During my mid-to-late 20’s, I lived alone. I never expected that I would ever get married, and that was fine with me, as I enjoyed living alone.
Then I met my husband. We dated for a year or so, and got married when I was 30. Because I had a history of polycystic ovarian syndrome and very irregular periods, I pretty much assumed that it would be very difficult for me to conceive, and that when and if my husband and I decided that we wanted to have kids, we’d probably have to have medical assistance.
Then again, maybe not. Because of my assumption of infertility, that led me to be a little casual about contraception on ONE single occasion, when I had seen a little bleeding and assumed that my period was starting. Nope — scant bleeding can also signal ovulation. So, 5 months after we got married, I found out I was pregnant.
At that point (great timing, huh?) I asked my husband how he felt about having kids. He said that maybe in a few years, after we’d had a chance to travel to Europe and do a few things first, sure, he might want to. I explained that our time table might need to be moved up a bit…
This was a huge surprise for both of us. We had not really discussed having children before, and neither one of us had given it serious thought. I was never what you could call a “baby” person. Babies scared the hell out of me. You couldn’t communicate with them, you couldn’t make them do what you wanted them to do, and it seemed that they just cried and stared accusingly at you all the time. We had friends that were having babies, and I always hated it when they would ask “Would you like to hold the baby?” as if they were offering you riches beyond gold, and I would end up sitting there rigidly holding their baby with a smile pasted on my face, praying that someone would take the thing away before I broke it. I didn’t really like kids very much until they were 3 or so, when they could talk, and if you were lucky, listen to what you told them to do. They could be pretty entertaining at times, but they sure were high maintenance. Whenever my sister left my nieces at my Mom’s house for the day, I remember always being exhausted at the end of the day when she came to pick them up.
So now I was going to have a baby. This was scary stuff. I wasn’t even sure I liked kids that much. And I had just gotten married, and had just finished graduate school and just started my career with a consulting firm a few months earlier. I had really wanted to settle in and get used to my new life first before I even thought about adding a child to the picture. Although I am firmly pro-choice, the option of abortion never entered my head. We were physically, financially, and emotionally capable of adding a child to our life — it seemed immoral to consider aborting this child because the timing was inconvenient due to my own sloppiness with contraception. However, [SINCEREST apologies to anyone who has ever miscarried] I did find myself thinking a time or two that “Maybe I’ll just have a miscarriage and I won’t have to deal with any of this.”[/SINCEREST apologies to anyone who has ever miscarried]
Then, one morning a few week before my first OB appointment was scheduled, I noticed a little bleeding. As soon as I was faced with the possibility that those casual thoughts I had had about miscarriage might be coming true, I was horrified. I called into the HMO immediately to try to get an appointment for that day. Unfortunately, I found this out right about 7:00 AM, the time the HMO opened the phone lines to everyone in the community who wanted an appointment for that day. I kept getting busy signals, and then I finally got a person on the line to direct my call. She redirected my call to OB/GYN, but I got put on perpetual hold there. I hung up and tried calling again, and when I got a person again, I remember begging them to please not put me on hold, as I thought I was having a miscarriage.
We got an appointment for early that morning, but it was one of the longest and most anguished times I’d ever spent. All of the sudden, this wasn’t just some abstract pregnancy I was dealing with; this was my CHILD. All ambivalence was gone. I wanted THIS CHILD, and the thought of losing it was tearing me apart.
Fortunately, the bleeding turned out to be no big deal. It was a one-time thing, and the pregnancy went [mostly] well from there on. A month and a half past my first wedding anniversary, I gave birth to a son. It was the most incredible experience in the world to finally meet the kid who had been growing inside of me, dancing about inside my womb (and, in the hours before his birth, having his head used as a battering ram on the inner side of my cervix.) It was unreal to touch his tiny little hands, and look into his stunned little eyes. The discomfort I had felt in holding other people’s kids (OPK’s) was never there — it automatically felt just right to hold him in my arms. (Well, at least once I got over that fear of his head falling off if you didn’t support it well enough. They drilled that stuff into me too well. I spent the ride home from the hospital in the back seat beside him, holding his head carefully in a neutral position, lest it flop around and bounce off his spine when we drove over the railroad tracks.)
