But first: thank you for the kind words about Scout. I received many emails and while it may seem melodramatic to mourn a pet like this, all I know is that she was family.
So, who wants to talk about babies? (Spoiler: There is no grand pregnancy announcement at the end of this post.)
For a good chunk of my adult life thus far I held a fairly strong “No Kids for Me, But Thanks!” stance. Not that I didn’t like babies or children; I just could never envision myself as a parent. But at the same time, every now and then I’d think, “Eh, maybe I could do the parenting thing. But for now? I shall make out with this fireman!” Basically, I was never one of those people for whom kids was a dealbreaker in relationships, and so I dated a lot of guys who were either on the fence, or staunchly anti-parenting (in addition to plenty of men who definitely wanted kids… because I got around, yo). And it was fine. In some weird way I figured that if I was regularly attracted to/in relationships with guys who weren’t expecting me to have kids, then that had to mean something; it was the universe’s way of saying, “You’re not meant to be a mom.”
And then I met Ed and the ambivalence about marriage and kids fell by the wayside. I could see myself married to him and not hating it. I could see us raising pasty-white kids and not being totally freaked the fuck out. Maybe it’s backwards, but it wasn’t until I met the right person who would be in the parenting boat with me* that I realized, “Oh YEAH. THAT. That could work.” It seemed my past aversion to having children was a result of the timing and the players being less than ideal. It makes sense to me that now that I’m in a better position than in any previous time in my life (other than the age of my eggs, but I was too busy with soccer practice back when they were at their optimum performance) that a family sounds more appealing and less panic-attack inducing than in years past.
Still, every now and then, doubt creeps in. If I haven’t always felt the desire to be a mother, will I be a good one? My life is fun and happy and full as it is now. I think I – we – would continue to be happy even if kids didn’t happen. Does that mean I’m not – for lack of a better term – qualified to be a parent? Is it dickish of me to consider adding to the crowded planet’s already stretched out resources?** Am I an asshole for even wanting more. I mean, we have it pretty fucking great: jobs that keep us in good cheese, a roof over our heads, good health, and a host of other blessings. Am I pushing it by even thinking that adding another person to the mix is something we deserve? And most importantly: Do they make baby sunscreen in SPF 75? Because you know a kid with our genes will need that shit.
Like I wrote at the beginning, I am not pregnant so there is no tidy, definitive conclusion or surprise! announcement. Just a lot of questions.
* And in no way do I mean for all of this to be terribly heteronormative or dismissive of single parents. I only know that for me, single parenting wasn’t really an option. Mostly because I feel like there needs to be an adult in the house and we all know that isn’t me.
** Adoption has not been ruled out as an option.