I don’t know if I should have a baby and when I say I don’t know I mean I have no idea. I know I should go with my gut. Sure, fine, I’ll do that. I’ll have a baby tomorrow and let you borrow him or her for six months out of the year because my gut is split right up the middle. The middle I tell you. There is not an extra ounce on either side of the decision and it is driving me nuts.
Maybe not knowing means you don’t want to and that’s the answer. Sure, maybe.
Maybe if you don’t have a baby you’ll regret it every day of your life. Sure, maybe.
Maybe the fertility specialist I’m seeing who has scared the shit out of me about the six things wrong with my blood and my body and my thyroid will be the key to my ultimate happiness. Right now though she’s just the shit scarer outer and she’s doing a damn fine job.
Here’s the thing, I’m almost forty. I’m used to the freedom in my life which is charming and full of love thank you very much.
Here’s another thing, I feel that there is something missing and I’m not sure if that’s because I can’t ever cut myself a fucking break about anything or if there really is something missing.
Did you see that? I used the f word. What kind of mother would I be anyway?
Can you have a happy life without kids?
Can it have meaning?
Can I pay someone to wipe my ass when I’m a hundred and there’s no first born beauty to take care of my wrinkles?
I. Don’t. Know.
And how about all of the talk that has come my way in the last week. You need to fix your sugar which has you insulin resistant. You need to lose weight. You need to have a biopsy of your uterus to be sure it’s healthy for a baby. What?? I don’t wanna. I don’t want a straw stuck up there to suction out a piece of my insides for something I’m not 100% on. And oh yeah, I’m a huge chicken so there’s that.
God life feels weird as a thirty-nine year old woman without a kid. People posting adorable pics of their kids doing a million things and I’m photographing my perfume tray for Instagram because it’s one of my favorite things. Is that ok? Is it ok that my fridge doesn’t have construction paper masterpieces covering it under pictures of toothless grinning cuteness?
Some days I want to ask some of my friends who have kids about maybe not having them but I can’t. It’s too weird. They’ve said cheers to a Kool Aid I’m not allowed to drink yet. I’m not knocking it because I’m pretty sure I’d be the same way but it’s hard. I feel tremendously lonely and although I discuss it with my husband, I wish I could talk to a woman about it. Better yet, I wish I could talk to an objective woman about it who barely knows me so she can’t explain to me how cute my dad would look holding my son.
Man I need a therapist and a break. I need to get away from all of the chatter about how high my thyroid antibodies are and how that increases my chances for a miscarriage and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Yeah, the doc said that. 1 point for honesty and 17 for scaring the shit out of me. I think once I hit 30 points I get my own ultrasound machine so I can use that wand anytime I want. I hate that machine and I hate the bird mobile I have to look at it every time they use it as I shift in discomfort while they tell me how small my ovaries are. Jesus.
I miss the days of hanging out with friends over dinner with glasses of wine discussing work or men or co-workers or my latest highlights. Is that wrong? Is it selfish to want that? Is it weird that I feel totally lost when someone tells me they’re pregnant. I mean, it’s wonderful and then I just tip my hat and walk away once I offer a congratulations. They’ll soon disappear anyways and I’ll be standing in the same spot trying to justify my life and figure it out and enjoy it before I fritter it away wondering if I should be knee deep in diapers.
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO AND WHY DONT I KNOW?
I like kids. I think babies are cute. I am enamored by tiny toes and shoes and pink ribbon barrettes. I just don’t feel a burning need to have them in my own home and yet am afraid to let go of the possibility.
Tell me what to do.
Tell me that if I don’t have a kid I won’t always feels lost out there sitting behind a plexiglass partition watching the folks I used to know teach their kids how to ride a bike. I hate that partition and I’m not sure if I’m behind it because I put myself there or if I no longer count when I’m not toting around a toddler.
Oh the angst I feel. I’m telling you it drives me nuts.
Just tonight I took my first dose of progesterone to regulate my cycle and then googled the side effects of not ovulating. Who am I? Where’s my trash TV and Chunky Monkey? And where’s my Magic 8 Ball? Maybe that can help me decide. (Somewhere my Mom just read that and let out an exasperated sigh). I don’t blame her. I’m making this so hard for myself it’s ridiculous.
I just wish I knew.
Why don’t I know?
I should know right?
Did you know?
Did you not and just wing it?
Can you be my life coach?
And maybe my midwife?