Some girls grow up from day one ready to take on the mother role. I was not one of those girls. Although I was attracted to the idea of having children — one day — one day seemed like it would be so far off it might never happen. And, had I not met a man who was clearly born to be a father, I may have never pursued the motherhood path.
It didn’t help matters that at 15, my doctor failed to diagnose me properly and told me that I didn’t need to worry about trouble having kids — as long as I had them by age 30. It was years later when my PCOS diagnosis led to answers in this process… and more questions. Would I be able to have kids? It certainly wouldn’t be easy, even before 30. Would I want to? That was another question entirely.
Why does anyone want to have kids? It seems most of the reasons are selfish, and the reality is anything but. You want to pass your ideals on to the next generation? You want to have someone to visit you when you’re in the nursing home (assuming your kids haven’t disowned you as a parent by then?) You want to build a “family” — whatever that is — and nurture this little blob until it becomes a semi-adjusted human that you can lay claim to “I made that thing and now it’s a person thing.” (Or, you desperately want to spend over a quarter million dollars on raising a human because you just have too much money on your hands???)
Yet, biologically, or whatever it is, I’ve on and off thought about wanting a child (or two.) That said — biologically I’ve also thought a lot of things (and occasionally acted on them) that have not always been the smartest life choices (and were much more reversable/temporary) so I had to think long and hard before commiting to this. This is not just a another commitment — this is the biggest responsibility one can have in life. Am I ready for this?
I asked that a few years ago, when I got married, and when I sat in an infertility clinic discussing how my brain did not send appropriate signals to my ovaries to tell them to release eggs. The good news — there were a lot of unripened eggs hanging out there. The bad news — we had to get them to wake up. For a few thousand dollars, we could try some basic things, and then tens of thousands of dollars more might do the trick if those things didn’t work.
I’ve always tended to skew pessimistic, and lean on the amazing feeling of being pleasantly surprised when something works out, then accepting any form of misfounded optimism. I braced myself for years of infertility treatments that in the end might just not work anyway. As a fiercely non-religious person, I still forced myself to put my trust in the universe that things would happen as they should.
But, the more time I spent taking pills and enduring treatments and stabbing myself with needles to release eggs and paying bills, the more I started wanting to be a mother. It was a cruel, and fortunately short ride, until my body woke up and decided to work. I’m not sure emotionally how long I could have handled — especially the many moments of getting your hopes up with nothing to show for it other than invoices from your infertility clinic.
I do feel so fortunate that this worked relatively quickly. It only ended up costing around $6000 — which is nothing compared to what I had expected to spend to make my body function. In a way, it happened so quickly that despite wanting to be a mother desperately, at that point, I hadn’t processed it all actually working.
And then, it did.
On my 34th birthday, the HCG shot in my system was clearly on its way out, and the actual HCG line on the pregnancy test was on its way in. I knew miscarriage risk was really high then and tried to not get my hopes up — but I don’t know, I just felt like that month, was going to be the month. Mentally, I was in the right place. I had a few procedures that should help. I went to an accupunturist even though I don’t believe in that stuff for good measure (why not?) I listened, very closely, to my body, which told me loud and clear on the day my child implanted that it worked with a horrible headache and a newfound sense of nausea. Even before the test said “yes,” I knew something was different this time. And, I felt that stubborn little collection of cells in my belly decide it was in it for the long haul. Despite my pessimism, I felt a strange tinge of optimism. And a newfound desire not only to become a mother, but to be one.
…
Half way through my pregnancy, things are definitely getting more real. I’ve put on too much weight (baby decided I would not having morning sickness so I could feel ridiculously hungry all the time, a deep, growling hunger only to be satiated by french fries) and my nose and stomach are bigger than they once were, but other than that I don’t feel massively different. My placenta is anterior, which apparently means it muffles babies movements a bit from my nerves, so I haven’t yet felt baby kicking or flipping. Still, I know s/he is there. I talk to it a lot. I tell it I hope I’ll be a good mother and ask its preemptive forgiveness for all the things I’m about to do wrong over the next 19+ years.
