Hey, you. Did I ever tell you that I didn’t want children. Children, being the ones that walk on two legs. I had no problems imagining myself raising four-legged babies, but the ones that eventually learned to talk and become a full fledged person were not for me. Yet, last Sunday I watched the reactions of my two dear sweet friends as the weight of my daughter being in high school hit them. It was a mixture of bewilderment, shock, and tenderness. I made a comment to one of them, remembering how she held my sweet baby girl while we dined at an odd eatery inside of a gas station in Dallas, TX. Later my other friend would pull out a picture book I made of both of my children. She would point out the disparity between my daughter’s newborn photos and my son’s. It’s clear that my daughter’s pictures were carefully planned out and arranged whereas my son’s were off the cuff and more raw.
Both photoshoots are perfect in my eyes; perfect because she took the photos. She, like several of my closest friends, were there from the beginning. The beginning of the worst and best decision I’ve ever made in my life.
From the age of 13 to 29 I rebuked the idea of children. When people would ask me if or when I planned on having children, I would repel them like a priest ousting a demon from an unsuspecting soul, or maybe in that scenario I was the demon because i’m pretty sure internally my head would turn around my body and I would spit pea soup. When I turned 30 things changed. My eldest brother lost his cancer battle at the age of 37, (makes the word “elder” seem like such a stretch now). My whole family was in a depression and I started getting this desire to breathe life back into us. I remember there was a distinct moment when looking at babies brought a sense of joy to me instead of disgust. I did question it. I’m a sceptic by nature. I knew that biological clocks were a real thing. I blew it off as nothing more than that. Plus, there was my nephew. We still had a piece of my brother running around though he never quite ran the same after his dad died. It was around this time that my late husband, Brad’s, rare illness was worming its way back into our lives as well. It got me thinking, “If something were to happen to him too, wouldn’t I want a little piece of him that I could hold near and dear?” It was wishful thinking because Brad and I had decided NOT to have children. Still, one day I found myself whispering to the Universe, “Okay. I admit it. I wouldn’t mind having a child. Geez, you’re so relentless, do you know that?” But it was more than that really. I didn’t want a baby, I wanted Brad’s baby. If I couldn’t have that, then the Universe could suck it. Note to self, never EVER threaten the Universe.
After therapeutic courses and the newness of my brother’s death wore off, I fell back into life’s routines while wearing a light cardigan of depression. I wouldn’t say I was exactly the same person, because how can you be when someone who used to be there, suddenly isn’t there anymore? I did gain my sanity back when it came to children. They kind of went back to being icky. Then it happened or I should say something DIDN’T happen…or show up rather. I remember Brad and I sitting silently on the couch together, our cats walking around us probably concerned about their “people”, wishing they could read the word on that stick they were staring at. Spoiler alert, it said the word “pregnant.” Hmm. It’s interesting. Not until this very second have I ever thought that maybe in that moment the Universe was gently telling me Brad wouldn’t survive…and that, my friend, is a PSA on how parenting killed my husband. No, obviously I kid. I only kid because Brad’s illness isn’t the point of this blog and he always appreciated a little twisted humor.
Parenting for me was just another word for leader. Back then if I was in any type of leadership role, you can bet it was because no one else was willing to do it. Parenting was like directing a film or a play to me, sure there were multiple people involved but at the end of the day its success or failure was on your shoulders. No thank you. I wanted to be the one who enjoyed the popcorn and freedom to sing praises or spew criticism. Besides, children were scary. Oh sure they come in these cute little packages (…mostly cute, I mean come on…let’s be honest) who can’t do anything on their own until they suddenly think they can do everything on their own; there brains don’t even function at full capacity for eons, but there eyes are secret FBI like portals. You look into them and you know they can see right through your bullshit. They have built in “spidey-senses” that alerts them to the type of person you are. Like, why would I want any part of that? The most telling thing? You’re supposed to raise this creature to be a confident individual who can function in our society, plays well with others, makes good decisions personally and for the greater good, and still be uniquely themselves with their souls wholy intact. No pressure whatsoever. Yeah, sign me up for that job.
Parenting isn’t that. Parenting in my experience has been the chance for me to say, “What do I have to offer here? Who have I been? Who am I Now? Who do I want to be? What am I most proud of? Where have I failed and what did I learn? Where am I flexible? Where am I rigid? Where am I willing to bend? Where am I willing to stand and hold my ground? Why is any of that important to me?” Just like a director, a parent gets the chance at a macro view. They get to look and see what’s the best way to tell this story with the tools that they have? Notice, I said this story. I know my children’s stories are not mine. My job is just to guide and give them space to play with the choices they’ve already brought here with them. Yeah, some of those choices can be iffy. My kids will tell you, that I don’ mind playing back some of my iffy choices for them to see, shift and hopefully try doing something different. I’ve also learned that I’m not always the right person for every stage, or scene if you will, of their lives. Having a village made up of all kinds of characters to call on for extra support has been invaluable. Characters that have the same core values that I do but differ from me in race, religion, gender, sexuality, status, and even parenting styles. Because if I don’t understand or have answers, someone in my community will.
I will always believe in my heart that my son and daughter chose me to be their mother. It’s not easy. There was a time where I thought maybe my kids had a mom deficit. They didn’t have the fun mom, the pretty mom, the high-powered mom, the popular mom. But over time, as I watch them grow I have learned to trust that they have the right mom.
Parenting has taught me so much of what it means to be a human being, what it means to lead and be led, what it means to be vulnerable all day every day and still not succumb to fear. My children are never-ending stories surrounding the love in my life and circumstances that got them here; luckily for my kids, I don’t regret what and with whom it took to get them here. Unfortunately, I know that’s not the case for a lot of children out there and I wish I knew how to change that.
This is not some soapbox on why women should have babies. If you don’t want to have kids…don’t. Please don’t. My daughter tells me all the time that she doesn’t want kids and I’m like, “Awesome. Great. Do you, boo. It’s not a cakewalk. I’m barely managing and you and your brother are amazing, if that tells you anything.” All that really tells her is that maybe she should have scrutinized my mom skills when she looked at my résumé during our interview; an interview, by the way, for a job that no one has written a description for to date. Whatever, I’m in therapy. It’s fine. I do let her know that it’s also okay if she changes her mind. She won’t lose her street cred.
After all, I became the woman who said, “Never to having kids,” to the woman who said “yes” to having a baby and directing her first show at the same time.
**Everything I write comes from my personal insights and has all the drippings of my opinions, biases, and what-nots. Rather than come for me with facts or judgements to contradict my said opinions, biases and what-nots, I’d rather you find a different blog that makes you happy. If you find these posts therapeutic or helpful in anyway that means we connected and it’s all I can ask for, however I’m not a therapist nor a coach. I’m just a writer floating words out there hoping they find the person they are intended for.