_ I piss on the stick,
Lay it on the sink,
Don’t let it turn pink.
I am too old for this shit.
I have three minutes to wait,
Until I know my fate.
I hadn’t even realized I was late,
Or, that with my scarred and marred uterus,
I could even get pregnant.
I know nothing about babies,
Nor have ever wanted to…
I guess I could put in a basket,
And leave it at the zoo.
Or better yet, trade it for a monkey…
I’ve always wanted a monkey.
Just take an honest look at me,
I’m much better suited for a chimpanzee…
Than a human being.
Or am I?
That was then, this is now.
I’ve become equipped,
Though, I don’t know how.
With health insurance and a house,
A stable job, a loving spouse.
I could do this.
I should do this.
I owe it to all those women, I think
Who are willing to go to any length,
Just to have a baby.
Especially, at my age.
Down to two minutes.
Imagination runs wild.
And, I actually consider,
Keeping the child.
After all, I adore this man…
Who has brought life to my tomb of a womb.
He’s never had a child with another.
And I have never been a mother.
It would set me apart in his heart forever,
To give him a son.
Now, look what I done?
Assigned it a sex, thus making him real.
Almost at once I begin to feel.
Could be a family.
I imagine the look on his father’s face,
As he holds him in his strong embrace.
Then, I imagine him in my arms,
Where he's supposed to be safe from harms,
And I panic...
Why give up my rich reality,
For this fantasy that could never be,
Nearly as rewarding as people pretend?
I’ve heard too many of my friends,
Say, “If I had to do it over again…”
They preface with,
“I love my child. Don’t get me wrong...”
And then give a list ten pages long,
Of the things they can no longer do.
And all the ways their life is through.
Back to this man that I adore,
We have so much more in store,
And I really don’t want to have to share,
Is that selfish? I don’t really care.
It’s just the way I feel.
One minute ten.
Statistics set in.
When you’re forty three and still out on the town,
Syndromes like Fetal Alcohol and Down,
Are par for the course.
I’ve drank, smoked pot, taken pills for pain,
With that history, I’d be insane…
To think my future wouldn’t feature,
Some pathetic creature,
With fins where there should be fingers and toes,
And an extra penis where there should be a nose.
Or…I could have a perfectly healthy baby.
Or, I could take a luxury trip around the globe.
Buy an elephant and emerald-encrusted robe.
Four hundred and seventy six thousand dollars…
That is what takes to raise a child,
To the age of eighteen,
That’s one million pairs of shoes,
If you know what I mean.
Ten seconds left.
Is this a miracle or a cosmic ruse?
Either way I have to choose.
Do I bring a child into this world?
Or recommit to my life as the party girl.
Times up. Fuck.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.