A prefatory note to my mother: you might want to go back to gazing at pictures of your adorable grandson and skip this post.
Love,
Mad.
Several conversations I've had this week, both live and electronic, have revolved in one way or another around the issue of having children. As my friends have started breeding at a rapid pace, and especially now that I'm an aunt to gorgeous baby Nathan, I keep waiting for those Burning Maternal Urges to come my way, along with the ticking of the proverbial Biological Clock. So far, though, my desire to be a parent remains muted at best, and my biological clock must be ticking too softly for me to hear.
For a long time, I told myself that I didn't want kids because of my sucky genetics. My law school boyfriend embarked on a vigorous campaign to change this attitude; though we've long since parted ways (and he's now married with a brood of his own), he succeeded in convincing me that my disabilities presented no reason not to reproduce. As he put it, if my kids turn out to have Usher Syndrome they'll just be like me, which wouldn't be so terrible. I still worry a little about that prospect, but the gene that causes my Usher has been identified and I now know that my kids can only get the disease if my theoretical future husband carries that gene (and even then it'd be only a chance, not a certainty). So it's not a very good reason to avoid childbearing.
I also worry about the logistics of having kids when I can't see or hear very well. But plenty of blind and deaf people have children, and the wonders of modern assistive technology have pretty much mooted this excuse.
It's possible that my uncertainty about having kids ebbs and flows depending on the presence or absence in my life of a putative baby daddy. Yet even when I'm in a serious relationship, the ambivalence lurks. Some of my friends are aching to be mothers, or as new moms feel blissfully complete. Others are absolutely sure they do not want children. I don't fall into either category.
There are times when I am with a pregnant friend, or hanging out with a friend's adorable, happy child, and I feel stirrings of interest within me. Holding my new nephew for the first time brought up a flood of emotion I'd never imagined I could feel for such a tiny bundle of life. At other times, particularly with new parents whose lives seem to revolve entirely around their child, or when a little kid in my vicinity lets out that horrible, spine-jarring shrieking noise, I feel anxious and claustrophobic and swear to myself that I'll never have kids.
One reason I sometimes think I do want kids is that I have such a great relationship with my parents. They're brilliant, kind, interesting, fun, multi-talented people who've been an incredible source of strength and support to me throughout my life. At this point, especially since I've been back in Colorado, I feel like they are not just my parents, but also my close friends and trusted advisors. It would be amazing to have that type of relationship with a child of my own.
Yet how could I possible ensure that my child grows up to like and respect me as much as I like and respect my own parents? My parents raised us with the knowledge that we could do and be anything we set our minds to, and that any obstacle could be overcome through tenacity and resourcefulness. But do I have it in me to provide a similar foundation for my own children? How on earth did my folks survive my teenage insanity without irreparably destroying our relationship? What if my child has some horrible mental, physical, or emotional problem that not only will require enormous sacrifice on my part, but will prevent the child from ever truly connecting with me? And what if my kid turns out to be a Republican?
I think that before you become a parent, you should recognize that there are even more "what ifs" than you can possibly concoct in your nightmares, and that you must be prepared to weather whatever storm life flings your way. In theory, if your marriage goes south, you can get divorced. If you hate your job, you can look for another one, or change careers entirely. But by bringing a child into the world, you're in for the long haul, and you have no way of predicting what lies ahead. That scares the crap out of me, and makes me very, very uncertain whether I'm up to the task.
Or maybe I'm thinking about this too much. Maybe people shouldn't focus on the realities and unknowns too much before they have kids, because if they did the population would die out in a generation.
As I said earlier, it's all very theoretical for me right now, but I wonder sometimes why, at almost 33, my body and heart aren't sending me clearer signals about motherhood.
Comments