There was a time, not too long ago, before Jamie Lynn Spears, before Massachusetts High Schools and before Miss Palin’s baby mama drama, when kids having kids was reserved for what many considered to be, the less fortunate. There was a time when a 16 year got pregnant that she either went to “boarding school” for nine months and came back childless with huge tits… or came back from another place childless …and I will not refer to this place by name, except to say that it might rhyme with “shmashmorshion”.
But in 2008 it seems as though we have either become devout sinless Christians, or unable to afford shmashmorshions. And in both Jamie Lynn’s and Miss Palin’s case, one would have to question both. (I mean when you name your kid Jamie Lynn, what else do you expect?)
The first time I ever assumed I was pregnant I called my friend Jay immediately...so I could panic of course. I reasoned calling a guy would be better as I had enough estrogen coursing through me to steer a train right into Ovary-Ville, and the less estrogen-induced advice, the better.
I remember asking him what I would do, if I could have a child, if I could even afford a child. And of course, this is when Jay suggested the A-word. “Are girls still doing that?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He said. “It’s like cocaine. Everyone is doing it, but no one is talking about it.”
And it’s the truth. I couldn’t name a single friend of mine who had one. But maybe they have had one and I simply do not know about it? Maybe there is some secret society for these women and they are going to underground meetings where they discuss these kind of issues all the time and then watch The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants afterword, while chomping Midol. I could picture them all, sitting around in some basement, the walls covered in Anne Geddes posters and yaffa blocks.
When did pregnancy or the lack thereof become a non-discussable topic? Was Jay right? Was everyone having them, but no one was talking about it?
I did not end up pregnant that year. Nor have I ever ended up pregnant. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t scoured CVS before searching for the every kind of pregnancy test imaginable. The Red test. The Blue test. The ‘Are You Having the Next Jesus Christ’ test. Believe me, I have peed on them all. But I have never had to make that decision.
The hardest decision I normally have to make is whether or not to get whipped cream on my iced coffee in the mornings...because then all the Starbucks people look at you like your crazy for wanting whipped cream on an iced coffee , as well as the people behind you, clearly all now judging you and staring at your ass and thinking to themselves how your ass certainly could do without the whipped cream and then when they yell out your drink order they always forget it on top and you have to try and discreetly them AGAIN for whipped cream, as to which this time they turn to the other fucking Starbucks employees and have some kind of ‘SBucks’ fight wherein there is a whipped cream discussion all directed at me, all the while the other customers waiting for drinks are cursing out me and my stupid un-needed fat assed whip cream request…
But I digress.
Having never had to make that decision, I am not sure where the coin would fall for me. I am not sure any of us could say what we would do if put in a position like that because as they say, you don't know about the hen hole until you are directly in the hen hole...or whatever the fuck that saying is.
Unless of course you happen to be really really attractive... then I say - have the kid and give it to Janice Dickson so she can model the shit outta that baby and turn it into the first ever baby-supermodel complete with implants and tummy tuck.
But in 2008 it seems as though we have either become devout sinless Christians, or unable to afford shmashmorshions. And in both Jamie Lynn’s and Miss Palin’s case, one would have to question both. (I mean when you name your kid Jamie Lynn, what else do you expect?)
The first time I ever assumed I was pregnant I called my friend Jay immediately...so I could panic of course. I reasoned calling a guy would be better as I had enough estrogen coursing through me to steer a train right into Ovary-Ville, and the less estrogen-induced advice, the better.
I remember asking him what I would do, if I could have a child, if I could even afford a child. And of course, this is when Jay suggested the A-word. “Are girls still doing that?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He said. “It’s like cocaine. Everyone is doing it, but no one is talking about it.”
And it’s the truth. I couldn’t name a single friend of mine who had one. But maybe they have had one and I simply do not know about it? Maybe there is some secret society for these women and they are going to underground meetings where they discuss these kind of issues all the time and then watch The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants afterword, while chomping Midol. I could picture them all, sitting around in some basement, the walls covered in Anne Geddes posters and yaffa blocks.
When did pregnancy or the lack thereof become a non-discussable topic? Was Jay right? Was everyone having them, but no one was talking about it?
I did not end up pregnant that year. Nor have I ever ended up pregnant. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t scoured CVS before searching for the every kind of pregnancy test imaginable. The Red test. The Blue test. The ‘Are You Having the Next Jesus Christ’ test. Believe me, I have peed on them all. But I have never had to make that decision.
The hardest decision I normally have to make is whether or not to get whipped cream on my iced coffee in the mornings...because then all the Starbucks people look at you like your crazy for wanting whipped cream on an iced coffee , as well as the people behind you, clearly all now judging you and staring at your ass and thinking to themselves how your ass certainly could do without the whipped cream and then when they yell out your drink order they always forget it on top and you have to try and discreetly them AGAIN for whipped cream, as to which this time they turn to the other fucking Starbucks employees and have some kind of ‘SBucks’ fight wherein there is a whipped cream discussion all directed at me, all the while the other customers waiting for drinks are cursing out me and my stupid un-needed fat assed whip cream request…
But I digress.
Having never had to make that decision, I am not sure where the coin would fall for me. I am not sure any of us could say what we would do if put in a position like that because as they say, you don't know about the hen hole until you are directly in the hen hole...or whatever the fuck that saying is.
Unless of course you happen to be really really attractive... then I say - have the kid and give it to Janice Dickson so she can model the shit outta that baby and turn it into the first ever baby-supermodel complete with implants and tummy tuck.
