What's Grosser Than Gross?

My mother used to tell me “It doesn’t matter how you look on the outside, if you are pretty on the inside.”  This was before she knew I was capable of growing dermoid cysts on my ovaries.  This particular type of cyst can grow teeth, hair and all sorts of other disturbing things. I lovingly refer to them as my “half babies”. 

Mike and I had been together for a little over a year when I learned I had another science project gestating on my one remaining ovary.  The doctor told me that if I wanted to have children, I should probably start trying, since there were no guarantees that my ovary could be saved.  I got into my car and drove home, with one thing on my mind, obtaining Mike’s DNA.   I burst through the door and demanded that he relinquish all rights to his penis until my eggo was preggo.  Mike was initially excited by this challenge until he realized I was literally “fucking” serious.  After 2 weeks of purpose driven fornication, Mike held the same enthusiasm for me as a cow being artificially inseminated by a farmer.  Yet, after countless sordid attempts at impregnating me, Mike’s kryptonic sperm achieved their goal.  I totally got knocked up!!!  Annnnnnnnd for Mike’s reward, I showed positively zero interest in having sex with him for the next year and a half.  

At our first doctor’s appointment we learned our daughter would need to be delivered via c-section so her “partial sibling” could be removed at the same time.  I thought this was a marvelous plan since I did not particularly want to blow out my vagina anyway.  And so, like every good mother, I immediately went home and consulted my birthday astronomy book to ensure that my baby would be off to an optimum start.  Our delivery dates consisted of Mike’s ex’s birthday, my ex’s birthday and Charles Manson’s Birthday.  We decided to go with option #3 since he was clearly the lesser of the 3 evils.  I was so ready.

The glorious day arrived and precious daughter was born.   I gave her a quick kiss and she was taken out of the operating room so my doctors could get to work removing Quasimodo.  Mike wisely decided to spare his eyes and followed our baby and the nurse out of there.  Right as he was leaving, he turned and said “Ma-ma, Ma-ma” in a creepy, monotone voice (the way youwould imagine a dermoid cyst calling for its mother would sound) and started laughing.  I tried to flip him off, but I was so drugged that my finger accidentally drifted over to the anesthesiologist instead. 

Prior to this whole event, I had naively agreed to allow some hot, young resident doctors to watch my surgery.  They were all crowded around my vagina, scrupulously taking mental notes of my anatomy when my doctor reached in my stomach and lifted out the blasphemous creature that my poor baby had been neighbors with for the past nine months, right before lunchtime.  Clearly, the sheet set up to shield me from seeing my internal organs proved to be an unnecessary measure.  I distinctly heard at least 2 of the residents gasp in horror and use the Lord’s name in vain.  My doctor shot them a stern glance and then poked his head around and sheepishly smiled at me as if to say “they were just kidding!”   I totally knew how Sigourney Weaver must have felt while filming Alien.

Years later, I realize that it was all in God’s plan.  He knew all along that I would need material to blog about, so it was only obvious that I would need to grow hideous deformities on my reproductive organs to entertain you kind folks.  Thanks God, it was TOTALLY worth it!  XO