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Years ago a friend of mine frequently wore a t-shirt that had one of those retro comic strip characters - a woman right out of Mary Worth, maybe - holding her hand up to her mouth to stifle a scream. The thought bubble next to her head said, "Oh my God! I forgot to have children!"
Irony, right. I hated that shirt. I didn't get it. I couldn't imagine a time when I would ever (EVER!) forget something so important. You know, how some people say they forgot to eat? I don't get that either. And whereas I could fully acknowledge another person feeling that way, I knew even then that it would never be me.
Today is indeed Mother's Day, a day set aside for the billions of women who have mothered, intentionally, accidentally, biologically, adoptively - you name it, and please do, as my intention here is not to leave anyone out. I celebrate it for my mother, and my grandmother, and my aunts and my cousins who have kids. I celebrate it for my best friends who are incredible moms. I even got an e-mail from Bill Clinton, wanting me to celebrate it for Hillary.
I do not celebrate it for myself. And I was right about the shirt.
Elisa wrote yesterday about being childfree by choice, from a perspective that is completely different from mine, but which I respect immensely because it does what I love in situations like this - it states her truth, and it moves along.
Unlike her, I have absolutely always felt a biological and emotional imperative to parent. I am in a no-or-few-woman's land where this hasn't happened for me for a very particular set of circumstances that I'm not sure I can adequately explain, but mostly amount to issues of bad timing and relationship failure. I do not know for a fact that I am infertile, although at 37 my time is getting short to find out, reasonably speaking. I am not career-obsessed or convinced I have a professional mission that precludes having my own children. I am not, finally, willingly "child-free" as it's commonly understood and I'm not ambivalent about the matter either.
This is so not fun to write about, just so you know. It's awkward and uncomfortable. It's hard to be funny about it and I've been going for funny lately. It speaks to years of feeling like you're on the outside looking in, of not feeling like you can have a seat at a table you've been waiting for for years, and meanwhile, hello, your feet hurt and you're pissed off and all of the free appetizers are gone. But I do believe it's necessary, so I do it.
I've shared my perspective on the matter on BlogHer before, in posts about pre-emptive fear of infertility and how not having children doesn't necessarily make one "childfree".
The short story (beyond the whole "life isn't FAIR" bit that I'll spare you) is that I was a late bloomer when it came to dating, and when I finally did get going, I dated people who weren't "ready" for anything remotely resembling a family. I did this a few times, and spent a long time waiting for relationships to work out that just weren't going to, although I just didn't know that at the time. I was driven by my heart and not at all by my head, and it's really easy when the years are burning by to think that things will work out, because, well, they've got to, right, at some point? Well, not necessarily. I got burned in spite of my best efforts, I got scared, and in the few years since my last relationship, I have not come across anyone who would inspire me to take a chance quite yet.
And I've also elaborated on why I won't pick just anyone to parent with, just so I could.
In the meantime, I've pursued my education and changed my career path. I've traveled. I've immersed myself in art and music and culture, and a bunch of bad television when that gets to be too much. I have so many friends, sometimes I can't believe it. And my life overflows with family, which is the part that often gets left out of the story for women without children. I've helped my parents to care for my grandmothers, including my mother's mother who died in front of my eyes last September. I've been a support system
