PrairieGirl
01-21-2010, 03:55 PM
Like Jo, I grew up Catholic, although not fundamentally so. Mainly what I remember as a young girl contemplating her future was that a girl always got married and had babies. That was the LifeScript, and you could pretty much express it in one word -- getmarriedhavebabies. I didn't think much of babies back then. They were adult business, not kid business. I was too busy being a kid.
But when I became a teenager, and a young adult, I realized two thing -- I wanted to be married, and I deeply and fearfully regretted the day I would HAVE to have children. It was a given that I would have them -- that's what women did when they were married. It never even occurred to me that people could choose not to have them.
It's not as if I hated them. I would often imagine myself opening up a teenager's mind to poetry, history, philosophy -- the joy I would get from seeing a child of mine love Shakespeare, or memorize Yeats, or debate the nuances of feminist theory with me. I saw nothing that was for me prior to, at least, teenage years -- infants and toddlers could not converse on Einstein, young children weren't interested in the implications of the Russian elections, and pre-teens were too wrapped up in themselves to care for the history of pioneer women. And let's face it -- I was delusional to think that even older teenagers would sit at my knee and absorb "Prufrock".
The lack of much dating experience didn't force the moment to its crisis anyway. I was adamant that there be a husband present -- I was not at all interested in being a single mother, nor did I ever hear a biological clock ticking. I wanted that man, first and foremost -- that wonderful life partner who would fulfill me in all the ways that matter. There were many frogs, and after a first disastrous marriage, we never got to the marriage question, much less the kid question.
It all changed when I went to graduate school. I realized I could have all the joy of sharing knowledge and discoursing on amazing ideas with my own children, by working with college students. And for the first time, I realized that having kids could be a choice -- there were many college professors who had chosen the life of the mind over a life with children. I thought it was a beautiful way to live -- to live in thoughts and ideas, and not be bothered by excrement and ear-splitting whining.
Others think that people like me are daydreamers. What they don't realize is that the amazing thoughts in our head are more interesting than most things out there in the world. I would rather be in a small group of friends, discussing the latest biography of Edith Wharton, than spend 18 years with a child. I would rather perfect my mind -- read, write, garden, learn languages, play a musical instrument, develop hobbies, take classes -- than exercise, or visit nightclubs, or "network", or go to church, or follow a band around the country, or lie on the beach, or choose the perfect little black dress. All the things that other people think are part of normal life don't interest me -- but the life of the mind is, to me, an endless fascination.
And this life of the mind takes a great deal of time and energy to cultivate. After working with my mind -- reading, writing, discussing issues with students, teaching, grading papers -- I'm too tired to chase a toddler around. I'd have to really REALLY want to chase that toddler around, to set aside my mind's life for it -- I'm simply not that interested.
Like many of us CFers, I am not without mothering instinct. I would just rather put it all into my Golden Retriever, than into a child. With a dog, you get all of the joy -- all of the love, the happiness to see you, the tenderness, the humor, the growth of intelligence -- that you get with a child. But you get none of the pain -- no "Mom, I'm pregnant," no "Mom, I hate you," no "Mom, I stole your grandmother's pin to sell for ice," no "Mom, I wrecked the car," no "Mom, I've decided to drop Medicine and major in interpretive dance." All the joy, none of the pain. That's wonderful!
I was lucky that, shortly after making my decision, I met a guy who didn't want kids. The problem was, he didn't realize he didn't want them. Like many men of his generation, he thought kids were automatic, but he also believed that the raising of kids was primarily woman's work. Oh, he fully intended to be there for all the Kodak moments -- the dance recitals, the big games, the weddings, the christenings. But he was also not going to change diapers, or get up at 2am to feed a baby, or take off work to run a sick kid to the doctor. And he had no burning desire to have kids -- he never talked about them, except the one time. He never talked about "when I have a son, I'm going to teach him to fish" or things like that. He was CF, and didn't want to admit it. When after 13 years together, I made the decision for us by having a tubal, he made no objection -- and now he and I both enjoy a life without the worry of pregnancy, or the inconvenience of using birth control. (And what a bonus, that my blood pressure dropped 40 points after I got off the pill and knew I would never be pregnant!)
What can I say? Life is too short, and too hard, to invite stress and hardship. We don't make enough money to live as we want to now -- we would have less with a kid. I want to live this life of my mind -- I don't want to end up like my mother, whose life of the mind was slowly slaughtered, and remained within our family solely in a series of four beautifully bound corpses (The Complete Works of Shakespeare, the poems of Sir Walter Scott, the collected poems of Robert Burns, and an excerpt from Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"). I want a full and loving relationship with my husband, where we concentrate on each other, love each other, work for each other and cherish each other -- children too often get in the way.
