, fucking tired with twins at 40. Who knows? No matter what though, I'm going to be awesome!