The feeling that I had had about OPKs being boring, ugly little lumps of flesh as infants didn’t exist with my own. It was fascinating to watch his every move, observe the perfection of his tiny little limbs. It was exciting to see him grow, physically and mentally. As a days old baby, it was clear that he knew the difference between me, the Mama, and everyone else in the world. And, hell yes, it is a wonderful, vain feeling to see the look in your child’s eyes that say that you are the center of his universe, and preferable to anyone else around. And then around 8 weeks or so, all the heretofore round-the-clock efforts that had previously gone unthanked were finally rewarded with a smile. From that point on, his laughter became the most beautiful music in the world to me.
Having and raising children is so great because it lets you [overworked metaphor alert] see the world through the eyes of a child again. [/overworked metaphor alert] As we grow up, we become so jaded about everything around us. As teens, “Big deal” becomes your catch phrase, and the commonplace just isn’t impressive enough. As you introduce the world to a child, though, you’re reawakend to how many wondrous things there are around us. You realize that things don’t have to be monumental to be impressive. I’m still amused when my younger son comes up to me and says “Wow, Mom, look at this rock!”, and shows me a piece of gravel as if it were one of the crown jewels. Then he shows me the detail of the rock (it sparkles! or it has a rainbow shaped stripe in it!) that makes it so special to him.
Though I’ve been carrying on as if parenthood is the most wonderful thing in the world, and everyone ought to do it, that’s not how I feel. Parenting is a lot of hard work and involves the loss of a lot of freedom. If you’re not willing to accept the down sides, you shouldn’t take it on. I’m not trying to say that those who DO choose to take on parenthood are more mature or morally superior than those who opt out. On the contrary, there are a lot of people who shouldn’t be parents. It breaks my heart to see parents who keep popping out kids, but then don’t take the responsibility to give them the physical and emotional support they deserve. Life is tough enough as it is; I couldn’t imagine the pain of knowing that your parents didn’t want you or care about you. And anyone who sees the potential within themselves or is in a relationship with someone who is/probably would be a child abuser should not, IMO, have children (this is the main reason I remain firmly pro-choice.) (BTW, pepperlandgirl, I’m not aiming these comments at you personally; I’m firmly up on my soapbox now and just spouting away.)
I am sure I could have lived a happy, productive life without ever having had kids. Life certainly would be simpler without them. They act like little petrie dishes their first couple of years of life, and bring home every cold virus out there and pass it along to you. It’s damned tough to find good child care so that you can work (if you choose or need to), and those child care arrangements you carefully arranged go straight to hell once your kiddo is sick (or, if you have a family child care provider, one of HER kids gets sick.) They cost a lot of money, and they take away your freedom of spontaneity. You can’t automatically stay late at work to finish up that project you’re needed on because you’ve got to look after the kids (and of course, then you’re seen as not being serious about your career.) You don’t see as many current movies any more — you catch up with them on video or pay-per-view (if you can stay awake.) You give up thoughts of a sportscar for a more practical sedan or minivan. Your idea of a good restaurant changes from one with unique, inventive food to one that offers chicken fingers for the kids as well as tolerable adult fare for you (and preferably doesn’t have a drive-through window.) You can’t just pick up and go off to Europe or wherever. And you start being afraid of your mortality. Sure, I was going to die as a childless person, too — but now I know that when I go, I will leave an endless ache in my children’s heart, and I just pray that it doesn’t happen until I have had a chance to see them to adulthood, as I can’t bear the thought of my kids not having a Mom. (Yup, there’s that old ego thing again.) Even worse, though, is the thought of your child dying — a truly unbearable thought, because even as I gloried over the feeling of knowing that I was the center of my newborn children’s universe, I knew then too that they were the center of my own, and I cannot imagine being without them.
I’ve blathered on more than long enough now, but just wanted to add one thing — IIRC, you’re still fairly young. I couldn’t have imagined having children at that age. That’s not to say that more age or maturity means that you’ll want to have children — but it is a good idea to enjoy life, and enjoy your married, child-free relationship for a while before you think about adding a child to the picture. You may or may not want to consider kids later, but I wouldn’t count out the possibility at this point.
