Finally, an American Pope

I was thinking back to my post on Monday (the one with all the crazy-talk about babies) and one of the points consistently kept coming back to me:

I am ambitious. I want to be the chick who gets pregnant the very second she starts trying! With the smartest baby! And the lowest amount of weight gain!

The reason this kept coming back to me is that Wes and I had a conversation about this very attribute not too long ago. I was a bit bummed (not depressed, or crying, or even sad really. Merely bummed) because I’d just found out that I wasn’t pregnant.

Wes was in the process of cooking me dinner (I know, best husband ever) and was trying to comfort me by saying, “Who even gets pregnant the very second they start trying anyway?”

Of course, as I’m sure you can guess, my response was, “I was hoping it would be me!”

This was a natural segue to a story I told him then, which I will share with you now. Way back in the dark ages, slightly after the time Jellies were in vogue but thick in the middle of when The Backstreet Boys were big, I was a middle-schooler.

Tall of stature and big of ambition, I was a bespectacled band nerd with a deep deep adoration for the French language, which I’d just started learning. During one of my classes, wherein we were taught key points about the major world religions, I learned about the Pope.

Head of the Catholic Church, direct line to God, scandalous history, yadda yadda yadda. What stuck out for me, though, was when my teacher informed us that there had never been a female Pope and there never would be.

That was it: My calling.

I was convinced that it was my higher calling to break through what was, in my mind, the thickest glass ceiling of all and become: The First Female Pope.

Some important things I didn’t realize until much later:
  1. I wasn’t (and am not) Catholic.
  2. I had no desire to be celibate and chaste the rest of my life.
  3. I liked swearing. A lot.
  4. That hat looks heavy and would probably look ridiculous on me.
  5. Not real fond of crowds, especially not crowds made up of frenzied religious devotees.

To bring this back around, it is clear to me that my desire and drive to be the best/smartest/fastest/loudest/whathaveyou is not a new thing for me. The reality is, I will never be all of these things all the time. There will always be someone who’s smarter, or richer, or faster.

Lucky for me, I’ve found a way to appease both my competitive nature and my desire to not be Catholic (I have nothing against Catholics, I just don’t want to be one):

My dog will be The First Canine Pope:

4 thoughts on “Finally, an American Pope

  1. No fair! That ending made me laugh out loud at work. (Where I’m supposed to be, you know…working. Not killing time reading blogs.)

    Sorry about your other news.

  2. -Mrs. Higrens, I’ve had loud snorts of laughter erupt at work before and it’s always so incriminating! I’m glad it made you laugh though :) The other news is fine. My doctor did warn me it might take a few months so I’ll do my best to keep busy (ie distracted) as much as possible. I’ve heard obsessing over babies doesn’t make them come any faster, but that could just be a vicious rumor.

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