Is that *my* biological clock?

Something is wrong with me.

(Yeah, go ahead. I've heard too many witty retorts to that line for you to surprise me with anything new, so just get it out of your system, and then we'll go on. Together. Like adults.)

So back to what's wrong with me.

Lately, by which I mean several weeks, I have had these recurring thoughts. In psychological terms, they'd be "intrusive thoughts." Because they keep coming into my head and I don't want them there.

For the record, I do NOT want to give birth to and raise a child from infancy.

But I'm beginning to worry that this particular statement is some kind of CBT thing, where I'm telling myself a statement to counter the intrusive thought. Which I'm having trouble spelling out. Although my headline, if nothing else, should've given it away.

Some. Thing. Freaky. Is. Happening. To. My. Mind.

I keep ... shit ... I keep trying to figure out what the hell I would do if I got pregnant. Becuase I keep having this weird premonition that I'm gonna end up having a ... a B.A.B.Y.

Now listen. I know I'm not pregnant or anything. In fact, I'm hoping that blogging on this will break the cycle of the thought, totally erase the concept from my mind and, just in case I'm having some super freaky premonition, make whatever the hell impregnating experience would cause this NOT HAPPEN.

Because this is one loopy fucking idea that I want to GO AWAY. Shoo! Shoo!

No, I'm not worried about some kind of traumatic event occuring. Nor accidentally sleeping with that 1 in 1,000 lesbians who really does have sperm on the tip of her tongue.

What I'm worried about is that, perhaps ... I ... I can barely say this! ... uh? ... want one?

It can't be! Such a little creature would totally fuck up my life, take every last bit of personal stamina I have and put in in a fucking SHREDDER. It would cry, and I don't think I could take that. Not to mention, I have enough trouble being responsible to my dog sometimes. He can be left at home and he can hold himself for a good 14 hours. (Let's not even address the ways in which I've personally contributed to his neurosis, because I *am* responsible for several things, including his eating disorder.)

I don't even want to get into the whole bit where I'm an unemployed graduate student. Nor how I would be a single mom.

Nor how by the time that either of those situations is properly resolved, I would be considerably older than I think is reasonable to have a child, especially when one will be facing 20 years of debt payments on student loans, god only knows how many years working in the non-profit ghetto before I have the experience and connections to start a (higher-paying) private practice, nor the fact that I DO NOT WANT THAT KIND OF RESPONSIBILITY.

'Cause infants can be cute (sometimes) but they are labor intensive, fussy, noisy, demanding and STINKY. And then they become 2 and 3. And then they become teen-agers. Lots of misery. And no guarantee of any kind of payoff in the form of a loving or close -- or even respectful -- relationship as they get older.

I KNOW all of that.

In short, I keep thinking a child would essentially ruin my life, drive me into poverty and make me pull my hair out.

And yet, I keep having these weird thoughts that it might not be so bad. I could have a little girl and name her Tanzania and we'd get along famously, except the part where we live in poverty.... (Obviously, just as there's no accounting for my delusions of parenthood, there's no accounting for the taste I'd display in naming a child.)

So I need some more effective CBT. Giving birth would push me into poverty. I agree with that statement (strongly) about 98 percent of the time.... Christine Padesky, where are you and (at least what was) your ugly hair and your absurd little charts when I need you?

Actually, I'm thinking I need more than CBT. Anyone got a screaming, sickly, mean-spirited little child they want me to babysit?

Because I think the real problem here -- the source of this delusion -- is the time I've spent time around S2's children. They are wonderful. Even when throwing a temper tantrum, there is something amusing and beautiful about them.

But, being the product of their intelligent, intact and thoughtful parents, they absolutely do not represent the devil's spawn that would be generated and raised by yours truly. Especially as a single mother. Yet, I keep thinking about it.

And THAT, my friends, is FUCKED UP. One should never reproduce simply because one would not otherwise have a family. Really, that *must* be my motivation, that must be what lies beneathe these thoughts. Because I otherwise have never wanted such a thing, cannot afford such a thing, do not want any of the changes necessary to be responsible to such a thing and could only in my most delusional moments think such a thing would be good for me or for that poor child.

Thank god I'm a lesbian. Maybe that and that alone is keeping me from being the dumbest woman on the planet right now.

(Well, that. And the fact that Britney Spears is still breathing. Even if the oxygen isn't quite making it to her brain.)