First off I am writing about this subject to try to help myself with an internal dilemma I have been having and to help others understand where I am coming from. I am not writing this to upset or offend anyone so please keep an open mind. When I started this book this chapter really summed things up for me.
But I was supposed to want to have a baby. I was thirty-one years old. My husband and I—who had been together for eight years, married for six—had built our entire life around the common expectation that, after passing the doddering old age of thirty, I would want to settle down and have children. By then, we mutually anticipated, I would have grown weary of traveling and would be happy to live in a big, busy household full of children and homemade quilts, with a garden in the backyard and a cozy stew bubbling on the stove top. (The fact that this was a fairly accurate portrait of my own mother is a quick indicator of how difficult it once was for me to tell the difference between myself and the powerful woman who had raised me.) But I didn’t—as I was appalled to be finding out—want any of these things. Instead, as my twenties had come to a close, that deadline of THIRTY had loomed over me like a death sentence, and I discovered that I did not want to be pregnant. I kept waiting to want to have a baby, but it didn’t happen. And I know what it feels like to want something, believe me. I well know what desire feels like. But it wasn’t there. Moreover, I couldn’t stop thinking about what my sister had said to me once, as she was breast-feeding her firstborn: ‘Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it’s what you want before you commit.’
How could I turn back now, though? Everything was in place. This was supposed to be the year. In fact, we’d been trying to get pregnant for a few months already. But nothing had happened (aside from the fact that—in an almost sarcastic mockery of pregnancy—I was experiencing psychosomatic morning sickness, nervously throwing up my breakfast every day). And every month when I got my period I would find myself whispering furtively in the bathroom: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me one more month to live …
Everyone has been asking me for years now when Eric and I will have kids. After we got married the question comes up alot more. Well we do not want kids! We LOVE our life, we can be selfish and do what ever we want when ever we want. I am wondering if my maternal clock is broken or never worked or will work. I hate being around babies, they cry and sleep. They are not fun! When people want to show me pictures of their kids I wanna run away screaming. I offended a customer at Bernies 1 night, she wanted to show me a picture of her new grandchild and I told her that I didn’t wanna see. (In my defense it was kind of busy and I really did not have time for it, also I REALLY did not care) I hate baby showers, how everyone says “Ahh” about every little thing. I really despises baby registery shopping, those things are annoying and I have no clue what I am ever looking for. So just to warn anyone, if you invite me to your baby shower I will probably buy you an inappropriate onsies, cause those things really crack me up! I bought Abbigail one that says: My daddy is a magician, he put his wand in my mom’s box and I came out.
Once in a while I get a feeling like maybe we should have kids, I dont wanna die alone. Then I see a baby and that changes quickly. I also have a back up plan: Amanda and I are met to grow old together with our saggy boobs, fading tattoos, and blue hair.
So to conclude PLEASE quit asking when I am having kids, cause it may never happen.
HMMM…. maybe we should adopt, once they are 4ish, kids are fun. They can take themselves to the bathroom (huge plus) they talk, asking crazy questions, and wanna run and play.