Why does it seem like every mother of a large brood, with the exception of me, is in denial? I’ve yet to hear one of these mothers come right out and say, “Fuck you, uterus, or damn you, Ortho Novum! You both royally screwed me too many times!” Why do these large quivered mamas feel compelled to only say sickeningly sweet things about the fact that they are a walking fetus factory? Just once, I’d like to hear one echo my sentiment that it sucks to be helpless against repeated, ill timed pregnancy. What are they so afraid of? Do they fear being called a bad mom? It is a reality that not every child of a large family was a planned baby. Trust me. Seven of mine were “Oh shitballs” moments. Yes, all seven. You can choose to argue with me on that, if you want, but it is the honest to goodness truth. I tried, like a son of a gun, to stop. When I realized that stopping was not an option, I decided to settle for spacing them out. Nope, it obviously wasn’t going to happen. 

Our first baby was the result of a total drunken moment of passion. So, I’ll take responsibility and admit that we were just idiots. Marlie is proof that even stupid moments can yield wonderful results. After our first, I converted to Catholicism and agreed to use NFP. Unfortunately, Natural Family Planning is a two person effort and only one of us was really doing it. Voila, baby number two, Daniel Jr.! Then came the “pull out” method. Uh…that does not work for a man who pre ejaculates. Sorry for the over abundance of information, but it is true. We call that lesson, Trenton. He is a cute little accident! Next came the nursing pill. I was pregnant the month after starting that, with Phillip. Condoms? They break and I have a two legged, sass mouthed, four year old Aiden to prove it. Those female condoms and that foamy spermicidal stuff are both jokes. Maybe God knew that I needed the fireball that is Ella. Even an IUD was no match for my body’s mission to pop out a record breaking amount of babies. My uterus spat out that little plastic and copper device, like a child rejects brussel sprouts. Unfortunately it spat that sucker straight through my uterine wall and into my rectum….but that is another story. Luckily, the end result was a healthy little Reed. My point is, birth control doesn’t work unless your body allows it to. My body would not allow anything we tried to interfere with its procreative recreation. Finally, my husband went in for the big V, much to his resistance. 

Do I regret my kids being born? No. At least, not 98% of the time. There are those days, however, when I’d like to jump ship. Who doesn’t have those? Am I thrilled that I was unable to stop my baby factory of a body? Hell no! I did not enjoy the shitty side effects of seven back to back pregnancies. I was relieved to return to an ungestating state and cried when it ended in yet another pregnancy. Call me selfish. Call me a bad mother. At least I have balls to say it. (I’m seriously looking into that possibility, since sometimes I ended up pregnant when we didn’t even have sex during ovulation!) I wish that more fertile Myrtles would stand up and admit to being pissed when the little pregnancy stick turned up with two pink lines. I want to know that someone else threw that test at their husband and threatened to cut off his balls if he did not go get a vasectomy. It is okay to love your children and simultaneously curse the fact that your uterus failed to respect your wishes or that birth control was useless in giving you a rest. I say it and I’m still a good mom…or at least a mediocre one! Call my kids frustrating accidents or call them joyous blessings, I say they are both and I sure wish more moms in my boat, would verbally agree.  

Bookmark to: