I’m going to turn 39 years old this month and it dawned on me that I haven’t used my uterus for anything in the last EIGHT years. That’s a long time to haul around an extraneous internal organ, don’t you think? It wouldn’t be a big deal if my uterus was one of those organs that keeps to itself and doesn’t cause any trouble, like my spleen. But once a month my uterus forces me to take to the couch – where I spend hours miserably clutching an electric heating pad, popping Advil like M&Ms, and biting the heads off of innocent passersby.
Why should I have to go through the pain and hassle of having a uterus that I’m never going to use again? I knew when I gave birth to my son back in 2004 that my uterus would never again be used as a baby hotel – much to my husband’s chagrin. Kevin really wanted to have more kids, but this motherhood gig is a lot harder than all my previous years of babysitting led me to believe. I guess I didn’t take into consideration that I don’t get paid an hourly wage to take care of my kids, and I also don’t get to give them back to anyone at the end of the night. It’s not right, if you ask me.
My gynecologist assures me that I do actually need my uterus/ovaries and shouldn’t have them taken out unless it’s absolutely necessary – something about hormone balance and estrogen production, blah, blah, blah. Sure it would it be nice if my bones didn’t turn to dust by the time I’m sixty, but wouldn’t a little osteoporosis be worth escaping monthly bouts of painful torture?
Don’t worry, I won’t make any rash decisions. I’m weighing my options carefully and taking my doctor’s advice into consideration. But I didn’t think there would be any harm in putting out some feelers just to see if there is a market out there for a pre-owned uterus. Who knows, maybe if I find a buyer I can raise enough money to put my kids through college – would that be considered blood money? Okay that was gross… sorry, boys. I know you don’t appreciate period humor.
I think my uterus would be a perfect fit for a woman in her mid-twenties, looking to begin a family. I don’t want to brag but my uterus has a pretty impressive track record (*Side note: If you want to play a fun drinking game, do a shot every time I write the word uterus. You might pass out before you finish the entry though. Anyway, back to my UTERUS.) The two times in my life when I wanted to get pregnant, I did. FAST. While my husband was thrilled with our success, I think when he heard it was time to try and make a baby he pictured months and months of unfettered sex – both pregnancies happened in less than a few weeks. Poor guy. I think he looks back on those weeks with fond remembrance, the way a starving man might recall his last big meal. But it’s not my fault I’ve got the fertility rate of a rabbit.
Which brings me to the other reason I want to ditch the excess internal baggage. Along with pain and agony, my uterus also forces me to worry about the threat of unwanted pregnancies. I feel like an eighteen year old on their way to prom every time I have to buy a box of condoms. It’s ridiculous. I tried birth control pills when I was younger, but these days I can hardly remember what I ate for breakfast, much less to take a small pill everyday to prevent myself from laying any eggs…. or whatever the hell they do. I didn’t pay much attention in health class.
Do you think (given my pregnancy super powers) that when I try and sell my uterus I should put a disclaimer on it? Something along the lines of, “WARNING: Do NOT allow sperm within a fifty foot radius of this uterus otherwise conception may occur.” While I never tested the actual pregnancy radius, I think fifty feet should be a safe. Better to be safe than knocked up, that’s what I always say. I wouldn’t want it to make someone a mommy before they really wanted to be sleep deprived and up to their elbows in baby poop.
But I’m sure there are plenty of couples out there that would love a big family. And if I can assist them in their dream of pushing the world population a bit higher, then I wouldn’t feel like my uterus was being wasted. Hey, maybe I should see if Mrs. Duggar wants to buy it – after nineteen kids, hers must be worn out by now….
Drinking game update: In case you lost count or consciousness, I used the word uterus 15 times…. well, now I guess it’s 16. 17 if you count the title. Drink up!