Like I mentioned earlier, the Dude found a gray hair or four on me not long ago. I think this was in retaliation for me finding a small collection of grays on him first. But whatever his motives, evil though they may be, they were there. I've started to go gray. This is ridiculous.
I colour my hair somewhat regularly, so A. I'll be covering it up anyway, and B. it's no wonder it's escaped my notice. Except right after he found the last one, I went to the bathroom and found one right in front of me, just hanging out, all gray and shit, not a care in the world. I'm 26! WTF! And of course I reflected I was almost 27 and I could envision an older me.
There were a few things I thought of that shame me when I saw those gray hairs. One, I'm not married. I'm going gray and I'm in my 20s and I'm unmarried. Two, I have not had children. I'm becoming a white-haired old lady and my uterus is still in factory mint condition.
These were passing thoughts, but damn if they didn't shoot into my head. I don't think this happens to men. They don't have "best-before" dates the way women walk around feeling like they have.
It made me think of some Discovery Channel specials on sex and attraction and how hair was an indicator of health and youth. So my hair is supposed to advertise my fertility and such. Well, it's failing! I mean, come on.
But on the flip side, beyond my hair turning on me and signalling the beginning of the end of times for my womb, I've been wondering if I even want kids. The Dude says it's my call because he could go either way. He doesn't feel any looming timeline and he is unconcerned. But I do have to decide. I wouldn't want to experience pregnancy in my late 30s. The recovery is supposed to be ass as you get older, and the toll it takes on your body is supposed to be worse. I'd also want to space them out, because caring for two small diapered kids is my idea of hell.
I don't really have parents to make happy or unhappy with grandchildren. I like sleeping in. I enjoy travel. I don't drive.
At the ovarian cancer walk, I saw a lot of moms. Tons. I overheard some of them talking and I watched them interact with their kids. It hit me that I find most of them terribly boring. Is this what happens? Do children make you boring? Or is it that a lot of boring people have kids? Is it because a lot of women lack a sense of self and then find identity in their kids and families? Occasionally do I encounter a mother (with kids at home) who I think is vibrant and interesting, in and of herself. They're out there, and they fill me with relief. Why aren't there more of them? Why are the majority mombies (zombie mommies)?
And this is the chain of thoughts spawned by a few gray hairs. Life is funny.