I had the television on this morning as I was getting ready for work (something mindless I was hardly paying attention to) when one of the characters used the term “One got past the goalie”.
I immediately stopped what I was doing and thought about that. One got past the goalie. Like, a little spermie got past the protection. And then I’m thinking to myself; well, it’s kind of just like I have a super-goalie to get past. A big fat scary goalie who is almost as big as the net.
I was literally sitting there thinking to myself that if I can just visualize getting past that goalie, then maybe mind over matter and all that other hippie bullshit will kick in.
The problem is, I was always awful at soccer. The one season I played I spent more time off the field than the people in the stands. My dad was so excited that I was on a sports team (in his eyes it was a big step up from all the theater performances he usually had to go watch me in), and he showed up to every game just to watch me sit on the bench (I went to a small school. Everyone who tried out made the team because they needed bodies, but I very rarely played. The only reason I even tried out was because there was a guy on the mens team with a british accent who I had the biggest crush on!) Dad always encouraged me to be more aggressive, but I was always afraid of falling and giving someone the opportunity to kick me in the face with their cleats. It wasn’t that I was a girly-girl (because in so many ways I really am low maintenance) it was just that competitive sports were never really my thing (anything that requires coordination isn’t really my thing) and… I liked my face.
So, in trying to visualize playing soccer with my insides, I found myself thinking “I couldn’t even get past the puny goalies back in high school. How do you get past the ultimate goalie?”
I was in the bathroom today when a girl from accounting came in. I was immediately taken aback by how long her hair had gotten (I’m pretty sure mine has been the same exact length for the last 3 years), and I said something about it. She said “Thanks! It really grew so much when I got pregnant, and it just hasn’t stopped since my baby was born.” I wanted to die. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell her she had just punched me in the gut (which technically wasn’t her fault; I intentionally keep this issue out of my work life for fear of being passed over for promotions as a result of my plan for single motherhood… I know that’s illegal, I just don’t want to take the risk). Instead I just said “Hmmmm. Guess I should work on getting knocked up then.” She laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.
Do you think the people who just effortlessly find themselves pregnant realize the magic behind what they’ve just done? Do you think they really recognize the miracle their bodies performed?
Probably not, since a decent percentage of those women likely aren’t even trying and wish they hadn’t just created that magic. I remember the few scares I had back before I knew there would ever be a problem, and I remember thinking to myself “Please don’t let me be pregnant. Please don’t let me be pregnant.” as I waited for my pee stick to predict my fate. Now I wish that just once one had gotten past the goalie before the goalie went on steroids and became so formidable.
Why is it that the grass is always greener?
ADSPACE
