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The State of Jennifer Aniston’s Womb


The State of Jennifer Aniston’s Womb

Google “Darfur” and “genocide,” and you get a mere 453,000 possible stories about the tragic humanitarian crisis.  But “Jennifer Aniston” and “baby”…?  1,760,000 freakin’ results.

Why is the world so fascinated by The State of Jennifer Aniston’s Womb?

Team Jen, Team Angelina or Team I-Don’t-Give-A-Flying-You-Know-What, somebody obviously cares, or else tabloids wouldn’t fabricate an Aniston baby/twins/adoption/alien lovechild story every other week.

These stories invariably yield a firestorm of very mature comments in the blogosphere:

CJ Says: “She is too selfish for kids and a husband. She’s in Jen Land. All about her.”

Anonymous Says: “It’s hard to tell who will father her child? Vince? Sculftor? Butler? Myer? whos next? This woman need to be stopped,It’s not a good role model to womens society.”

Anonymous Says: “she wouldn’t get pregnant–it would botch the body she’s worked so hard at getting so she could be accepted. She’s one homely lady. But not much of an actress”

Anonymous Says: “This woman cannot be preggers. She is sterile from sleeping around. Only way she can have children is to adopt. Her years of promiscuity finally paid off.”

I know what you’re thinking and, yes, I DID grab these comments off Mensa’s Web site.

Aniston fans are eager for a Mama Jennifer because a baby will somehow “even the score” in her epic media battle with Brangelina, while Brangelina admirers dread the idea ’cause it just might negate their argument that “selfish Jen with a hostile womb DESERVED to be left for another woman willing to bear her husband’s children.”

So much for celebrating a woman’s success, huh?

Worth more than $100 million and star of one of the most popular shows in television history, the lady has been reduced to merely an empty baby vessel by the world, egged on by an all-too-willing media machine.  For all the so-called progress women have made over the years, it seems we have, to quote the famous philosophers known as Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat, taken two steps forward and two GIANT steps back.

I note this from the position of one who is knocked up and, as the celebrities like to say, OVER THE MOON about it — but, dammit, a woman’s worth should not be determined by The State of Her Womb.  Her ability to pound a keg stand in 30 seconds or less?  Yes.  The perkiness of her rack?  Absolutely.  But her number of rugrats?  Ah, hell no.

I’ve experienced plenty of occasions where I’ve updated family members on my life:  “Things are wonderful!  Mr. Candy and I have traveled around the world… my Web site is doing GREAT!… just signed a contract with MTV…” before they would finally interrupt:  “So, planning on having kids any time soon?”

And a vision would flash before my eyes:  Me.  On the ocean.  Without a sail.  THE  EMPTY BABY VESSEL.  Oh, the horror!

At least I was floating over a sea of vodka tonics.  Mmmmmm.

Mommyhood CAN be an amazing journey.  And being a good parent IS one hell of an accomplishment, one I personally hope to add to the top of my resume someday.  But, if Britney Spears has taught us anything, it’s that popping out kids does NOT automatically make you a better woman.

Well, that, and that belly shirts and ripped fishnets don’t always make an elegant statement.

Candy Kirby is the founder of The Laughing Stork and a professional fun-maker who will never stop chasing her lifelong dream: to find the Pomeranian or porn star after whom her parents must have named her. A humor columnist for Disney, Nickelodeon, Scary Mommy, Reductress and Redbook, she also used to be a staff writer for the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful, where she penned many scripts featuring prolonged heated stares and countless “Who’s the Daddy?” story lines. Candy lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young kids and three rescue Persian cats, the latter of whom are the real brains behind this operation (so send all complaints to them).

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