this is a throw down a hoedown

Timehop has reminded me that I utterly failed the prime directive: I was never supposed to replace my hardware; I was supposed to demand a traditional tying of the tubes. When I first got the WSD in 2008, I was evidently still way too young and immature to say I didn’t want children, and clearly couldn’t be trusted to make such a monumental decision on own. I reluctantly agreed to having a tiny sperm warrior shoved all up into my nethers, and hoped that by the time five years in the future rolled around, I’d be able to find a doctor who would take me at face value.

Then I forgot all about it, and I completely forgot to bring it up at any of the four appointments with three providers I had leading up to last Thursday’s cervixical (a word now) hoedown.

I thought about this a bit yesterday morning, and I think I know the problem (beyond my not bringing it up; that one is entirely on me): all the doctors I’ve seen ARE taking me at face value, and that face is not of a woman dangerously close to 40.

Science <tm>has irrevocably proven that three things are true:

  • Fat don’t crack
  • Black don’t crack
  • Asian women look 30 until they’re 60

Any one of these traits is powerful enough by itself, but I’ve got two of them working in my favour: I’m fat AND Asian, and also don’t look or act my age. This is less a humblebrag than it is fact sharing, but it’s not just my glowing youthfulness throwing a wrench into my uterus: I have the wardrobe and makeup counter of a spoiled tween. Every once in a while (but not often enough), I get kind of embarrassed for myself and think that maybe I should trade my awesome, ridiculous, rainbow-filled and nerd-happy wardrobe in for some twinsets and pearls, but that makes me sad. Same for replacing my glittery neon makeup with matte neutrals and mini-dresses with pantsuits and mom jeans: probably should; don’t wanna.

I need to start prefacing all my Important Decision doctor appointments with my age: don’t let the glitter and Dalek dress fool you; I’m almost 40 and therefore hopefully running out of time to “change my mind someday” about wanting children. I will not change my mind when I am older: I AM older. I don’t know if science has pushed back menopause while they expanded the baby window, but if I’m still in danger of getting knocked up by the time this hardware expires/I decide I want it out, I am going to be really pissed.

I do enjoy that my age is somewhat of a mystery, though. Earlier this week I made a Cheers reference at work (because what else can you do when presented with a guy named Norm), to which my boss replied he didn’t think I was old enough to know of the show. Cheers ran from 1982 to 1993, and while it’s flattering to imagine otherwise, there’s no way I look that young. I’m an ambiguous 30 at best. Also, I’m very likely older than my boss (which actually makes me look REALLY bad, given the tumulticity (also a word now) of the last 8 months).  Oops.

I do wish this headache would go away, though.

2 thoughts on “this is a throw down a hoedown

  1. I had a doctor scoff at me when I asked for a tubal ligation at 27. I think we should be able to make our own decisions about our bodies, no?

    Luckily for me my husband and I looked into vasectomies and he was willing to go under the “knife” instead. His doctor booked him in a week after the initial consultation, never once asked if he was “sure” or gave him any guff about how old he was, and the actual procedure took less than 30 min.

    You don’t have to answer this, since you don’t know me personally and I’m just an avid reader :) but, why doesn’t Ed look into a vasectomy?

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