Alcatraz

I’m a ticking time bomb of emotions. For awhile I was really confused as to my sudden outburst of tears/unwarranted fury/joy/laughter/disdain towards the world/insert any other incredibly heightened emotion here…I’ve probably felt it…in the past five minutes. Lucky for me, my best friend is going to be a famous doctor one day and explained to me that I am at the peak of my hormonal Everest right now (except she probably used those medical-ish terms that make me stop listening).

That would explain why my womb trembles at the sight of any small child, or worse, a man carrying a small child.

It’s not like I want children right now, in fact, I can think of nothing I want less, except maybe the extra 20lbs that come with said child, or even worse…the physical act of getting that baby outta there. (umm…ouch)

As a single woman, I’m pretty sure the phrase ‘guard your heart’ has been slammed down my throat so many times, I wake up saying it in the middle of the night after one of those reoccurring dreams about an attractive man sitting in the park beside me on a gingham blanket playing softly on his guitar as I read Edith Wharton, while enjoying the sun on our face and some tasty treats (just me? C’mon, you know it sounds magical). Guarding your heart is all well and good, but what about guarding your womb? If those two could get on the same page, that would be great.

I was blessed with an over-active imagination and a soft spot for romance. Combining those two in the same body is the perfect storm for falling head over heels for any man that walks by with a Bible in his back pocket. Add some Toms, a good smile, a sense of humor, wit, a fanny pack, a love of sports and make him over 6 feet and my womb is doing back flips like some tiny gymnast prepping for the Olympics.

My head has it all under control…if by control you mean altering reality to avoid emotional commitment. After many years of research, I have developed what I refer to as Alcatraz, which is a nice blend of bitterness and sarcasm with an undertone of skepticism regarding love and subtle notes of mistrust towards mankind. Do I believe the string of lies I spew at the first sight of a good guy? Nah. But seeing as how I am capable of planning our life together within three seconds of meeting him, disdain is typically the safer choice because the alternative looks a little like this:

Him: Oh hey. I’m *insert bro name here*.

Me: He’s tall and nice. Did his eyes just flicker towards the wee child running amok next to us? So he likes kids?! Oh my gosh. That’s perfect. His skin tone would mesh perfectly with mine. We would have pretty kids. And since he’s wearing Toms he must be philanthropic…so he’s a giver. Which makes him the perfect husband. And he isn’t squishy, so he must be athletic right? Duh. We are going to have beautiful athletic children and he will coach their little league team on Saturday morning and then grill burgers for the team after the games during the backyard bbq’s that we host…because we are perfect. And totally getting married.

Did I mention I was crazy? Thus the formation of Alcatraz. Now, my thought process goes a little bit like this:

Him: Oh hey. I’m *insert bro name here*.

Me: He’s tall and nice. Did his eyes just flicker towards the wee child running amok next to us? Whatever. He’s probably just thinking how much he hates kids and never wants them. He’s going to be a terrible father. The kind that ignores his children and regrets the day they were born. That regret will then boil over into bitterness towards me for producing them and we will live out our marriage in unspoken rage.

Basically my head and my womb aren’t on speaking terms. My womb keeps telling my brain to lighten up and believe the best in people. My head tells my womb to stop being so naïve; and I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, try to make heads or tails of it all.

With the average marriage age rising, it is inevitable that the single population that chooses abstinence will have to withstand many a trembling womb. Now we are battling not only societal views of sexuality, but also our own biological clocks. My battle tactics have to evolve from the child’s play into full-fledged modern warfare, simply playing “he’s going to be a terrible father’ every time a hot guy walks by is no longer adequate. 

**Part 2 Coming Soon**