I have a broken uterus. Yes, you read that right. It is defective, and has been referred to (by medical professionals) as uncooperative, enlarged, shy and malfunctioning. So, to make it simple, I am referring to it as broken.

Sometimes, broken implies that something is fixable- not in this case. Mine is permanently in disrepair and will soon be kicked to the curb (or at least thrown in a pile of bio waste, or wherever broken uterus go when they die).

I have enlisted the help of robotic arms to rid me of my broken uterus. My son thinks this is dangerous. He has pointed out several times that robots can not be trusted. 'You've seen the movies, Mom,' he says. According to him, I will probably be implanted with some sort of robotic parts that may or may not cause me to have robot babies or try to take over the world.

These images have caused a number of weird dreams, so I have decided to name the robotic arm Rosie. This sounds friendly and helpful- not at all menacing and evil. After all, the maid in The Jetsons was named Rosie, and she was awesome - even if she was a bit bossy and sarcastic at times. I would not be comfortable with a robot named Box or T-300 or Gort.

I have been looking at the positive side of this whole thing, and have come up with the ultimate happy thought. I will actually lose weight from this. A uterus has to weigh at least 8 ounces, right? With mine being all enlarged and stuff, it could feasibly be more like 16. That is a whole pound of weight gone.

Okay, after much research on the InterWebs, I found out the average uterus weighs 100-200 grams and is the size of a women's fist. Mine is probably more the size of a very large man's fist. I then had to find a way to convert grams to ounces, and I found out it is about 3.5 to 7 ounces. Who knows, I could lose a whole 2 pounds depending on how defective I am.

I will have a lot of time on my hands for the next few weeks while I am out of work. I might even step up my game and write a blog post every day. I'm not sure how exciting they will be, but you never know.

I saw these plush toys at the WSU bookstore. I guess I could get one if I  feel lonely after my uterus is gone. It's a little weird though.

I don't know where this picture came from, but it makes my point.

There are way too many babies around lately. It seems as though everyone is either pregnant, has a newborn, or has a child under the age of one. They are in my office, my neighborhood, my favorite hangouts and on TV. Luckily, they are not in my house.

I used to get a deep yearning in my uterus every time I saw a baby - even an ugly baby. I would want to touch the baby's head, rub my fingers along its hairline and touch its little nose and small ears. I would get the urge to smell it and my arms would, of their own volition, reach out to hold it.

Now I see a baby and my first reaction is to smile and turn the other direction. Then I want to make sure anyone who is touching the baby has washed their hands and sanitized - both for the baby's sake and theirs.

Babies are gross.

Once you've had one, you're allowed to say that without judgement. Granted, there are a few babies I particularly enjoy, but they are related to me, so I don't think they technically count in the gross babies category (it really does depend on the day though).

My sweet nephew Aiden.

Reasons Babies Are Gross:

Babies have multiple bodily fluids emitting from many different places without a predictable timeline.

When babies get pimples everyone thinks it's cute. GAG- pimples are always gross.

Babies are like dogs. If you don't watch them they will eat anything.

When babies get teeth- biting is almost always acceptable. I'm not allowed to bite anyone unless I am being attacked in a dark alley- and even then, I might get some sort of disease, so I probably wouldn't do it anyway. So unfair.

Babies can make you feel really bad about yourself. Some babies love me, but with others it's like they have an Erin counter on them (like a Geiger counter). The closer they get to me the louder they scream.

Babies never say excuse me when they pass gas, yet people think it's hilarious. If I fart and don't say excuse me I get nasty looks.

Babies use their shirts as napkins.

People post pictures of babies all over the InterWebs- like they are baby kittens and puppies or something. Nothing is cuter than seeing baby kittens and puppies on the InterWebs.

Irresitable photo of a bulldog puppy.

Babies are boring. They don't laugh at my jokes and they never answer back (unless it's jibberish).


See, what did I tell you? Babies are gross.

Everyone is having or has recently had a baby. Not everyone, I am being hyperbolic, but it sure feels like it. For about a month or so I even thought I wanted to have another baby. It probably took a good 5 weeks before I snapped out of it. What was I thinking? I had three of them. They have turned out pretty well, but I am not in a baby state-of-mind anymore. It's a wonder relatives and friends with small children even come to visit us anymore.

Our house invites disaster at every turn. It's like an evil funhouse for babies and toddlers. That outlet with five million things plugged into the power strip looks very inviting with it's glowy, red light. The steep hardwood stairs with the too far apart railings, is just the thing for fun and death. Even our furniture is dangerous. A child could get lost in the wide empty space left after years of the sofa cushions shifting and shrinking into itself. All our tables have sharp edges and there's the lamp that flickers at even the smallest nudge. (I really should get that checked out.) I'm not even going to mention the raised brick section of the floor where the wood stove used to be. Man, thank goodness that is gone — there's no telling how many babies would die because of that thing.

Disclaimer: Not an actual picture from my house.

Now that I think of it in terms of unfriendly, I see the atmosphere isn't great for little ones either. My daughter's disagreements could wake the dead, there is a lot of killing on multiple video game consoles and I am just generally not tolerant of little humans who aren't mine. There, I said it — my dislike of other people's children may have grown into a dislike of all small children. I am in teenage and pre-teen mode now, there is no going back.