Childhood, Dating, Family, LOSS, Relationships, Uncategorized

Mother, May I?

Growing up I always saw myself as a mother.  Motherhood I felt, was an inevitable obligation and was just something that happened. At one point in my teen years I distinctly remember wanting at least 8 children.   That number drastically dropped as years went on.  I’m really good with small children.  I started babysitting at 11, was an after school tutor by 13, a camp counselor at 19, and a nanny by 20.  I’ve worked at day cares, and in elementary schools.   I know nursery rhymes by heart, songs and games and have an entire collection of children’s books just in case my friends bring their kids over to my apartment.  I like kids.   The first time I had sex was traumatic in every way.  After that, the idea of me becoming a mother had so much of that trauma wrapped up in it I had resolved that it wasn’t something that I want.  It’s still not something I can say I really want.   Today this is just on my mind, it’s making me sad, and now I’m confused.

Maybe it’s because I’m  ovulating.  Maybe it’s my age – though I am not professing that the biological clock is a real thing – I know several women who have zero desire and have never had a desire to be a mother. Having a vagina does not overpower having a brain and free will.  I’m saying that for me , personally within my journey,  in high school I had planned 30 to be the year I started having kids.  (Not that anything else has gone according to that plan – or should have.  Otherwise a 15 yr old girl would have planned my entire life and that seems insane.)  I did watch Bridget Jones’s Baby last night  as well.   A couple weeks ago I was sitting on my couch with a guy, we had gone out late and it wasn’t really my scene, so we came back to my place so I could change into long basketball shorts and take my makeup off.  We were watching a hotel makeover show when he mentioned how nice it was to have someone to just stay in with.   I agreed. He started to talk about his wants and needs in a relationship and what he hoped for in the future and I chimed in with my own.

“How many kids do you want?”  he asked. This question always makes me roll my eyes a bit.  Mostly because of the hidden assumption that I’m a woman so therefore I must have a deep burning desire to grow a human being from scratch from within me and push it out of my vagina at some point.  That wasn’t the question. The question was how many times did I want to go through that process.

“I don’t think I want kids. I used to.  I guess I like the idea of motherhood but in actuality, I’m not sure how kids factor into my life.”       My answer confused him.   And then it upset him.  Silly me I thought we were having a discussion. I wasn’t aware that I was being interviewed as a potential host for his future spawn.

This incident is playing in my head right now.  I really resent expectations. But is that why I don’t want kids? Because it’s expected of me to want them?  Wait,  do I want kids?  Why is this even relevant right now?   A couple years ago I found out that I am a carrier of the BRCA2 gene.  My doctor started talking to me about preventative measures, I had my fertility tested – I’m fertile myrtle but the overwhelming urgency of it all  – I just shut down.  I have a hard enough time just dating – let alone planning my reproductive future.  I dismissed it entirely.  Also – it’s very possible I have unresolved anger at my birth mother.  I know so little about that situation. I know she had two older children.  I know that she is/was white.  I know that I am also black.  I can’t help but feel like maybe that’s why she gave me up – maybe I didn’t look like the other kids, she had an affair or whatever.  She knew I was going to look different so she traveled two states away to have me in the middle of nowhere and give me up for adoption.   I am very grateful for the family I have now and was raised in.   However, it does piss me off that my white birth mother would very selfishly drop off a biracial child in an area where the population is 98% white.   I’m sure it wasn’t intentional or even cross her mind the difficulties I would have to encounter.  White privilege had screwed me over from the beginning.

I guess I just have this feeling that it’s kind of now or never and I know I’m not ready.  And I don’t see my life going in a direction where I could be or will be ready anytime soon.    I feel like this decision has been made for me and it makes me sad. I am sad about it.   I love my life very much.   I have a fantastic job that I’m good at and love.   I have the freedom and means to do whatever I want to do.  I am plenty loved and cared for.  Today just seems very final for some reason.   It feels like a closed door and that is humbling, even if it was a door I wasn’t sure I wanted to ever walk through. I guess I just got used to it always being an option.

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