Heaven holds a sense of wonder….











{March 7, 2010}   All that she wants…

Pardon me for being so blunt.

I am a raging hormone machine. It can’t be helped. I want sex, and lots of it. Try as I do to distract myself, to spend my time pursuing other activities, my mind keeps wandering to sexy thoughts of my Sweet Pickle and the way she makes me feel.

I’ve noticed a bit of baby lust, too.

Has my biological clock begun ticking again?

I often find myself daydreaming of nursing babes again, holding little squirming bundles of smooth skin and plump cheeks. Looking deeply into big blue eyes, feeling the grip of a tiny palm with tiny fingers wrapped around my own mama-sized digits.

I think it has.

I’m about to turn 29 this month. I’m not old. I have, easily, another ten years of baby-having in me. The caveat, however, is that if I am to get pregnant, the only way Pickle and I can agree on making it happen, is if I essentially carry her child. In a sense, surrogacy.

She’s a bit older than me. Scientifically speaking, her ovaries are on the blink. If this were to work, we’d have to freeze them now.

We don’t have the money for that. Adoption would be more practical.

And, though my uterus is hollerin’ at me, “Now, Mama, now!!!” I know that, in all practicality, for sanity’s sake, I will not have any more babies of my own for another two years at least.

It’s hard to resist the call of the female reproductive system. I succumbed four years when I conceived my daughter. If I had the maturity then, the foresight I have now, I would have waited longer.

No regrets, though. None whatsoever. I have two beautiful children. Had I done things differently, the way I possibly “should” have done them, they wouldn’t exist, at least, not as they are.

Then again, if the me that I am now had been calling the shots five years ago – even ten years ago, when I met my children’s father, she would have said, “You know, I like you. You’re a good guy. I don’t really see lifetime potential with you, being that you have a penis and penises kind of scare me and I’m more of a t’n’a kind of girl, but you’ve got good genetics. I’d like to have your genetic offspring. No need to feel obligated to be an active father.” I bet he would have gone for it, too. He never really wanted to be a dad. I sucked him into it with my grandiose vision of the life I wanted: settled down at 18 with six kids and a zoo’s worth of pets.

The me I am now knows I could have had that without him, and probably would be much closer to that vision without him. But I wouldn’t have learned as much about myself had I gone that route.

So the me I am now is content to wait two years for another round of babies. She just wishes the hormones would quit throwing their fit in the meantime.

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