In the last 20 weeks of my pregnancy, I’ve thought a lot about motherhood and parenting. I’ve thought a lot about my own childhood and my parents peculiar (or perhaps culturally normal Jewish-meets-Catholic) display of love via anxiety and guilt, along with providing a lovely middle-class suburban home and more than I needed to live a comfortable life. I’ve thought about what parts of that upbringing make sense to continue into my parenting style, and the many parts which will be left behind.
And, I’m grateful that my husband is in this with me, 100%. He too wants to be a good parent and leverage the best of his childhood while offering something different to his own experiences. We have discussed our parenting philosophies numerous times — we spend our short and long road trips discussing how to react to any given situation with a disobedient child. We’ve binge watched “Suppernanny.” We’ve worked through my guilt of not being able to give my child everything I had as a kid — like a house with a backyard, and probably a lot of other things that in the Bay Area are just not financially feasible. I feel like I’m in a good place to have a kid — as good as I’ll ever be as someone who is not naturally mom material. I’m committed to doing my best.
In raising a child, I decided I need to focus on three core principles that my kid will always remember are meaningful. I’m still refining these, but I’m close…
- Think different. The world is built to try to make you want to be like everyone else, because it requires a bunch of blind followers to function. But the people who change the world are those who embrace their differences. Those who create and discover new things aren’t trying to be like everyone else. Never be ashamed of who you are. You may not know who this is yet, and that’s ok. You may never fully know. But trust your gut. Never apologize for being you.
- Life isn’t fair. Everything feels unfair because you are comparing your moment to the context of what you perceive around you. Let’s look at what’s “not fair” in the history of time. On the far left we have “the most unfair.” Over on this side, we have things like being born into slavery or extreme poverty that is impossible to escape. On the far right side, we have people who are able to buy their way into power and politics due to being born into great wealth. For every time you feel something in your life is unfair, place it on this scale. You’ll find that you’re right — life is unfair — but you are far more fortunate than you feel in this moment. Be grateful for that, and for the opportunities you have, even though indeed life isn’t fair — don’t let anyone tell you that it is. And, be aware of inequality and fight, whatever way feels right to you, to make things just a bit more fair in this world.
- Find your own truth. (I have to be careful when to impart this nugget as children will certainly turn it back on their parents) — adults are just children that got old. There are moral rights and wrongs in the world that we must know. Beyond this, many of the things society says are right or wrong are just inventions of the human mind. Find your own principles to live by of what is right and wrong, and make them your religion. Do not blindly accept authority at all times. Know that some laws and rules are there for good reason, and others should be questioned and changed.
Maybe there are others that should replace those three, but I think they’re good principles I hope to impart on my children, once I’ve gotten them to use the toliet properly and stop having temper tantrums (if they’re anything like me as a child, those temper tantrums are going to be fun…)
…
Am I going to be a good mother? Who knows. I used to think a good mother gave their kid a nice house and summer camp and was socially capable enough to arrange numerous playdates with other parents who sat around drinking beer and conversing about sports while their kids pretended to like each other. I longed to be this socially elegant role model who could show my child how to interact with the human species so they could replicate this — a fine balance of being an entertaining host and woman who won’t put up with BS from anyone. To show strength and grace, not weakness and, well, spaz. — It turns out getting older doesn’t turn you into someone else, however, so my child will have to learn his/her social skills elsewhere.
I hope, at the least, to impart these moral skills. These — don’t waste your childhood and life worrying about fitting in with the crowd unless by nature you do — these — do unto others as you’d want them to do to you — ethics. A solid foundation of open communication, laughter, and love, and the least amount of judgement a Jewish mother is capable of. Maybe, even though I’m not meant to be a mother, I can still be a rather good one. Or, maybe I’ll mess it all up, time will tell.
But I’m grateful at 34 to have a firm sense of my own psyche and the nuances of my own anxieties and fears. I’m particularly dedicated to finding the right balance of showing my child a glimpse of my own weaknesses, while keeping many of these locked away. The key challenge, I imagine, is to let go of ones own constant battle of inadequacy — by self-demanded force or by design of being responsible for a brand new life. To stop spinning and instead go forward in a straight line. To have eyes look at you with so much trust that isn’t deserved yet is the most geniune and loving trust you may ever experience. And, so you become — a parent. And so, you become a mom.
life with interest 