to kid or not to kid, and Grateful Thursday

I never played with dolls as a girl. I wasn't interested. Maybe because I had brothers, or maybe it was naturally built into my genes, somehow woven through them the inability to care about girly things. As a toddler I played make-believe offices or stores or superheroes, not mommy and babies. I had Barbies, but they saved my brother's GI Joes from impending doom. I liked She-Ra the best, The Princess of Power. She and the Barbies would gallop on My Little Ponies like Joan of Arc or Queen Elizabeth into danger, naked and fearless, to rescue the fallen soldiers from our enemies.

Later, I played sports. Softball, basketball, track. And I babysat, but I took on the kids no one else would, the wild ones that scared other babysitters away, that threw baseballs at my head and tried to smother me with pillows. I was never afraid of discipline, and I like to think that I was the only strong adult figure in those kids' lives. Maybe I brought them some kind of structure.

I recognize the fact I never had nor developed any kind of maternal instinct. I'm distant with children. I feel myself not letting go, not being comfortable, because I don't understand them. In a way, I was never a child, or at least I don't remember being a child, so it's hard for me to connect. I want them all to be little adults, not irrational, easily confused, sticky. Having a conversation with a three-year-old is tasking to me-- I get nothing out of it other than frustration. I don't think Oh, how cute. I think God, someone teach this thing how to pronunciate.

One of my friends does have a little boy with whom I have a deeper connection. As a baby, he amazed me with how quickly he took to things like blocks and shapes and colors. Unfortunately, they've raised him a bit too much in front of the tv, so now all he really seems interested in is Wubzy and Dora and Blue. He still isn't talking much. But when we babysit, I turn off the tv, and I see the wheels in his powerful little brain start turning again. I think if my kids were like that, quiet and reserved and thoughtful, I'd be fine, but you never know what you'll get. Just ask my mom.

I would be a good mother. Unconventional for sure, but I would raise intelligent, open-minded, and outspoken kids. While watching A Christmas Story last night, the scene where the kid yells fudge made me think about what I would do if a child of mine, age 9, cursed like that. I think I would laugh. They're just words. I would tell him not to use them in public because other people don't understand, but there would be no soap eating, no punishment. Other parents would hate me, wouldn't they? I am not status quo and would not raise children by the status quo.

I was struck this morning on the way to work with the thought that maybe I don't want kids because I'm not ready to grow up. I do not want to be an adult. Marriage was easy because my husband is my best friend. It's like playing house with the cute neighbor boy. Buying a house? Well, you have to live somewhere. And work? I work for the youngest company I've ever seen, my boss being a year younger than me, and we sit around in our pjs and eat sushi. It's almost like playtime in here, even when we're doing serious work.

I had a dream last night-- that's what started all this. I was tasked, in my dream, with raising a litter of puppies. But somehow in my dream they turned into a baby, and I was laying in bed on my side with a baby in the crook of my arm, staring down at this creature feeling completely out of place and scared. Sure, that's probably a natural feeling for a new mother. But I'm not ready for that, not in the least. I woke up thinking about my friends, so many of whom are pregnant right now. I had an old friend from high school friend me on facebook yesterday, and her profile picture is her in a hospital bed with a two-year-old at her feet and a newborn in her arms, her happy husband's head sticking in from the side of the frame. All I can think when I see a picture like that is How? How did we get that old? How are they ready for that? How are they ok with that picture and I'm not? What's wrong with me?

All I want to do is run away with my husband to Italy, live free and easy, never grow up because I never have to, like Peter Pan and Wendy. Am I missing out on something? Either way I guess I'm missing out. But raising children of my own, teaching and influencing them to be good people, which the world so desperately needs right now, is something I feel like I might want to do someday, I just worry I'll be too old by the time I feel old enough. And my husband may never feel old enough.

So today I'm grateful for the freedom to make this choice. Just twenty or thirty years ago, when my mom was having kids, it was still expected of every woman to bear children at some point. While still today I get some strange and quizzical looks as I announce my desire to not have children, most people have at least heard it somewhere before and even know someone who's making the same choice. Women, while we still struggle for freedom, have never been as free before as we are now.

I'm also grateful for this forum in which I can compose and organize these thoughts.

Lastly, I'm grateful for my peace of mind in knowing whatever I chose, I'll make it work. Heck, even if motherhood choses me against my will, we'll be fine. We have a strong relationship built on trust, respect, and love, so no matter what's thrown at us, we'll survive and be stronger on the return. While having a baby would change our lives forever, I know we are both the type of people that will see the good rather than the bad, and we'll turn whatever happens into a happy and fulfilling life.