My best friend in the whole world found out recently that she is pregnant. I am genuinely happy for her; this is what she has always planned to happen and now it has it is amazing. She is so happy and her husband is thrilled. She showed me a picture of the scan she had confirming everything and it was incredible. It was a 12 week one and I could make out it’s head, vertebrae, eyes, and elbows. I cannot believe that my friend Marie, the girl I spent a lot of my childhood with, who I used to have sweet eating competitions with at sleepovers, dance drunkenly to silly pop songs and fantasize about dishy English teachers together is now creating a child herself. Inside that woman there is a growing baby that in only a few months time will emerge from her womb and take its first breath in the world. It is truly mindblowing in its wonder and implications.
Before this happened to me I had felt myself to be of the age group who generally viewed pregnancy as a disaster, or at least a setback. Now, it is something to be rejoiced in and that feels strange. I knew she was planning it beforehand so I didn’t have that terrible- not quite sure how to react- ‘oh is that a good/bad thing?’ However it struck me afterwards that this ambiguity would never have occurred; because now we are firmly at the age where society deems you are supposed to say congratulations, and mean it, especially when the people involved have been married for three years. As opposed, of course, to just saying it and secretly thinking, (rightly or wrongly) ‘well that’s your life fucked then’ like you did to the girls in your form room who’s 17 year old boy racer boyfriend didn’t like the feel of condoms.
Marie is always pointing out to me that although in terms of our society she is on the youngish end of the spectrum, at 26 she is historically quite old to be having her first child. Regardless, we are now, both biologically and socially at an age where we are supposed to reproduce, or at least be turning our thoughts towards the pitter patter of those cute and tiny feet (especially those of us who are coupled up).
That is a scary scary thought.
At the moment Owen and I don’t get too much pressure, but since we’ve been married it has built steadily, a comment here and a joke there and I think as we get richer and richer – with Owen’s first contract at a decent salary or when I’m well enough to work, the pressure will really mount. Everyone just knows that we would be great parents, and firmly imply that as soon as my ‘biological clock’ kicks in I will feverishly rip out my beloved coil and become a sperm hungry demon who is consumed only by reading Mothercare catalogues and viewing houses in catchment areas for one of York’s top five schools.
And when I tell them, ‘Sorry to disappoint you but that ain’t ever gonna happen’,
they laugh. They say; ‘You’ll see. Wait and see, I bet in ten years time you’ve got two or three of the little dears. ‘
They shake their heads knowingly and change the conversation, leaving me fuming, I want to stab them in the head with a fork. Instead I cut up my pork chop, jut my jaw out sulkily and think to myself, ‘No, you’ll see, we’ll see who’ll be doing the seeing around here.' Humph.
I have never really wanted to be a mother.
Ok that’s a total lie.
I have wanted to be a mother precisely once:
About six months into our relationship, we went out for a meal and Owen decided to drunkenly announce that he didn’t really want kids. I then concluded (having consumed about two full bottles of wine) that despite previously having had zero maternal urges that I wanted a huge brood and that our relationship was forever doomed.
It was a fun meal. I think I even cried at one point and used the words ‘star crossed lovers’.
That occasion, over six years ago, was the last time we ever ate in that Chinese. It was also the last time I categorically felt like I wanted children. Given that at the time I was seeing three of Owen, fell over twice on the way home and laughed about my ridiculousness the next morning, I don’t think this sentiment would stand up in a court of law, if used as evidence in the ‘Why Jen and Owen will reproduce’ case.
