The Question

Lately the idea of children has been in the forefront of my mind, perhaps due to a few new born announcements and children’s birthday parties. I’ve been looking back at this last year and can’t help but see how my goals and desires shifted from fearing the slow paced timeline I appear to be on to just enjoying life as much as possible.

Two summers ago I started a more extreme eating regimen in the hopes of dropping body fat to assist with future pregnancy, though I did not have a partner at the time I wanted to be ready. A few of my friends were pregnant with their first or second children and all recommended losing weight prior to pregnancy to allow for weight gain, and I listened, especially as they were friends who shared weight issues like myself. They also told me to build up my core strength as much as possible to assist with healing in case of c-section. Unfortunately being a person driven somewhat by vanity and definitely by insecurity, I lost sight of the main goal- get to a healthy weight and maintain it until I had the opportunity to conceive when I was ready. I shortly became obsessed with losing enough weight to enter a body building competition, though I could never be quite as strict as my fellow clean eaters sneaking tablespoons of natural peanut butter in the middle of the night (gasp!) It was around this period I realized how damaged my relationship with food was, and while in the past decade I have made small deliberate changes that have stuck any time I have gone to extremes I fall off the wagon hard.

The other day I was out with my aunt whom I always used as an example of what life could be like if you had the courage to live it as you pleased. Her marriage is a place of discussions not yelling matches, a partnership and friendship. She took chances with her career and tested her ability all while continually looking forward and not back. Compared to the environment I was raised in her family functioned as a unit. I have always known no family is perfect, I was an observant child and have always sensed tension and discomfort, though unlike many other homes I was in that tension was never between her and her husband- respect always existed and it is what I believe to be the core of any strong relationship. She created an early access to the arts, taking me with her throughout the years to local museums and art shows, always inquiring as to my current interests as well as talking with me candidly about familial situations.

My aunt has always known of my desire for a large family, the chance to have a brood of my own to nurture and raise. The patriarch of our family, her and my father’s father, always ruled over the holidays, and not in a jolly way- it was to be on his timing, with what he liked to eat and he said what he thought, often times sans filter. Those holidays were rarely fun, especially compared to those with her husband’s clan or my other aunt’s family. I knew at an early age it was because the extended family truly enjoyed one another and wanted that for my own children.

We attended the recent Frida Kahlo exhibit yesterday at the MFA.  The Kahlo exhibit was minimal, but got me thinking about how desperately she had wanted to conceive and her inability to do so due to her train accident. It made me think of a few friend’s recent miscarriages, both unexpected (and unplanned for) pregnancies, but unsettling never the less. Babies have been on my brain since then, the miscarriages triggering the memory of why I had tried so hard two years ago to get in such good shape. At the museum we explored other wings we love. As we sat in Sargent gallery opposite the painting, “The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit”, my aunt made mention of the innocence of children’s faces in paintings and how they affect her in ways adult faces rarely do.

As we left the museum to head to lunch on Newbury street where we could sit in the warm Spring day and people watch, we talked of baby names and exchanged stories of those we liked and those we didn’t, those that had been stolen and in one case repurposed as dog names. We sat on the walkway outside Stephanie’s, drinking cocktails and spoke of my fear of re-entering the online dating scene. She like many of her said it was highly likely she would remain single in the worst case scenario of outliving her husband. My mother, older friends and even women my own age, seem to rarely be able to imagine re-entering the dating scene after hearing the horror stories from their plethora of friends (of all ages). My aunt asked if I would have a child alone, and I firmly said no, but I am still in the air as to an absolute answer. Could I imagine a Gilmore Girls situation where it was just me and my daughter facing the world? Of course. But I really want to spend time with my future child and am uncertain I would be able to do that if I was raising them alone.

At my mother’s retirement last year a friend of hers was going through a divorce and drunkenly said “what’s it matter, my children are the real love of my life anyways”. I know that is not the life I want; I have always desired an awesome love, like Aragorn and Arwen or Edward and Bella or Barack and Michelle, a man who could be a partner in the truest sense of the word. I want my children to be one of the loves of my life, but not the main one. At the time I wanted it to be some unknown male, but now, I want it to be me so perhaps I will take the jump and do it solo one day.

I’d decided not too long ago against having my eggs frozen. A few women in my family had later in life pregnancies at 38 and 39 so I figure I have a few more years before I really have to worry or make a decision. But wanting children and nearing menopause has changed how I date and I now worry my age and current timeline scares most men. In my late 20s and early 30s I was baby mad and it took me a few years to talk myself down from having 4-5 kids to being happy with 1. I’m scared I won’t have children, but this fear leads me to believe I will.

Last year, when a friend was pregnant with her second child and chasing after her first, I couldn’t help but be thankful I had a bit more time to be selfish, a bit longer to not constantly be thinking of the well being of another and to truly fall in love with the most important person I’ll ever love, me.