I heard news today that another friend of mine is pregnant.
So I decided to talk about my biological clock. Or rather, my lack thereof.
My daughter is six-years-old. I had her very young, three days before I turned eighteen. When I got engaged, I was insistent that I'd only marry someone who wanted to have a child later on. But now....
It's not that I don't love Bean. I do. More than anything. And it's not that I don't think kids are wonderful. Because they really are.
But I'm at the point now where Bean is tying her own shoes. She's getting her own snacks from the fridge. She's slept through the night for years, and that's been without a nightlight. She doesn't depend on me for every moment of entertainment. And I feel like I've regained a little... what? Freedom, maybe? That sounds bad, though. She's self-sufficient, and she's more her own person every day.
I hold my friends' infants, and I love the way they smile, the way they grab my finger in their tiny fists, and I love the way they smell. And for a day or two I'll think, "Maybe it'd be nice to have another baby one day." But I enjoy sleeping through the night. I'm happy that I don't spend all of my money on diapers and formula and clothes and daycare and pediatrician visits. If not at peace with it, I am tolerant most days of my mommy figure. Sometimes I'd even say I'm comfortable with it. I don't miss crying and fretting about my post-childbirth body. I enjoy having money to take Bean to the dinosaur museum or to go out with Steve to dinner.
Maybe it's selfish. Maybe I'll change my mind one day.
But there will be no serious discussion about even the possibility until our lives/finances are at a place where we feel we'd be "okay". And if we get to a certain age, and that's still not happening, then we have to just be fine with missing that window of opportunity.
Here's the thing, though. I'm perfectly okay if I NEVER have another child. I really am. And sometimes I think something is wrong with me because I don't long for that the way a lot of women do. And I sort of feel like a phoney or a jackass. Because being a careless teenager, I got what so many women can't have but want so desparately, and at the time, I didn't see the gift that I had.
When Bean is eighteen, I will be thirty-six. THIRTY-SIX! It used to seem so old and far away, but the closer I get, the more I realize how young I'll be still. And that's plenty of time to persue so many of the things I put on hold. I'm scared that if I got pregnant tomorrow, that I would resent the baby, resent the whole situation. And that makes me feel selfish. Again with the selfish.
But it's not enough to make me want to have another baby. I figure we'll just concentrate all of our efforts to Bean and really just enjoy her (not that people with more than one child don't enjoy them all... I know they do).
