The Big Question
So let me talk briefly about a question that's been weighing heavily on my mind for over a year now. Despite what you may have been led to believe by the content of my previous posts, I am not completely wrapped up in broken boot heels and movies and car washes -- in other words, I do have more on my mind than the effluvia of daily life. The Big Question is...do I want to have kids?
It's a tough one. Let's start this discussion with what other people say to me on the subject. They basically fall into two camps: the "smart choice" camp and the "dont't talk crazy" camp. Oddly enough, the ones in the "smart choice" camp are the ones who have kids already. The "don't talk crazy" folks are the ones who don't have kids yet and I think discussing the possibility that someone could choose to not have children makes them a little uncomfortable. I think, by and large, people assume that they will have children without even thinking about whether it's what they want or not. Well. I'm thinking about it. A lot.
I don't generally like kids. I see them in the Bagel Chateau and they're loud and messy and really not very charming. (Maybe this is a sign that I don't actually like the parents.) But I don't see kids and say, "Wow, I can't wait to be a mother." Truthfully, I look at them and think, "Thank God I don't have any kids." And I don't mean sometimes. I mean I say this to myself EVERY SINGLE TIME.
This is not to say I don't think I'd be a good mother. On the contrary, I think I'd be a great mother. But the question is, do I want to be? And I think that's the key.
Because becoming a mother without WANTING to be a mother, I think, will lead to lots and lots of resentment. I think I would end up not working -- because that's what good mothers do, they stay home with the kid -- and being all isolated and weird. I think I would resent the hell out of devoting my life to a child. Wow that looks really really bad written down but I'm sorry, it's the truth. At least I'm brave enough to be honest with myself.
Here's how I know this: I have a dog.
I did not want this dog. I did not want to be tied down to all that responsibility, despite the fact that I love dogs. Love love love. (Note the difference from the way I feel about children.) Nonetheless, I succumbed to my husband's persuasive powers and we got Mickey when he was about 12 weeks old. I spent the next four weeks being sick to my stomach 24 hours a day and waking up at 3 am to throw up. Why? Because I didn't want the dog and the resentment was eating away at me, literally. It only got worse as this little thing refused to be housebroken for months and months. I resented the hell out of him. And you know what? I still do. Yes I adore him. I really, really do. I am utterly devoted to my dog. But sometimes I think to myself, "Just fourteen more years and I'm free." I would do anything to keep him safe but the terrible thing is if something happened to him I would react with a sickening mixture of grief...and relief. How awful is that?
Do these sound like the words of someone who should be a mother? I think not.
There are other issues at work, too. For example, we live an hour from family. I wouldn't really have anyone close by to help me with things if I needed it. And what if our parents needed care themselves? Then what?
But the other side of the coin is what happens when I'm old? Who will take care of me? Won't that be a sad, lonely existence with no children? What if I get Alzheimers and slowly lose my mind and there's nobody there to say, Hey, you need some help? Will I end up one of those old ladies who gets buried by her own collection of National Geographics?
And what about my parents? I wonder if they're counting on being grandparents? Is it fair of me to deny them something that I know would give them great joy?
I still don't have an answer. The only thing I can say right now is I Don't Know.
8:05:59 PM 
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