[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

I'm a perfect angel every 28 days.

I love how I cry. I love how I get angry at EVERYTHING. I love how people, who are close to me, consider bringing in an exorcist. I love how full of bloat I get. I love how sore my boobs get. I love how my uterus expands and contracts, as if to say, “You feel this? YOU FEEL THIS? Your vacant womb is contracting. If you were pregnant right now, you wouldn’t have to feel these for another nine months.”

“You know, Uterus, I’m not entirely sure that’s true. And even if it were, I’d rather have slight cramps than go through a 15 hour labor. Plus, all that aside, I hear that pregnant woman get bad gas. And have backaches. And after they give birth, sometimes they lactate through their blouses. Plus, it’s nice to have money with which to clothe and feed your kids, and I’m barely clothing and feeding me.”

“That’s because you buy too many books, books you don’t read before buying more books. You could easily have saved enough money by now to pay off your college loans, be free and clear of all debt, and STILL have money for books AND baby clothes.”

“Well, I don’t have a husband.”

“Girlfriend, please. You don’t need a man. You can do this on your own.”

“I’d rather eat you, Uterus, than be a single mother. Women who are capable, wonderful, loving single mothers have something that I lack: patience, determination, backbones, courage, energy…”

“Sounds to me like they have a lot of things you lack, Haskell.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re wrong, though. You never complain about the long lines at Disneyland, and so you have patience.”

“Hmm.”

“From the moment you wake up, you are resolved to make it back to your bed as quickly as possible, and so you are determined.

“Ah.”

“You are always complaining about a pain up and down your spinal cord, so you have backbone.”

“You’re right!”

“You own up to your lies (even though the only person you own up to is yourself) and that takes courage.”

“I’m a friggin’ lion!”

“When you see something on TV that makes you really happy, you dance in your seat and clap your hands vigorously, and that takes a lot of energy!”

“I could light an entire village, population 11, with the energy of my excited hand claps! What you speak is the truth!”

“See, you are totally ready for single parenthood. And believe me when I tell you that *I* am ready to be fetus filled and satisfied. I’m tired of these fake contractions. I’m ready for the real deal.”

“I’m still not sure how I’d pay for these babies you want me to have so badly.”

“Welfare. Everyone is doing it.”

“I really don’t want to be pregnant. Or raise brats, and we know my kids would be bratty.”

“If you don’t get pregnant soon, I’m going to wither up and die. I will look like a little shriveled crone and I will whisper about dark portents at night while you sleep. You’ll never have a good night’s sleep again. You’re hair will go grey overnight. You’re eyesight will fail completely. Give me a child, Audra. I MUST HAVE A CHILD!”

“Nah, I think I’d rather drink beer, be lonely, read The Goon when Powell finally comes out with Vol. 4, and play Mrs Pacman, even though I’m the WORST Pacman player ever. You can understand that, can’t you, Uterus?”

“Yeah, but in another 28 days, we’re having this conversation again!”

“Okaydoke.”

Yup, every 28 days I’m a perfectly sane, wonderfully happy, content little angel. A fallen angel. A demon spawn of Hell.

And I LOVE it.