I have never felt greater peace and greater happiness, than the day I realized I didn't HAVE to have kids -- unless it was the day I had my tubal, and woke up from the haze of anesthesia to find my husband holding my hand and stroking my hair, then winking at me when he saw I was smiling at him.
But when I became a teenager, and a young adult, I realized two thing -- I wanted to be married, and I deeply and fearfully regretted the day I would HAVE to have children. It was a given that I would have them -- that's what women did when they were married. It never even occurred to me that people could choose not to have them.
It's not as if I hated them. I would often imagine myself opening up a teenager's mind to poetry, history, philosophy -- the joy I would get from seeing a child of mine love Shakespeare, or memorize Yeats, or debate the nuances of feminist theory with me. I saw nothing that was for me prior to, at least, teenage years -- infants and toddlers could not converse on Einstein, young children weren't interested in the implications of the Russian elections, and pre-teens were too wrapped up in themselves to care for the history of pioneer women. And let's face it -- I was delusional to think that even older teenagers would sit at my knee and absorb "Prufrock".
The lack of much dating experience didn't force the moment to its crisis anyway. I was adamant that there be a husband present -- I was not at all interested in being a single mother, nor did I ever hear a biological clock ticking. I wanted that man, first and foremost -- that wonderful life partner who would fulfill me in all the ways that matter. There were many frogs, and after a first disastrous marriage, we never got to the marriage question, much less the kid question.
It all changed when I went to graduate school. I realized I could have all the joy of sharing knowledge and discoursing on amazing ideas with my own children, by working with college students. And for the first time, I realized that having kids could be a choice -- there were many college professors who had chosen the life of the mind over a life with children. I thought it was a beautiful way to live -- to live in thoughts and ideas, and not be bothered by excrement and ear-splitting whining.
Others think that people like me are daydreamers. What they don't realize is that the amazing thoughts in our head are more interesting than most things out there in the world. I would rather be in a small group of friends, discussing the latest biography of Edith Wharton, than spend 18 years with a child. I would rather perfect my mind -- read, write, garden, learn languages, play a musical instrument, develop hobbies, take classes -- than exercise, or visit nightclubs, or "network", or go to church, or follow a band around the country, or lie on the beach, or choose the perfect little black dress. All the things that other people think are part of normal life don't interest me -- but the life of the mind is, to me, an endless fascination.
And this life of the mind takes a great deal of time and energy to cultivate. After working with my mind -- reading, writing, discussing issues with students, teaching, grading papers -- I'm too tired to chase a toddler around. I'd have to really REALLY want to chase that toddler around, to set aside my mind's life for it -- I'm simply not that interested.
Like many of us CFers, I am not without mothering instinct. I would just rather put it all into my Golden Retriever, than into a child. With a dog, you get all of the joy -- all of the love, the happiness to see you, the tenderness, the humor, the growth of intelligence -- that you get with a child. But you get none of the pain -- no "Mom, I'm pregnant," no "Mom, I hate you," no "Mom, I stole your grandmother's pin to sell for ice," no "Mom, I wrecked the car," no "Mom, I've decided to drop Medicine and major in interpretive dance." All the joy, none of the pain. That's wonderful!
I was lucky that, shortly after making my decision, I met a guy who didn't want kids. The problem was, he didn't realize he didn't want them. Like many men of his generation, he thought kids were automatic, but he also believed that the raising of kids was primarily woman's work. Oh, he fully intended to be there for all the Kodak moments -- the dance recitals, the big games, the weddings, the christenings. But he was also not going to change diapers, or get up at 2am to feed a baby, or take off work to run a sick kid to the doctor. And he had no burning desire to have kids -- he never talked about them, except the one time. He never talked about "when I have a son, I'm going to teach him to fish" or things like that. He was CF, and didn't want to admit it. When after 13 years together, I made the decision for us by having a tubal, he made no objection -- and now he and I both enjoy a life without the worry of pregnancy, or the inconvenience of using birth control. (And what a bonus, that my blood pressure dropped 40 points after I got off the pill and knew I would never be pregnant!)
What can I say? Life is too short, and too hard, to invite stress and hardship. We don't make enough money to live as we want to now -- we would have less with a kid. I want to live this life of my mind -- I don't want to end up like my mother, whose life of the mind was slowly slaughtered, and remained within our family solely in a series of four beautifully bound corpses (The Complete Works of Shakespeare, the poems of Sir Walter Scott, the collected poems of Robert Burns, and an excerpt from Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"). I want a full and loving relationship with my husband, where we concentrate on each other, love each other, work for each other and cherish each other -- children too often get in the way.
I have never felt greater peace and greater happiness, than the day I realized I didn't HAVE to have kids -- unless it was the day I had my tubal, and woke up from the haze of anesthesia to find my husband holding my hand and stroking my hair, then winking at me when he saw I was smiling at him.
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