My Newfound Ambivalence About Having Kids Scares Me
But there might be hope for a positive side to it.
I don’t know what happened exactly, but my mid-twenties baby fever has gone away, and it has now been replaced with a lukewarm feeling I barely recognize as my own.
When I was 25–26, the mere thought of not having a baby in the next year or two hurt me to my very core. Every time I had my period — thus receiving unquestionable proof of what I already knew but didn’t want to believe: that I wasn’t pregnant — made me feel like someone was running my heart through a meat grinder.
I had wanted to be a mom for so long I don’t even know exactly when I first felt the urge. It had always kind of just been there, as part of who I am, ever since I can remember.
The funny thing is that I wasn't the kid who liked to play with life-size baby dolls. Feed, change, and put a fake baby to sleep dulled my senses. I preferred Barbie dolls instead, with their adult figures, adult clothes and adult lives.
Barbie was a veterinarian, a doctor, a rock star, a jockey. Above all, however, Barbie was a princess — but even my princess Barbie would drive her own cars, have a busy life full of commitments, friends and boyfriends. Eventually, even princess Barbie had a little prince and princess of her own, but she never gave up ruling the kingdom on their account.
Somewhere along the way, the allure of a busy adult life gave way to the idea of full-time motherhood, which installed itself in my brain and took roots like a particularly persistent type of weed.
The problem wasn’t that I thought full-time motherhood was a valuable option for me as a woman, that would have been fine. The problem was that I somehow started to believe it was my only option. If I wanted kids, then I had no choice. What type of mother would I be if I left my children with a nanny, or worse, at daycare? Not a particularly good one.
Those ideas of how motherhood should look like, combined with my mid-twenties baby fever nearly drove me crazy. There was a vague hope that perhaps, if I had my kids young enough, I would still have time to build the life I really wanted for myself once they were in school.
It sounded like a plan, but more than that, it was effectively an ultimatum. It was a race against my biological clock, which ticked at double-time, powered by both my hormones and twisted beliefs.
My fears over how much my polycystic ovary syndrome might affect my fertility also didn’t help. It felt unwise to postpone having kids only to later find out I’d missed my window.
From the point-of-view of becoming a young mom, I did everything right. I got married young to a guy who was progressing in his career, destined for a somewhat secure job which would, in good time, earn him a six figure income. Above all that, he claimed his biggest dream was to be a father; he said he loved me, and painted images of a happy family in a white picket fence house, with a dog and everything, in my young and impressionable mind.
Only the guy with the job and a desire for a family was too good to be true. It turned out that being married to him meant I’d have to get in step with his program or get out. Tired of feeling neglected and lonely, I did get out.
I watched my marriage and my baby fever simultaneously run out of steam.
Now, closing in on 30 years old, I feel like I wouldn’t miss out on much by not having children.
Now that I’m finally learning to enjoy my life as it is, that I’m making money working with what I love, and making plans for that money — none of which includes spending it on children — sometimes it feels like having one would be a bit of a drag.
Much like someone who stays up way past their bedtime and now feels more awake instead of sleepier, now that I have waited this long to have a child, I don’t feel such a strong urge anymore.
Of course, whenever I come in contact with a baby, a few strings in my heart resonate, but I have never again heard the symphony I used to hear back in my mid-twenties.
Having kids now feels like a fine thing to do, but also does not having them. For the first time in my life, it feels like an actual option instead of a necessity, a question that does require an answer — it’s not rhetorical anymore.
And those feelings scare me, because they put into question everything I was always certain I wanted. I understand that as we grow, we change, but when the change is as fundamental as this, it makes one question one’s true essence.
Did my desire to be a mother ever truly came from me? To what extent was I influenced by my own mother, a full-time mom herself?
Seeing my thoughts and feelings change this drastically makes me question whether or not I’ll ever get to know who I really am. It also makes me question if these new feelings on kids would have arrived regardless of me having them by now or not. Are they a matter of age or circumstance? Had I had a baby back when I really wanted to, would I now look at five-year-old Timmy and realize he was a mistake?
Scary stuff, no matter how I frame it.
To be clear, it’s not that I’ve turned to pro-motherhood to anti-motherhood overnight. I still think having children might be fun, only I also think it might be a huge pain in the ass, and possibly not even that rewarding.
These days, what excites me about having kids is how much my partner wants them. If I wasn’t so sure he’d be such a great dad, I might just keep living without having any, minding my own business and enjoying my freedom.
As much as my ambivalence about having kids scares me, I still see a bright side to it: the possibility of my Polycystic Ovary Syndrome making me infertile doesn’t scare me as much anymore, and I no longer lose sleep over the fact that I’m 25 and not pregnant yet, or 26 and not pregnant yet, or 27 and not pregnant yet… you get what I mean.
I also hope my ambivalence about having kids helps me have a more balanced view of motherhood in the future: not too loose and relaxed, not too uptight because my kids are my whole world or something — I’m confident my ambivalence will also drive me to have a life of my own besides having kids.
Regardless of what happens next, I have learned to accept the cards life has dealt me so far, and most importantly, I have let go of the pain of not having had my life shape out like I thought it would back when I was 12.