I love other peoples kids, when my nephew Thomas was born I was overjoyed and I relish spending time with him. I just know I will be a great ‘auntie jen’ to Marie’s lovely baby. As more and more of my friends fall pregnant, I do not feel at all like they are throwing their life away, but I also do not feel any stirrings of desire to go out and do the same thing. I have my plan of action and I’m sticking to it. The coil is staying firmly attached. I religiously check it is in place, and have it ‘ ‘MOT’d’ at the doctors annually. If the coil fails, then I am not going to throw my arms in the air and say hey nevermind lets go shopping for prams, I am going to check the next day in to the hospital and have the fetus aborted. That might shock some people but that is my plan and I have always said that is what I would do. I am arguably not well enough to look after a baby, but more importantly, I don’t want to. I believe abortion is a woman’s right and whilst I do appreciate the miracle of birth if we’re talking about categorical feelings here the one thing I have always felt is that I am not going to experience it until I’m damn well ready. I think the most special thing about birth is not the biological growing of cells to physically form a baby but is the almost spiritual loving bond between the parents and child even when it’s unborn. If you don’t have that, but only resentment and fear and regret then I don’t think its much of a miracle at all, in fact, I think its possibly one of the worst things that could happen to anyone. I’m certainly not going to sit by and wreck my life because society thinks I’m of an age where it suddenly becomes a bit more morally dubious to abort. Everyone can understand a sixteen year old doing it because she feels like she’d rather do her A levels without having to do nightly feeds, but a married woman who doesn’t even work? Doesn’t even have a career to sacrifice? With a husband who will soon be in very well paid employment and has great prospects. Why does she need an abortion anyway?
And the truth is, I wouldn’t need one. Me and Owen could afford a child, just about, maybe with a bit of financial help from my parents and the state. I am healthier now than I have been in a long time and really in societies eyes as I don’t have a job I wouldn’t be sacrificing much. Except, I think I would be sacrificing everything. I might not have a job at the moment but one day I would really like one. I want to travel all over the world. I want to read Dostoevsky’s complete works. I want to write a novel, start a band, achieve enlightenment. I want to start going on retreats two or three times a year. I have a hundred and one goals that having a child would majorly impinge on if not totally prevent. I know I am not going to achieve all of these goals, but I am not ready to let them go and replace them with PTA meetings and flute lessons and football practice and bum wiping. I honestly don’t know if I ever will be, either. Despite what people say about my biological clock I am secretly hopeful that it
a) doesn’t exist
or
b) doesn’t have any batteries.
Put it this way, I am not going to feel like my life has been wasted if there is never a Jen junior walking the earth. I don’t feel like my purpose as a human is to reproduce and have a family. I don’t believe that just because I am a kind caring person it automatically means I would enjoy being a mother. So I am counting down the days to Marie’s due date in November with great excitement for two reasons. One, because I am overjoyed for my best friend fulfilling her dream but also because as far as motherhood is concerned, this is the closest I might ever get.
Before this happened to me I had felt myself to be of the age group who generally viewed pregnancy as a disaster, or at least a setback. Now, it is something to be rejoiced in and that feels strange. I knew she was planning it beforehand so I didn’t have that terrible- not quite sure how to react- ‘oh is that a good/bad thing?’ However it struck me afterwards that this ambiguity would never have occurred; because now we are firmly at the age where society deems you are supposed to say congratulations, and mean it, especially when the people involved have been married for three years. As opposed, of course, to just saying it and secretly thinking, (rightly or wrongly) ‘well that’s your life fucked then’ like you did to the girls in your form room who’s 17 year old boy racer boyfriend didn’t like the feel of condoms.
Marie is always pointing out to me that although in terms of our society she is on the youngish end of the spectrum, at 26 she is historically quite old to be having her first child. Regardless, we are now, both biologically and socially at an age where we are supposed to reproduce, or at least be turning our thoughts towards the pitter patter of those cute and tiny feet (especially those of us who are coupled up).
That is a scary scary thought.
At the moment Owen and I don’t get too much pressure, but since we’ve been married it has built steadily, a comment here and a joke there and I think as we get richer and richer – with Owen’s first contract at a decent salary or when I’m well enough to work, the pressure will really mount. Everyone just knows that we would be great parents, and firmly imply that as soon as my ‘biological clock’ kicks in I will feverishly rip out my beloved coil and become a sperm hungry demon who is consumed only by reading Mothercare catalogues and viewing houses in catchment areas for one of York’s top five schools.
