I took my boyfriend home for the holidays. He's 9 years my senior in people years, but I'm light years ahead in women years. The thought of having children, if it crosses his mind at all, is probably a brief and novel experience. He told me recently that the reason he's 40 and still living alone is that he doesn't like to think about the future, but he's okay with that and for the most part I am too. I mean I probably worry about the future enough for the both of us.
We arrived at my folks place with bags of unwrapped presents in hand, that I had waited until Christmas Eve to wrap. I brought them in the other room to quickly get my wrapping done and only five minutes in, I can hear my mother saying loudly to my boyfriend, so I can hear, "Well, I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever have grandchildren. I just don't want to think that no one will continue the gene pool" - - No pressure though Ma.
My older brother and his wife have already clearly expressed over the years their intentions to never procreate, so I think my mother has given up on them. Leaving me the only hope for the continuation of our precious "gene pool." Lord knows we need some more over fed and ignorant white people in this world, dying breed...
So far my thoughts on pregnancy have been the many ways to ward it off and I've done a pretty darn good job of it. Somewhere in the Salvador Dali of my mind, every time a suspecting sperm (AKA Rebel X-wing) gets even half way close to possibly infiltrating one of my eggs, I send my TIE fighters (AKA birth control) to toast the fuckers.
However, I know that hidden somewhere deep inside "The Death Star" of my vagina, or maybe it's somewhere in my brain, there is a hidden weakness, one even my imperial guards can't hold back, and it's a time bomb, waiting to go off.
But funny thing is, 3 months into 30 and that "ticking clock" time bomb, hasn't gone off... I always kind of assumed it would have by now too, I mean, I was the one all of my friends originally said would, hands down, be the first to kamikaze into parenthood.
I'm still here though, up late at night reading Sartre and worrying about what he meant by "existence precedes essence," while all my friends are missing in action. They've already taken the parenthood plunge, ruled by tiny creatures that steal all their time and money. I'm just not sure I want one and in my search for personal meaning, I have hit a roadblock when it comes to some fundamental questions about motherhood.
How do we create meaning in our lives as individuals and how essential is motherhood in a woman's search for meaning? Do I only entertain the idea of having children because I feel pressured or expected to? Do I truly want motherhood? And if not, how will I make my life meaningful in the event of its absence?
I don't know the answer to these questions yet, but I'm letting them percolate and I think that's 100% fine, and you should too! I mean, it's a BIG decision and once we go down that road, there's really no turning back...
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