While I sit here, pretending that the small salad I ate was a tasty burger, fries, and a strawberry shake, let me reflect on something my dad said to me some days ago. He’s always saying stuff. As usual, it’s always making me feel some kind of way. It’s funny, because he said days later “don’t let things people say get to you that much”, but, I’m a human being. Sometimes, there are things that cause me to feel things rather deeply, and that’s also my process as a writer–what I feel the most comes out the most. It’s usually the richest of my pieces. Anyway….
That was his topic. “It would be great if between you, Chas (my other cousin), or Andrew (youngest cousin) that a grandkid was born.” It’s something that he and my Aunt Lyn would want/like/whatever the heck he said. After I heard “grandkids”, I faded out a bit. It made me think of things. I won’t say it “triggered”, because that word is so terribly abused by people these days. There are actually people who are triggered and I’ve decided to stop using that word to describe what I go through. I don’t panic, I just feel like a big load of useless crap sometimes. Don’t worry, I’m getting to the point.
A deep, internal sigh washed over my body as the word made its fuzzy trail all over me. Children? Those expensive, usually adorable, squishy, noise and poop-making things that half my classmates from high school have? Those genetic copies I’ve been wanting since my teen years, but had the good common sense (and bad looks) to not go out and get? Those sweet little bundles requiring love and care who’re more than just dress-up dolls, but actual people who need food, water, protection, and a stable income to survive?
Then, of course, I thought of my uterus. The crazy territory that is either gonna tell me I can have them with no problem, or I CAN’T because of mistakes I made in my early 20’s, and the body I have now–that so far has been regular with menses, but has a track record of not. So, in other words…it’s not that I don’t want kids, it’s the circumstances around me that make it seem like I might not be able to. It gets darker. Hold on.
Do I have to document that affair, again? Is there a short version? What can I learn from it, to keep moving and finding the right partner for myself and any children in my future? There were men who “loved” me, who said I was “wife material”, and things sort of fell off track from there. I had a couple pregnancy scares with one, and although my father claims up and down he wasn’t upset or freaking out, he didn’t seem too happy about it. Before I could take the test and see if I was or wasn’t, he was already calling my aunt about it. He actually opened the package WITH the tests in the envelope and that’s what got him started. So he got testy with me about something I didn’t know yet. Of COURSE I would have told him if it was positive. I DIDN’T want to tell him if it wasn’t.
Back then, he said he’d be the one taking care of it. Those days ago, he said the same thing. I wasn’t having any part of that. I am rolling in my own personal poverty right now, freelancing, pimping resumes, and going to school. I am adding to my student debt as we speak. What part of that sounds like “ready to have kids”? I know people do it anyway, all debts and poorness aside, but I don’t want to do that. I’m already struggling. My dad is already helping my hopeless old butt out. Why would I bring a defenseless baby into that? But then, what about time? I’m entering my 30’s. This is the time were “egg degradation” starts looming over my head. The older I get, the worse off my eggs will be. The higher the risk, on top of me already being a fat mother.
So, the blueprint so far rolls out to:
- Lose weight so you can have a healthy baby.
- Find a “decent person” to be with, to have said baby.
- Make sure you can afford the baby.
- Do it soon enough so your eggs won’t go to waste.
Then there’s the rebel in my head–the one who says life shouldn’t be situated around babies, husbands, or partners. That those things are part of life, but aren’t all of life. I get that. I agree with it. But there’s always a part of me torn between both–wanting a family, wanting to be loved, wanting to be married, wanting a good relationship….and then just wanting to find out who I am and where this writing is going WITHOUT getting tied up in my emotions to someone who might use me and hurt me again. I’ll have my fun, I’ll get it all together….but without the pretense of romance.
Illogical is my name-o.
Can’t have it both ways, and I’ve never been able to choose. I’m going to turn around and be 40, and it won’t matter anymore. It’s just that women in my family–we’re either married for a long time, or spinsters for the rest of our lives because we “couldn’t keep a man long enough for a commitment”. So there’s a fear of being lonely. With my track record in romance–finding AND keeping–you can guess how the idea of having kids at all has me feeling.
I could also adopt, and/or get artificial insemination. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want to know the person I’m having a baby with. Maybe it’s silly and wishful thinking, but I want things to just…work out. Although he hasn’t put it in so many words, I almost feel like I’m betraying my dad by not having children at this point. This is such a sad-fest post, but….the idea of having kids is so complicated. It was easier when I was younger, because I thought everything was just going to fall into place. I’d meet someone, we’d click, we’d marry and go from there. Forgetting that LIFE happens. Sometimes, life happens HARD. Things change.
They actually did change once I lost the person I thought I wanted to have kids with. They changed again years later when potential father #2 indirectly showed me what I really meant to him. There have been no other potential fathers. Should there be? What is my path? What if it’s no children at all, and this entire fuss is just a tangle I could toss into the flames? Why don’t I just let it all go for the moment? Despite seeing all the cute babies, all the endearing stories of motherhood, and all the….other stuff, why don’t I just let it all go? I have so much work to do in other areas, and I can’t let the opinions of other people rule me.
I can’t let the fact that my smart-butt dad commenting that “he’d be taking care of it anyway” get to me. I said kids were too expensive, and I’d rather care for them on my own. I meant it. I don’t mean he can’t ever help, but I want to be responsible for my children, not leave them in the hands of my retired father 100%. Their mother AND father will be responsible. I also cannot let the sadness of a lack of relationship or functioning uterus get to me–my lack of luck in love is ongoing, and the status of my health has been overdue for change. The two–despite all the positivity in the world–are often connected. I don’t have the luck some women have to be bigger and find love. When I find it…or…rather…something like it, how long does it last? How long does it take for me to find another? I hate to admit this and I’m sorry if it’s negative of the body pos movement–but I found my best luck at a smaller size. I was a size 18/20, and had no problems whatsoever. Leaving it at that.
Having said all this in my little sad-fest, I want to untangle as many wires as possible–self inflicted and otherwise–before diving into any chances of having children.