So I’m thirty now. That happened, and naturally it has me thinking about my potential baby making years. As they say, the clock is ticking, and although I’m not normally one to get overly anxious about my fertility, I can’t deny it’s been on my mind more recently. Having a baby is one of those big life decisions you think will come naturally as an adult, but when those prime reproductive years sneak up on you, things aren’t quite so simple – at least not for everyone. At least not for me.
As a kid I remember telling my mom I didn’t want children. I remember she reacted as if I said I was voluntarily giving up air. “Don’t say that,” she said, and I felt a little like I was being scolded for misbehaving. It was like I’d offended her by rejecting the life she chose, one she felt I would also inherently want someday, one that was both necessary and obvious. This was undoubtedly one of the moments that shaped my views on what it meant to be a woman in society. I learned that women are widely expected both to want and to bear children and that somehow failing to realize this prophecy incurs shame. I mean, that’s why the word spinster is still in circulation, isn’t it? Society characterizes women without a man and without children as unfulfilled and lonely. I mean, just who are these women who think they can be happy and sufficient all by themselves?
Well, obviously, my twelve year old-self strongly rejected this philosophy. In fact, I’ve always rejected being what I’m supposed to be in general, particularly when it comes to gender roles. As a kid, I dressed like a tomboy when I played outside. I sat with my legs open. I didn’t want to start wearing a bra. I played in the dirt with my brother and caught frogs in my bare hands. I once had a temper tantrum because my sister tricked me into putting a single curl in my hair and yet again when my mother insisted I wear a frilly dress to church. I resented these things because they predisposed what I should be. I wanted to decide for myself.
Anyways, as I got older, my views regarding childbearing vacillated somewhat regularly. At first I thought I’d get married and have kids somewhere in my early to mid-twenties and then I thought maybe I’d never settle down and would just bounce from one country to another, exploring and simultaneously becoming a famous writer, of course. Eventually though, I decided that my future is just open. Today, this is still the option I like best. I don’t need a husband or a baby to feel fulfilled, but with the right person, admittedly, I’m filled with longing for both.
My current partner makes me feel this way. In fact, he’s the only man who has ever truly made me want kids, the only one I’ve loved so completely and unconditionally that the idea of creating a little being, half him and half me, has me eyeing footie pajamas in Target. Now, despite my tendency to romanticize things, I’m normally level-headed and practical and I don’t make any life-changing decisions without considering them from a wide lens. Thus, considering I’m on hormonal birth control that essentially tricks my body into thinking it’s already pregnant, it’s both significant and a little nerve-wracking that my current beau spikes my hormone levels enough to initiate the baby-making drive.
Having kids scares me for quite a few reasons. First, there’s the inevitable changes to my body; after finally accepting my curves in adulthood and leaving the insecurity of puberty behind, having a baby would mean undergoing yet another metamorphosis, one which could result in a real blow to my self-confidence. Stretch marks and gravity-begotten breasts may be natural, but that doesn’t make them any easier to accept in such a critical world. Besides, if I get pregnant, I’m surely going to feel bloated and uncomfortable and likely increase the already intolerable pain in my back and neck. Can pregnant women even get chiropractic care? I sure as hell won’t be able to take Excedrin for my migraines anymore. Plus, I have mild narcolepsy and I have a feeling being pregnant will sap whatever energy I do have. I already have to pee constantly; what if I can’t hold my bladder at all after childbirth? What if I just pee everywhere? What will my vagina be like? What if morning sickness kicks my ass? What if I can’t work? What if I die? See, I’m already rambling.
Photo credit to weheartit.com
Secondly, there’s a serious question about financial stability when it comes to raising a child. We don’t often think of things this way, but having children is a privilege. When you have the resources, you can start a family. Now, I manage for myself pretty okay, but birthing a new family member is sure to throw a wrench in my budget. Typical hospital delivery costs with insurance are on average upwards of eleven thousand dollars, not including prenatal or postnatal care – doctor’s visits, vitamins, ultrasounds, parenting classes, and physical therapy. There’s also purchasing maternity wear, baby clothes, new furniture, diapers, childproofing devices, toys, books, baby food, vaccines, and childcare. According to estimates, it costs more than two-hundred and thirty thousand dollars on average to raise a child in the United States and I want to provide for my child. It was damaging growing up in a house where the hot water was turned off and the car was repossessed and it was scarring to be evicted from my home at fourteen. If I have a child, I will prevent the same misfortunes from befalling them.
