Babies on the Brain

I guess I’ve just entered that stage of life, or I’ve hit that definitive age where everyone I know seems to be getting married, having babies, buying houses and in all senses of the phrase “growing up.” Now I’ve written about how I fear that I have missed the boat in some senses. Although mentally I grew up before most, merely out of circumstance, I seem to be regressing from, or at least straddling the lines of grown up-ness.

I have no current desire to own a house. I like apartments. Freedom! Being able to pick up and go or to start something new and exciting are things that I value. I could barely commit to a dog! But now that I have a dog, he’s our whole little world. Imagine how crazy our child would be.

Now, as Destiny’s Child serenaded us in the nineties with, “Bills, Bills, Bills,” it still rings true. We still have credit card debt, we need to save for a new car and we need to be able to afford medical insurance (don’t act surprised!), BC, “Before Child.” I desperately want a new T.V. and computer, and we still haven’t had an actual vacation together. Who needs a mortgage and rugrats running around on top of it all?

I have those hormonal times where I’m desperate to reproduce and I need a baby fix, but then I think about how much I look forward to girls night and trips to visit family, and I’m snapped back into reality. It’s some unspoken law that as soon as you get married you are instantly expected to make a family, if you haven’t already begun one. I feel the question looming every time we hang out with in-laws and sisters and such: “When are you going to have a baby?”

Some of the women I admire most are mothers and friends and family alike all tell me there is no true way to “plan” baby time and you’ll never actually be ready. But lately, it’s not the “money” or the “ready.” It’s the sheer fear and lack of mothering self esteem that stops me in my fantastical tracks every time I think I want to board the baby train.

I can’t say I didn’t have a mom around; she was around but she wasn’t exactly much of a mom for most of my life. Granted, the years she was around I wasn’t very in tune with the world, I was under age 10 for most of her mothering years. My mother uses this idea as an excuse to get angry and claim that I’m accusing her of being a terrible mother but the truth is most of my early childhood memories are either pixilated amalgams of pictures and stories, or jumbled physical things associated with the latter. The one thing I remember is my mother telling me that during one of her momentary lapses in parental judgment she kicked me out of the car for kindergarten and said, “I’m so done! I don’t want to be a mother anymore!” I walked into class, promptly and matter-of-factly announced to my teacher, “My mom doesn’t want to be a mom anymore.” My teacher looked back at me with concern and horror, claiming that she’s sure my mother didn’t really mean it, and that I must have misunderstood. Later, my mother received a phone call from the school making sure she’d actually be there to pick me up that afternoon. That story has become legend. I was 5! What would you expect?

Granted, most people don’t have ideal, amazing mothers but I think those of us who get raised by the real nut-jobs or lose a parent during our early stages of life, really have no idea what a mother is supposed to be. There are so many stereotypes with it all. In essence, my dad ended up being way more of a mom. He did my laundry, hemmed my clothes, sewed patches onto wholes, fed me meals with all of the food groups, forced me to drink my water and my milk, and probably made more trips to the store for tampons than my mother ever did. She took me shopping, kept me current with fashion, and helped keep me loud, grouchy and quick on my toes with the insults and jabs that only a real mother can teach you.

My best friend lost her mother when we were in high school and she may be the greatest mother I’ve ever met. She has three little girls who all adore her. She’s kept true to herself in every sense and has raised an amazing family. So against all the stereotypes, I know that her loss hasn’t converted her into a tequila-drinking mom, who watches television all day, ignoring the screaming children, perhaps throwing them a Pringle or Swedish Fish every 20 minutes or so, while simultaneously chain-smoking Marlboro reds, which leaves me hopeful. But then again, what if I become that mother?

Most days I feel I’d shame the word “Mom.” That’s what I’m afraid of. All women strive to never end up like their mothers but I just don’t want to be one of those moms they put on Jerry Springer specials or that end up on Hoarders and Intervention. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable goal.
I was a nanny for most of my life and I love being around kids. Kids are the best friends you’ll ever find and the only little people who will tell you the unyielding truth, love you for what you are, see through any bullshit you may be bearing, and call you ridiculous names all while making you fall in love with them. Two of my best friends in this life are 9 and 17. Kids just keep it real.

I know my husband will be a great father. I have no doubt whatsoever. Even though he makes fun of the fact that I will be completely psychotic when I’m pregnant, and claims I can barely deal with the dog, I know he has faith in me, and in us. For some reason though, at the end of the day, I’m still scared shitless.

I know we made the conscious choice to move across the country from the majority of our family members, but the idea of having a baby makes me feel even farther away. Granted, people would visit, but we’d have no extra support system like most “settled” people do. Then again, we don’t really have parents who can take the kids for days at a time, or who could stay up all night and help us. I’ve got some amazing friends and sisters who could help here and there, but I would end up with just Eben and baby Chriss. Although the thought of just us three is somewhat frightening, it’s really everything I’ve ever wanted anyway, so comforting in the end.

I’m so used to depending on only a small handful of people. It’s almost liberating to think that when it’s time for an addition to the family, it will be our own creation and our own endeavor. It’s a mixed bag, really. I long for having some people physically closer, and I get bummed out and jealous when I see all these friends and family members with their aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters, moms and dads as integral parts of their babies lives, but then again, I’ve never really had that kind of situation as something lasting in my life, so why should I miss something that’s never really been there?
We are lucky enough in this world to have found a grouping of friends and family that truly love being a part of our lives, and I know when the time comes, they’ll step up and make sure I’m not a mommy disaster. But, for now it feels like we’re worlds away from babyhood.

We’ve talked about it, and we talk about it all the time. I feel there’s no rush. Even though “my biological clock is ticking,” there’s always time. I’ve stayed pretty healthy to make sure things are easier when the time comes. I’ve read the literature and statistics. The bottom line is, no matter how afraid I am, or how I feel about my own mom, if I do my best, perhaps I’ll raise a kid who can do the same and surpass all other expectations.

Babies may be on the brain but I’m pretty far away from catching the baby train. Just like everything else in this life, I’ll come into it on my own terms. As crazy as I am and scared as I can be, we tend to get through it all and make it work; we always do. Introducing a ginger baby into the world and raising baby Chriss will just be another chapter in the journey!