My Mom Gives Dr. House a Run for His Money

When I was 16 years old, my mom bought me a new Ford Contour sedan. It was blue with a little pink stripe along the sides that I made the dealership remove because I thought it looked stupid (it was). I was so excited to have my first car and the freedom that came with it. Three weeks after she handed the keys over to me, I was driving to a friend’s house for a sleepover when I came across an intersection that had a blinking red for those driving east-west (which was me) and a blinking yellow for north-south. I mistakenly thought the intersection was a four-way stop. Not realizing that the car heading towards me from the right had a blinking yellow and was under no obligation to yield to me, I stopped at the intersection, then started to go again and was promptly t-boned by another sedan. My car skidded about 50 feet off the road and slid between two telephone poles. Aside from a few cuts and bruises, I was actually okay. The Contour, on the other hand, was not — I succeeded in totaling a brand-new car after having driven it for only 21 days. Needless to say, my mom was less than thrilled with my carelessness and inexperience.

Let’s fast-forward a bit. I’m 27 years old and on vacation in Puerto Rico when my brother John texts me that Mom had stopped by his house for a visit and that she was talking to his wife about how she thinks I should have kids. I responded with “Oh geez.” My boyfriend and I have been together for six years, which I’m guessing is exactly how long it takes before family members stop asking you “When are you two getting married?” and just jump straight to “When are you two having kids?”

Side note: My mom already has four grandkids, two boys and two girls. I’m assuming that she feels like an Apple fanboy who has the iPhone 3GS but really wants the new iPhone 4. It’s not like I’d be squirting out her first grandchild — she just wants the “newest model.”

Anyway, I told John to tell Mom that I have a “crooked” uterus, which is true, though not exactly in those terms. Between 1 in 3 and 1 in 5 women have what’s called a “retroverted uterus,” which is when your uterus tilts backwards instead of forwards. I learned this little bit of anatomical trivia during a routine checkup. It’s genetic and doesn’t have any effect whatsoever on fertility, but I wanted to troll my mom to see what she’d say (a mistake on my part — I think I had gotten too much sun in San Juan and wasn’t thinking clearly).

Me: “Tell her I have a crooked uterus.”

Mom’s response: “Go fix it. They can fix anything inside. They get baby out one way or other.”

I relayed my mom’s expert medical opinion to my boyfriend Jason, who started laughing really hard.

Mom (likely very indignantly): “Go ahead. Tell him laugh.”

Me: “We’re not married. You don’t care about the whole ‘out of wedlock’ thing?”

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Ah, so now she’s bringing up marriage again. I knew she wouldn’t forget!

Five days after my brother served as the messenger for the conversation between me and my mom, he texted me again to say that he was driving her home from the Ohio pepper deal. I asked him what it was like to have an 8 hour road trip with Mom. He responded by relaying this choice quote from my Asian mother:

Mom: “Rebecca crooked uterus happen when she crash Contour. That only thing I can think of.”

Me: “It’s congenital!”

Mom: “Not even 500 miles on that car! She crash and total car and damage uterus.”

Me: “Please stop discussing my reproductive organs on your road trip.”

Mom: “…you need have at least 2 kids.”

The thing that amuses me the most about this is that I picture my mom thinking about my retroverted uterus for five straight days, trying to figure out how that possibly could have happened, before having a Eureka! moment while driving back from Ohio with my brother and realizing that it had to have been a result of the car accident I was in 11 years ago. Because of course the most logical explanation for having a uterus that tilts towards my back is absorbing the force of a car accident from the right side. Only she could connect the two events like a little Korean Jeff Goldblum. Case closed, Mom — you are like Dr. House and Sherlock Holmes bundled up into a sub-5-ft tall, 98-lb frame.