My ovaries are silent. For some reason I feel the need to apologize to my mom, my uncle, my aunt, my grandma and all those family members who constantly ask for me to get pregnant and ask why am I postponing the inevitable, as if pregnancy and motherhood was a fate I cannot escape from.
My sister in law is back in her hometown for a short visit to her brother who just had a baby with his wife. She and her husband took their two adorable babies to meet their new cousin and my father in law (the proud grandpa) took a picture of the children all together. Selfishly the first thought that popped into my mind when I saw them all lined up was the fact that there wasn’t one of DH’s there among the line of babies. Like there was a glaring genetic gap.
My in laws are, thankfully, not the pressuring kind. My family however makes up for that tenfold.
I know they didn’t put the picture on Facebook thinking of the grandchild they didn’t have from their first born who happens to be my DH, they were just enjoying the grandchildren they DO have. But I couldn’t help but wonder if part of them wished there was another there that was half their beloved oldest child and half the Hispanic chick their son married.
I feel a tad guilty that my mom has no child to bounce on her knee and she so desperately wants one… my sister is useless on the mommy front (you know you are) and even though she is six years older than me and married for far longer than I have, she still has no plans of gracing my mom with a squealing, pooping, puking, screaming bundle of joy.
I guess I feel responsible because even though is both DH and my decision on if and when we have children I am still the one that gets asked. I would be the one doing all the work of growing the thing so of course they ask me when I am going to allow his sperm to fertilize my eggs. I catch my mom looking at my belly as if willing it to grow, creepy. And if she texts me one more picture of a caramel skinned baby with green eyes with the caption “this could be yours” I shall perish.
What if I never feel like having children? The thought scares me a little bit more than actually wanting them in the future. There is nothing about children that appeals to me. I adore the babies in my family my niece and nephew who I met already and the brand spanking new nephew who I haven’t had the pleasure to hold. Other children however leave me cold. I hate walking by that area in the mall filled with plastic fruits and huge fake cupcakes that the little terrors climb on an off of while screaming their little heads off. I hate going to restaurants and hearing a baby scream. I know is natural, I know rationally they aren’t doing anything wrong but all I want to do is vanish them all (except for those I am related to) to some area of the world where they can stay until they turn 21. Teenagers in my book aren’t any better.
When did I become so intolerant? I have no clue. And everyone tells me “you’ll feel different about your own” but isn’t it a good idea to at least like the little creatures in general before popping one out? I look at random children and babies and feel nothing. Show me kittens or puppies and I melt in a puddle.
I have told DH several times that I would be the perfect mother if I got pregnant and had a litter of kittens. He didn’t look too happy about that.
I feel nothing but terror at the thought of losing myself, of not being me anymore but “mommy” of not being a woman anymore but a mom first and foremost. That loss of my identity and acquisition of a new one makes me shiver with apprehension.
I don’t want to wake up at seven am to feed a baby; I don’t want the forever responsibility of another human being. I want to read whenever I want to read or go shopping when I want to, or work out when I want to, or take a nap when I feel like it. I don’t want to lose that because my whole schedule would then revolve around the needs of another. Feeding it and putting it to sleep, giving it a bath, then feeding it again. And then school, and baby parties, and sleepovers and hockey or soccer, baseball or peewee football. When do parents get to do what THEY want to do?
Do I sound selfish? That’s because I am, I am selfish of my time, my enjoyments and my life.
“Oh but kids bring a whole new set of happiness and enjoyments and love” They say. “You’ll change” they say. “Your priorities will change and you won’t care” they say. But I DO care now, and I don’t want to change my life. I am happy with life as it is (present legal problems notwithstanding). Enjoying my husband and our time together, going and doing whatever we want on our time table, without asking anyone if we should or should not, without having to take anything into consideration but ourselves. That’s a freedom I am not keen on relinquishing.
So in the meantime I will spoil my niece and nephews rotten and enjoy their smarts and their smiles, their delicious baby smell, their precious faces and the questions that only children ask and those quirks that start popping out when their personalities develop. I do love them dearly and I do feel all the melting in a puddle when I see them but so far just being an aunt is satisfying.
My ovaries are silent, there is no clock ticking. And I’m alright with that.