Reason number three: I often struggle with my mental health. My family has a history of depression and anxiety and I won’t feign eluding my own genetics. In the past, I had suicidal thoughts and was so enervated by a combination of situational components and chemical imbalances that I could barely sleep, work, or function on a basic level. I lost weight, became an extension of the couch, sank under a phantasmal pressure, and had trouble thinking clearly. Presently, though the depression is usually mild and well managed (if symptomatic at all), I still battle with the anxiety regularly. When it’s most invasive, it has me on edge, questioning everything, squirrely, and trapped inside my own analytical brain. It makes me confused, fearful, and impulsive which causes cognitive distortions and can lead to overreacting. I have to remind myself that extra adrenaline is throwing me into fight or flight mode and nip negative patterns in the bud.
If I have a baby, I genuinely want to be a good mom. My own mother was in the thick of the same debilitating mental illnesses when I was growing up, resulting in an inability to be fully available or present. This core wound caused me a great deal of pain and although I know she feels guilty for her mistakes, I don’t want them to become mine. I work daily to improve strategies for bolstering my mental health and don’t want to bring a baby into this world until I feel prepared to meet his or her needs completely. Because if I can’t take care of myself, how can I take care of someone else?
The final reason I’m scared of getting pregnant has to do with my autonomy as a woman and an indelible fear of losing freedom and control in my own life. Serendipitously, I was born in a world where women, at least in the west, do have choices regarding their bodies and their lifestyles. I don’t have to marry for financial stability, I can work where I please and as often as I please, I don’t have to travel accompanied by a man, and certainly no one is forcing me to bear children. However, despite the sovereignty I know I possess now, I still worry having kids could funnel me directly into the stereotypical female role I’ve been avoiding.
Image via coleandcoddle.com
I’m perceptive. I watch what happens around me. In 2020, women are still usually more responsible for child-rearing than men. The burden still falls on our bodies, our careers, and our time. It’s usually women who wake up in the middle of the night to feed babies (yes, even if for biological reasons), women who miss work to stay home with sick kids, and women who put occupational goals on hold. My sister once told me that whenever she goes to her daughter’s friend’s birthday parties, it’s the women who watch and entertain the kids while the men usually stand back, have a beer, and chat uninterrupted. It reminds me of the 1950s. And because these social norms are so deeply ingrained in our culture, what’s to stop these expectations from befalling me, suddenly and even unintentionally?
I think the best course of action is to make doubly sure I’ve found a partner that will contribute evenly. If I’ve got birthday party duty, he’ll at least make dinner or give the kids a bath. He will not only treat me as a respected equal, but help me proportionately with childcare and household responsibilities. I have never been one to be “put in my place” so if I’m suddenly relied on to be a housewife or the primary caregiver to a baby I created with someone else I know I’d fucking lose it. To overcome this fear, I’m going to need some hardcore evidence my man and I can play house fairly, that he is willing and able to take away some of life’s burdens for me. I know it doesn’t have to be a perfect fifty-fifty, but I want to feel supported, honored and appreciated. Oh, and a quick disclaimer too: I don’t truly believe having kids will somehow rob me of my all my hobbies, goals, and freedoms, even if it takes me a little longer to get there. It’s just an adjustment to move from a self-centered to family-centered mindset and it takes time to cool one’s nerves.
All fears aside though, the idea of creating a family is really beautiful to me, one that inspires me with hope and gratitude for my partner and our opportunity together. Ultimately, I just want to be prepared for what’s to come. Before I get pregnant, if I make the choice someday, I want to verify my health with my doctor, read all the maternity books, and have the time to build a solid foundation of trust and financial security with my man. Basically, I don’t want to tweak out because I hit thirty and jump the gun. I want to be logical, plan, and prepare and if it’s meant to happen, things will fall into place.
Vulnerability may be terrifying, but it can also be rewarding. Lately, every time I see a guy carrying a kid on his shoulders, a cute T-Rex tee shirt at the mall, or a tear-free rinse pail in the shape of a duck, I feel tremendous warmth radiating through my core. A rush of love, dopamine, and serotonin enter my bloodstream like a shot and suddenly, I’m picturing my partner’s cocoa eyes shining and his dimple pinched cheeks stretched in a wide smile as he touches my pregnant belly. Right now, I’m not sure where these feelings will take me or if my future will include a mini “us,” but I do know this; it takes a special person to make me feel up to the challenge.