Dear Uterus (and ovaries, because let’s face it, you’re all in this together),
Firstly I’d like to thank you for the fantastic work you did on the two humans you grew for me, I really couldn’t be happier with the end results. And though you did take two weeks longer to finish each project I bear you no ill will for it as, unlike most builders you didn’t make me pay for the extra time. I’d also like to express my gratitude for all of the P.E lessons you helped me skip simply by having you there as a dependable excuse.
As grateful as I am for the services you have provided I would like to now politely ask you to settle down and leave me to run the show for a while. For 20 years you have taken charge of every date, job interview, parents evening, night out, funeral etc. I have been a hostage to your ever changing wants and demands and at times it has cost me dearly.
Do you remember when we were 18 and you decided we ought to throw a chocolate and peanut butter Shakeaway at the future ex-husband in the middle of town? That one cut deep. I really wanted that milkshake, as you well know as it was doubtless your idea to buy it in the first place. Or what about the time I lost the T.V remote and you pumped so much rage through my body I had to take an angry walk in the rain? And when you had me kick the wing mirror off that car. The list is exhausting and could go on forever.
And that’s not even the start of it Madam. That’s just the times you’re making my bones feel like wire and my skin like sandpaper. What about the times you’re feeling broody? That’s when you really take the driving seat, and i’m not even a passenger, i’m tied up and duct taped in the boot. Must you choose my mates by looks and pheromones? Must you choose them at all? I don’t even know what type of man I like really, because you’ve never given me a choice. You drive me into a bar and instantly have me hitting on the alpha type, the emotionally unavailable, frankly, the most unsuitable.
I understand that you are in your own way trying to help. That you are using your primitive methods of selecting sperm that will produce the best offspring. But darling, and I know I’ve never told you this before, but your job is done. You don’t need to help me procreate anymore, you did such a fabulous job the first two times I decided to quit while we’re ahead. And if you opened a newspaper once in a while you’d see that now probably isn’t the ideal time to make more humans.
If you could just fine tune your selection system so that you could sniff out intelligence, humour and mental stability opposed to testosterone I really think we might be able to co-exist more amicably. I really don’t want to sound ungrateful, I know in my heart that you are an asset and there are people who would love to have a uterus as lively and functional as you. I’d just really like it if we could work together a bit more, if maybe we could share the running of my life. Even if we just went 50/50? If just half of the time I could know who I truly was, and what my own goals were. If I was able to go confidently into a room and know for certain I wasn’t going to throw something at the wall or text an ex inappropriately then I’d be halfway to becoming a functional adult.
I know i’ll miss you when you start to fade, and i’ll regret asking this of you one day, but please give me more than a few days a month of peace. Just a few extra days of good decision making that isn’t fuelled by your lust and loathing. Longer interludes where I know for certain if it’s me that’s angry or tired or hungry, and not you sending cave woman signals across my body.
But even as I write this, and the dog barks at those passing by the door, I too sniff the alpha as he walks by. You really are a relentless hound and it seems for now, I remain,