Are you going to try for a girl??
The sign currently on my vag.
I don’t get this question too often anymore because most of the people I’ve come into contact with over the last two years have either already asked or know better than to ask. They know this for one of three reasons:
They know ME.
They’ve already asked and I laughed in their face.
They know that I decommissioned my lady parts. THIS LANE CLOSED.
A lot of people think this is a rude question, but I find it amusing and harmless. People are usually just curious or don’t know what else to talk about. I’m sure I’ve thrown out a rude or intrusive question in my day. Cut me some slack and I’ll cut you some for asking questions about my lady parts.
When you ask someone, “Are you trying for a girl?” you’re really asking how much sex they’re having. Keep that in mind. I might start responding, “Well, we’re having crazy monkey sex, but we’re hoping none of these sperm get home, if you know what I mean.”
You might also be asking someone who is going through a painful experience. Maybe they really do want a girl (or a boy) and it just isn’t happening.
All these three truths aside, there are still at least eleven-ty reasons I’m not trying for a girl, a boy, or a puppy-monkey-baby (what WAS that commercial, anyway?). You can lump all my reasons into two general categories titled “Pregnancy Sucks” and “Young Children Wear Me Out,” respectively.
Nausea and LIES
I’m not saying “morning sickness” because it is the biggest lie ever told to womankind. It’s all-goddamn-day-sickness. Sometimes it’s just all-day-nausea-and-wishing-you’d-just-throw-up-already-sickness.
I have never had heartburn in my entire life outside of pregnancy. But during pregnancy I carried around a bottle of TUMS. Which never helped because it’s just candy. I like the purple ones.
My feet were a science experiment at 9-months pregnant in August and my face looked like I was hiding food in there. (Which I probably was because HUNGRY).
Not because I didn’t want the baby, but because of hormones and the way my brain is wired. My mind is not on board with what is supposed to be a beautiful experience. I used to hide in the bathroom at work because I’d rather people think I was taking a monster poop instead of knowing I was having a nervous breakdown.
Pooping is important. Imagine the fat-ness, the heartburn, the swelling… and then not being able to poop. It’s a special kind of torture.
Twice. Surely you don’t need further explanation.
It all runs together, but in my mind there is a cacophony of newborn sleeplessness, breastfeeding drama, potty training, poop diapers, crawling, walking, cuteness, sweetness, adorable fat rolls….wait, I’m getting off topic. They ARE cute and wonderful, but dear god, SO. MUCH. WORK.
Someone will always have to ride alone in a family of 5. I promise you it would always be me.
No Special Ordering Allowed
It’s not like I can request a girl from the baby keepers.
I Love Boys
Parenting boys is actually perfect for me. I never thought it would be, but it is. I’m suited for it. Additionally, I have two beautiful nieces that I see almost every day. Lastly, I would be a terrible dance mom and I don’t know how to French braid.
I can go on if your womb is still itching for another. If you have a teenager, I’d be happy to talk to them about all the reasons they shouldn’t be having sex. I’ll scare the shit out of them by telling them all the reasons babies will ruin their bodies and social life. Hit me up anytime. However, all you probably need to say is “vagina stitches,” and I bet they delay at least a little while.