The Fairytale goes: Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, wed the beautiful Catherine and turned her into a Duchess and they lived happily ever after. The End. Finally they were able to chill out at Buckingham Palace and do whatever it is do indoors, which is where they probably spend a lot of time hiding out from paparazzi. RANDOM THOUGHT: I wonder if they call each other “babe” in the privacy of their own castle space. Imagine Kate saying to Prince Will, “Hey babe, could you please pass the strawberry jam?”
Kind of messes with the ideology of aristocratic convention when you infuse modern day slang. Meh, more than likely there won’t be any time for talking since the Duke may be a little too busy buttering the Duchess’s scone, if ya know what I mean. Not just because they’re newlyweds, but because GET THIS: Will has nine months to zap Kate’s royal egg and produce an heir for the second-in-line to the throne if he plans to uphold 200 years of tradition. Apparently the British kingdom is paranoid about a break in the line to succession so they expect immediate results (COURTESY Yahoo News).
Wow. That’s a lot of FUCKING pressure. And if you look at history, every time someone messes with tradition or royal rule, bad things happen. Like someone gets beheaded or there’s a curse over the land, hence the plague and the potato famine. If Kate doesn’t have that baby within eighteen months, in modern day language that probably means the death of Facebook or Google. Or the internet altogether. My God, how will we communicate without the internet?! My generation is not used to talking. This is the type and text era.
Say WHAT?! FOLLOWED BY: Fuck Me. Into procreation.
Superstition and sarcasm aside, I mean that’s what people do, right? They fall in love, get married and have a BABY. It’s a completely normal natural process. Unless…you’re me. You see, I have these baby fears. ALL the time. And it’s not just one fear — it’s every zygotic, embryonic, fetal fear imaginable locked inside the darkest enclave of the part of my mind that controls my uterus. The truth is babies scare me more than (insert worst fear).
For instance, I’m afraid I’m going to fall pregnant to the wrong guy at the wrong time and then he’ll leave me for a supermodel. Oh wait. That actually happened to Bridget Moynahan with Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen. See. It’s not just in my head. OR: I’m scared that I’ll finally be ready to have a baby and it won’t happen. Like my fallopian tubes will fail or my ovaries will be like, “Sorry. We’re out of commission. When we were willing to participate you couldn’t get your shit together and find some sperm. We’re over it.” Nooo, please grant me a child. I need to prove my mother wrong! Or in Kate Middleton’s case, the monarchy (and possibly the internet, if my prediction proves correct) is at stake.
SIDE NOTE: Don’t underestimate the value of your vagina. It’s the gateway to the future. You could be giving birth to the next King…or Copernicus (I was trying to be original there and not say Einstein)…or worst case scenario – Hitler (there’s no point in trying to be original if you’re looking for a bad guy). I suppose that’s where abortion comes in handy. Ooh Crude. But really, it’s hard to be nice when it comes to Hitler.
And of course then there are the logistics of pushing a small human out of your holy shrine. It’s not the head that freaks me out, but the shoulders. I gotta be honest guys, I am not looking forward to that kind of pain. Or the permanent damage to my body. MESSAGE TO FUTURE CHILD: If you’re leaving me with stretch marks, then I am imposing my Smurf obsession on you. Don’t worry, Smurfs are Awesome! Mama will be sipping her cocktail while you drink your milk.
What? I’ll have to make up for not drinking for over a year – nine months plus breast feeding stage. I have no idea how I’m going to get through that. But maybe it’ll be okay because I’ll have a bigger goal to focus on, as in GIVING LIFE. Hey check it: I made a person. Try to compare your highest non human forming accomplishment to that. You can’t. Mothers rock!
It still weirds me out that sex leads to baby making. I understand the science, but it’s a bit of a contradiction, particularly if you associate sex with fun. As the equation goes: Sexual freedom plus fertility equals a little bundle of responsibility, which brings me to my next fear: What if I’m an irresponsible mother? Or I just suck at motherhood. Or I get bored and decide I don’t want to do it full-time, like that writer – Rahna Reiko Rizzuto, who converted to part time mom after she realized motherhood wasn’t her thing (chronicled in her memoir – Hiroshima in the Morning).
I don’t want to be a deserter. I want to be a good mom – selfless, loving and not obsessed with beige (I still plan on being trendy). If motherhood comes my way, I hope I’m like Keri Russell. Babies totally suit her. If you think the girl can’t get any cuter, hand her a baby and you’ll see. Or just rent ‘We Were Soldiers.’ She also suits being pregnant. Think of her in ‘Waitress.’ She’s like my ultimate baby mama inspiration. Visually, that is.
For now I have no intention of getting knocked up, even if I meet the perfect baby daddy tomorrow. This is where contraceptives come in handy. Besides, I have to fulfill my pre-baby travel fantasy of going to Turkey, Morocco, Egypt and Greece. After that I suppose we’ll see, but hopefully the whole baby thing (if and when it happens) will be a pleasant surprise and not my greatest fear coming to life. As for the Duchess, well I guess we’ll find out if she meets the baby deadline through the tabloids…or if the internet suddenly stops working.