My Punk-Rock-17-Year-Old-Self

I was responding to this post on Stirrup Queens (which, if you haven't ever read it, is an AMAZING site for IFers) when I got my inspiration for this post.
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I have had several versions of myself over the years:
There was my stuck-to-my-mother's-hip-self as a young child.
There was my I'm-a-fat-girl-who-is-too-insecure-to-face-the-mean-girls-at-school-self when I was a 'tween.
There was my (trying to be) punk-rock-riot-grrl-Doc-Marten-wearing-poetry-writing--teenage-self
There was my overacheiver-study-most-of-the-time-and-build-a-new-life-3,000-miles-from-home-college-self
There was the I-like-kids-I-think-teaching-is-my-next-move/graduate-school-self
There was my oh-my-God-I'm-married-and-semi-midlife-crisis-self
There was the all-of-a-sudden-I-am-dying-to-have-a-baby-self
There was the oh-crap-I'm-infertile-and-lost-a-baby-self
Now, there is the I-might-be-barren-but-I-am-rediscovering-my-talent-as-a-writer-self

I think I have a particular fondness for the punk-rock-teenage-self years. This period of time included lots of dyed hair, piercings, tattoos (first of many to come), tickets to see bands (like Sleater-Kinney, Chokebore, Weezer, Hole, Ani DiFranco, etc.) and generally lots of angst. I became much more in tune with who I was, became fiercely independent, and generally felt like I kicked some ass. I wanted to move somewhere far away from my Los Angeles home (check), go to a good college (check), and make some kind of writing career for myself (no check, yet).

Also, I was never one of those women who dreamed of her wedding day. Until I met the hubby, it was sort of something I had as an open possibility, but nothing I had my heart set on. I had a lot of other goals in my life and a man could, or could not, fit into it if I happened to meet someone. Of course, all that changed pretty quickly, once K sucked me in with his big baby blues.

So it clearly follows that I certainly never really seriously thought about having children until I was in my late twenties. I actually went through a brief period of absolutely NOT wanting children. But then, bam. Tick.  Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The cliche biological clock started and I haven't been able to shut it off since.

But, as I look at my life now (which I think is a pretty damned good one) I think my punk-rock-teenage-self would be shocked at how domestic my goals have become.

She would say, "Making a baby your #1 goal for 2012? Really? Putting your body through IUIs, IVF, etc.? You really want to be changing dirty diapers and giving up sleeping at night? What about jetting off to Paris at a moment's notice? What about becoming a (semi-famous) author?"

The truth is, we never can fly off to Paris at a moment's notice because of work and lack of money. We spent a lot of years sleeping in, drinking too much, being selfish with our time, and generally being young. Right about now, being with K and trying to finally conceive this child feels much more right than wearing my old Doc Martens (which are still in my bedroom, at home in Los Angeles). Plus, as I was recently reminded, the author gig could still happen, if I put my mind to it.

So, my punk-rock-self with have to accept me the way I am, at 31 - a more domestic, blogging, and infertile version of who I used to be. But, I still might have some Manic Panic around here somewhere.

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 Addendum
I can't help but toot my own horn for a second here. I was so excited when I saw that Mel at Stirrup Queens gave my post about my grandmother a major shout out in her Friday Blog Round Up.  It is so gratifying to have my writing recognized in the IF community. This made me incredibly happy.