So let’s just get this out in the open. My father, a lifelong alcoholic (and also a writer – imagine that!), wrote a story in his waning years. He was in poor health, so he wanted me to type up his handwritten manuscript. It was about me, and me getting pregnant and faking suicide to not shame my mother. Not about me by name, but, you know, it was about me. Sigh.
So that’s a big reason that I was a goody goody my whole life. I think I desperately wanted to prove him wrong. I frustrated the living crap out of boys in high school but I didn’t care. I don’t even think I noticed. Not that I was exactly miss hot to trot, but I surely left quite a few blue balls in my wake.
I believe in family planning and contraception, and there are studies that show that providing reliable, long-term contraception dramatically lowers teen pregnancies and abortions. My students have been asking me a lot lately if I have kids, to which I respond no. Not sure if that makes me a role model, being 30, married, having a steady career and almost a masters degree before I have kids (because the vast majority of the kids I teach were not born under these circumstances). Whatever.
Of course, for as long as I’ve been involved in serious relationships, the pill and I have never gotten along and so I’ve always had mild panics once a month. Many women know these. Before I had visited serious relationshipland, when I was a freshman in college, I went five months without a period. Seriously, body? I had some ultrasounds when I was in high school, and they saw minor ovarian cysts, nothing major. It was so long ago, and something not followed up on, that I have a hard time remembering, but whatever they found were minor impediments to being regular.
All through my life, I have never been the kind of person to easily adjust to habit. Like – you mean, as soon as I wake up I brush my teeth and as soon as I get home I lock the door? My lack of regularity with habits and sleep schedules and the like baffles most normal people, including my husband.
But, as all women are, I was born with the body parts I have and all of the eggs I would ever have. And I just happen to have a body and eggs that don’t plan on being regular, well, ever. It sure will be a fun time in the old corral when my husband and I do start trying to have kids. The “oh crap, do this guy and I have to get married?” panic attacks have gone away at this point. And that’s a good thing. Plan B makes me a little crazy, and the off-brand pink-boxed pill you get at CVS is worse. The more first-world problem-esque “will us having a baby ahead of time prevent us from having an awesome wedding?!” panics have subdued.
The question is: did me being highly emotional and lacking regularity in my sleep schedule or other daily habits cause my body to rebel, or does my highly irregular body cause these issues throughout the course of my life? How do you ever expect me to be on time anywhere I go if my eggs never, ever arrive on time?