Dear Ovaries: Thanks, But Your Work Here Is Done

Dear Ovaries,

Brain here, with an important message I’d like to share with you on behalf of the rest of the body.

First, let me say thanks. You really knocked it out of the park with your contributions in regards to the furtherment of the human species. The body and I will never forget your role in how little Baby 1.0 and Baby 2.0 came to be, and will always be indebted to you for jumpstarting this whole process by suddenly declaring, “I Need A Baby!” The message was loud and clear, and you were right. We did need a baby.

Thanks in part to you, we have remedied the problem with a speed and efficiency that would certainly guarantee our success if we lived in the 1800’s, and needed to quickly birth fifteen children to run our rutabaga farm. 

But before you get too excited and start spewing eggs in celebration, I’m here to tell you, as we are not 19th century rutabaga farmers, your services will no longer be needed.

Following the birth of Baby 2.0, a cease and desist order will be issued, pertaining to anything and everything baby related that comes oozing out of your corpus luteum. No longer will we be responding to your nearly endless reminders regarding how cute, wonderful, or otherwise lovely babies are, nor will we be moved to tears upon seeing a random newborn who belongs to a total stranger at the park.

The Nose is in agreement that aside from Baby 2.0, there will be no baby sniffing allowed, and if by accident, the sweet sweet smell of a baby’s head does enter the nostrils, all efforts to rid the airways of the smell will be made before it can reach its intended destination.

I would be remiss if I failed to mention the effect you’ve had on your poor neighbor, The Uterus, who thanks to your excitability, has spent the last 10 weeks in a state of constant readiness. She is now as irritable as ever, and has filed a formal request for your eviction from the lower abdomen. This request is pending.

Now before you try to use our current state of heavily pregnant as a defense for your actions, or as a basis for an appeal, you should know that anything you say will fall on deaf ears. Literally. The Ears are now both partially deaf from the screaming that Baby 1.0 did as a colicky youngster, and now does for “special milp” on a daily basis. The Ears have filed a formal complaint against you, and pending the birth of Baby 2.0, have expressed interest in pursuing eviction if he proves to be as loud as Baby 1.0.

The rest of the body and I don’t want you to feel unappreciated, but we need you both to know how serious we are. We are, as they say, as serious as a heart attack, which speaking of, you have nearly given us with a random pregnancy scare here and there, so do know that any further scares of that nature will not be tolerated, and will only serve as reason to further pursue punishment against you.

Heart attacks aside, you will be happy to know The Heart remains your biggest fan, and if left up to that sappy bag of blood, there would be at least thirteen more children – as well as any number of bedraggled, pathetic, rescue animals – in our future. Thankfully, The Heart lost the coin toss, so I got to make the call and officially toll the bell that will bring an end to reproduction. Ding dong.

Due to your substantial roll in building our family, you will be permitted to continue releasing eggs on a monthly basis as you see fit, until the day you shrivel up and turn into the useless, fleshy raisins you are destined to become. Additionally, as we are unable to tell which one of you is directly responsible for the offspring, you both will be awarded a participation trophy as a token of our thanks.

But barring an apocalypse, or our mandatory colonization of another plant, you are never to remind the rest of the body of your desires, nor hold it against us that you have nearly 2 million additional eggs at the ready. If you are worried about storage space, we recommend you consider evolving, and perhaps take to heart, or to medula in your case, the saying “less is more.”

The Body and I appreciate your understanding, and willingness to participate in the aforementioned plan.

Sincerely and with the utmost regard,

The Brain

ovaries

Image credits: cover, uterus.

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111 comments

  1. Hi Emily and Jason, your post is cute and satirical as always. But you may be blaming the wrong organ and placing yourself at greater risk. Sorry, I love you, and just can’t help replying. When Donna was pregnant for our second child, I was informed that be it a boy or girl this was the completion of our family. So three weeks after his successful birth, she actually drove me to the hospital and waited in the car with a 3-year old and a newborn while I had a vasectomy. The burden should not be all yours to bear.

    Liked by 8 people

  2. Hhahahahaaaa, this is super! As a toddler mamma, I understand perfectly, only that my overies keep screaaaaaming for a second baby. Really, I’m back to work and love it, but this body of mine is taking control with incredible force.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. HA! Fabulous work as always, my friend. And congrats! I see you’re featured again! The (imminent?) arrival of Baby 2.0 fades into insignificance in comparison to such excitement! (It’s priorities like this that will get my kids taken away from me one day, I’m sure)

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Brilliant! If your brain could talk to my brain though, that would be great, because she could benefit from some leadership skills. Be warned though, ovaries are determined. I’ve tried putting them in time out, separating them, taking their toys even drugging them for goodness sakes! They just won’t behave!

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Yeah, here’s a fun fact: My brain is not in control. This is becoming more and more apparent the older I get. I feel like one of those ants who get that parasite that takes over their bodies so they climb to the top of the grass blade, all so they can be eaten by a cow where the parasite will then go into the intestines and do transform into it’s next life cycle… yeah. I feel like that. 🙂

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      1. ok I had to google this and it’s the coolest thing ever, totally stealing it…zombie ants?!? The kids are going to eat this up and I get to hold on to the title of Mom-knower of stuff, for another day

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  5. Hahahaaaaa, no more sweet, sweet baby smell! I totally get it. Before babies, you’re all like “Oh, I’ll have one someday.” After you have a newborn you’re like “ZOMG she’ll never be this tiny again I didn’t know I could love so much I need ALL the babies like one a year so I can always have a babybabybaby.” And Brain is like, “Um, I ran the numbers. No money and no sleep…carry the twins…yeah, no.”

    Liked by 2 people

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  7. I love your post! Well I said almost the same thing after my second baby but it didn t work and now I ve just had my third! 😬 This time I think I should send my dear ovaries a court notice instead of a letter!! 🙂

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  8. I nearly died from laughter! This was so wonderfully written! I’m sure my child ambivalent ovaries could help instruct yours on the proper way to suppress any of those urges, lol! 🙂

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    1. Oh yes, if you could please get your ovaries to email my ovaries, we’d all be better for it. Just so we’re clear, I cannot be held responsible for what my ovaries instruct your ovaries to do. I fear their power is unrelenting and rather convincing. Consider yourself warned 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I have no fear. My ovaries are made of steel and have survived years of pressure and pleading for grandkids from both my mother and grandmother, the births of nieces and nephews, turning 31, and 13 years of arguing with doctors that are convinced I’ll “change [my] mind” and want kids some random morning, lol. 🙂

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    1. It IS hard, and making fun of it is absolutely at the core of why I started this blog. I would cry…wait I still cry a lot… but I would cry MORE if I wasn’t constantly trying to spin it in a humorous way. I hope you will stop by whenever you are in need of a little chuckle.

      Liked by 1 person

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