And when I tell them, ‘Sorry to disappoint you but that ain’t ever gonna happen’,
they laugh. They say; ‘You’ll see. Wait and see, I bet in ten years time you’ve got two or three of the little dears. ‘
They shake their heads knowingly and change the conversation, leaving me fuming, I want to stab them in the head with a fork. Instead I cut up my pork chop, jut my jaw out sulkily and think to myself, ‘No, you’ll see, we’ll see who’ll be doing the seeing around here.' Humph.
I have never really wanted to be a mother.
Ok that’s a total lie.
I have wanted to be a mother precisely once:
About six months into our relationship, we went out for a meal and Owen decided to drunkenly announce that he didn’t really want kids. I then concluded (having consumed about two full bottles of wine) that despite previously having had zero maternal urges that I wanted a huge brood and that our relationship was forever doomed.
It was a fun meal. I think I even cried at one point and used the words ‘star crossed lovers’.
That occasion, over six years ago, was the last time we ever ate in that Chinese. It was also the last time I categorically felt like I wanted children. Given that at the time I was seeing three of Owen, fell over twice on the way home and laughed about my ridiculousness the next morning, I don’t think this sentiment would stand up in a court of law, if used as evidence in the ‘Why Jen and Owen will reproduce’ case.
I love other peoples kids, when my nephew Thomas was born I was overjoyed and I relish spending time with him. I just know I will be a great ‘auntie jen’ to Marie’s lovely baby. As more and more of my friends fall pregnant, I do not feel at all like they are throwing their life away, but I also do not feel any stirrings of desire to go out and do the same thing. I have my plan of action and I’m sticking to it. The coil is staying firmly attached. I religiously check it is in place, and have it ‘ ‘MOT’d’ at the doctors annually. If the coil fails, then I am not going to throw my arms in the air and say hey nevermind lets go shopping for prams, I am going to check the next day in to the hospital and have the fetus aborted. That might shock some people but that is my plan and I have always said that is what I would do. I am arguably not well enough to look after a baby, but more importantly, I don’t want to. I believe abortion is a woman’s right and whilst I do appreciate the miracle of birth if we’re talking about categorical feelings here the one thing I have always felt is that I am not going to experience it until I’m damn well ready. I think the most special thing about birth is not the biological growing of cells to physically form a baby but is the almost spiritual loving bond between the parents and child even when it’s unborn. If you don’t have that, but only resentment and fear and regret then I don’t think its much of a miracle at all, in fact, I think its possibly one of the worst things that could happen to anyone. I’m certainly not going to sit by and wreck my life because society thinks I’m of an age where it suddenly becomes a bit more morally dubious to abort. Everyone can understand a sixteen year old doing it because she feels like she’d rather do her A levels without having to do nightly feeds, but a married woman who doesn’t even work? Doesn’t even have a career to sacrifice? With a husband who will soon be in very well paid employment and has great prospects. Why does she need an abortion anyway?
And the truth is, I wouldn’t need one. Me and Owen could afford a child, just about, maybe with a bit of financial help from my parents and the state. I am healthier now than I have been in a long time and really in societies eyes as I don’t have a job I wouldn’t be sacrificing much. Except, I think I would be sacrificing everything. I might not have a job at the moment but one day I would really like one. I want to travel all over the world. I want to read Dostoevsky’s complete works. I want to write a novel, start a band, achieve enlightenment. I want to start going on retreats two or three times a year. I have a hundred and one goals that having a child would majorly impinge on if not totally prevent. I know I am not going to achieve all of these goals, but I am not ready to let them go and replace them with PTA meetings and flute lessons and football practice and bum wiping. I honestly don’t know if I ever will be, either. Despite what people say about my biological clock I am secretly hopeful that it
a) doesn’t exist
or
b) doesn’t have any batteries.
Put it this way, I am not going to feel like my life has been wasted if there is never a Jen junior walking the earth. I don’t feel like my purpose as a human is to reproduce and have a family. I don’t believe that just because I am a kind caring person it automatically means I would enjoy being a mother. So I am counting down the days to Marie’s due date in November with great excitement for two reasons. One, because I am overjoyed for my best friend fulfilling her dream but also because as far as motherhood is concerned, this is the closest I might ever get.
1 comment:
Here here!
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