Fertile Thoughts
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It’s Wednesday. My day with the girls. Yesterday was a bit of a beast. It started with a bris and it ended with a PA meeting at Preschool. In between, there was a music class and a lunch and a construction meeting and coffee with friends. Oh, and a flurry of solicited opinions on the new title of my book. When my head hit the pillow last night, I was physically and emotionally spent, bubbling over with ideas and regrets and questions.
So I embrace today wholeheartedly. A day that’s both simpler and harder. A day on which I have no choice but to focus on one thing. Two things, actually. My girls. And today’s been like most Wednesdays before it – full of spills and smiles and screams and squeals. There was a nap boycott. There was a plea for after school candy. There was an avocado goatee. Currently, there is a giant chocolate chip cookie, soggy with saliva, sticking out of the front pocket of my diaper bag. That says it all.
And now my girls are sleeping. Resting up for more. And I am here. And I am tired. Full of love. Of things close and far away. Full of fear. Of things I can’t control. And those I can. Full of a harrowing and hazy focus. My mind shimmies in the past and then zooms to the future and when I let it, it settles right where it should – in the coziness of the present moment. A fungible Wednesday afternoon in fall. A day in the life of a harried and happy mother. Mid-dream.
On days like this, it is easy (for me) to get frustrated, to grow irritable, to crave civilization. If I’m lazy, these things overtake me. But sometimes something slaps me and reminds me to take stock of the chaos I too frequently curse. To feel grateful and humbled by the bounty. Sometimes, something stings me out of that cocoon of complacency that surrounds me. And so many of us.
That something this morning? An exquisitely honest and vulnerable post by Mama of The Elmo Wallpaper wherein she ponders giving up the dream of having a daughter. A mother of three boys whom she relishes and adores, Mama is haunted by the prospect of her husband getting the vasectomy he now desires. Her words are raw and universal and hit a chord in me. After reading her post, my day, my day with the girls changed in hue, it sparkled a bit more. I felt suddenly, rabidly thankful to have two happy and healthy little girls. Even if they test every ounce of me sometimes.
BUT. But it didn’t stop there. No, it never does. I began to think about boys. What if I never have a boy? What if I never see Husband with a little version of himself? Will he be disappointed? Will I? I don’t know. Maybe. What if I knew with absolute certainty that I would not have another child? I think this knowledge would cripple me. And I’m not sure why.
Yesterday morning at the bris for my friend’s new son, the baby’s father said a few words. His words were stark and profound and beautiful. He turned to his wife, my friend who was radiant a mere week-plus after delivery, and said, “I’d like to thank my wife for our children.” A simple string of often unspoken gratitude. And then he said to all of us, “My wife and I feel very fortunate to now have a daughter and a son.” Again, an honest and lovely statement.
But all of this – his words and Mama’s post – has me thinking amorphous thoughts. That we can’t always have what we want. But we always want. We never stop dreaming. It’s all about dreams. And when a dream isn’t realized, it dies, doesn’t it? And when a dream dies or threatens to die, it hurts. The hurt is palpable in Mama’s words, “It makes me lose sleep, wondering what a daughter might look like, wondering who she might be, what she might like, which brother she would most resemble. I wonder if she would be a tomboy, having three big brothers, or if she would be inordinately girly in opposition to them. I wonder if she would have all of them wrapped around her finger.”
The blessing and curse of imagination. The fury of fantasy. The hegemony of What If. The inescapable limits of every life. The mortality of hope.
Mama ends her confession with the following two sentences: “It just makes me sad. I just thought you should know.” In this world, in this artificially sweetened world of ours, how often do we encounter such bittersweet honesty? Thanks to my Cheerio Compatriot for making me think big thoughts, brave thoughts, fertile thoughts, amidst the glorious mayhem of yet another Wednesday.
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Thoughts on this? Why do you think so few of us are honest about wanting more? About the dreams that dance below the surface of objectively good lives? Are you good about giving up on something you once hoped for? These questions are purposefully vague as I think this is about far more than fertility and family.
It’s hard. It’s hard to say you want more when there are so many people who have so much less. But I don’t think the guilt should keep us from dreaming, or having goals, or working hard to realize those dreams and goals. And the “more” that we want isn’t, by definition, selfish. Sometimes wanting more can mean more purpose or more significance. More of something that helps other people.
Thanks, Aidan. When I was 30, I had two babies too, close in age to yours now (my firstborn was 2, my now middle child was 4 months old). I was pretty sure I would have one more child, and it never dawned on me that I would someday feel this way — facing the closing door, realizing that my fertile days are ending, wondering what comes next. And I always just assumed that I would have at least one of each, so I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of not getting what I wanted.
I do want what I have, I just want more. It is hard for me. And as you suspect, it’s not the only dream I am watching gather dust ans wither right now. I think that is leading to my mid-30s melancholy. I’m working on it.
And like Gale says, I also feel some guilt that I have such privileged sadness. I’m sad, but look how much I have — an abundance. So many people have no children at all, or struggle with infertility, or lose children. My disappointments? I am blessed to have them.
Phew. Like Mama, I have written about my three boys, and my desire for a daughter. It is fierce. It pulls at me. I feel equally fulfilled by my three boys and incredibly lonely because of them. People offer me things like “boys love their mothers, you’ll have mama’s boys” and “you’ll be glad you have boys when they get older – less drama.” Yeah, I know. I know all of it. What I don’t know is what it would be like to raise a girl. How it would change me and my sons and, most of all, my husband. When I think that this is it, this is my family, I will remain the only vagina in this household, it pains me. I cry. I cry a lot about this. About my fading dream.
I want another female in this house. So desperately it’s almost embarrassing. Alas my husband is done – half a step away from a vasectomy himself. But I won’t let him. I am not ready to shut the door for good. I need to know there is still a possibility out there somewhere. For another child. Even if she is a he. I don’t feel finished yet. I want to keep the dream alive a little longer.
I think we all cling to the idea that no matter how good we have it, we deserve everything we want and therefore should get it. We may know rationally that being a good person doesn’t mean the things you want will always happen, but that doesn’t stop us from feeling slighted when they don’t.
I am a case in point. I am so lucky in so many ways, I have a job I enjoy and do well, a handsome husband that I adore and adores me, 2 healthy, gorgeous, well-adjusted kids (a girl and a boy) and a comfortable home. In short, I have nothing to complain about, everything to be satisfied about and yet here I am, about to turn 39 and I am consumed with the notion I have to figure my life out in the next year. I guess there is a part of me that still thinks I am destined for something bigger and better than what I’ve encountered, even while knowing I have a wonderful life.
Still, there have been many times I have thought I wanted something , not gotten it, and realized after the fact that I was so lucky I didn’t get what I wanted. I suppose wanting is just a part of life, just as coping and appreciating the gifts we have been given are integral as well. If we stop wanting or striving, I think we stop truly living.
Wanting to keep this upbeat… Wanting to express so much, from a different point in life than you are at… Wanting to tell you to inhale every moment of those sweet babies, and cling to those good marriages and honest loving men. Wanting to reassure you that while some dreams die, because they must, they echo in your night dreaming and bring relief… Wanting to reassure you that while other dreams die, in their ashes, new dreams you may never expect are born – just as wondrous, perhaps more so because with age there is so much loss and so much possible disillusionment.
I say possible – because there is also a fine and delicate appreciation for what really matters. The hand of a lover in your own, now and then, to remind you that you are still here, a woman, a man, connected. The face of your child becoming an adult – open and strong and confident – because you did your job as a parent. Words in a book that you couldn’t possibly fully comprehend 20 years earlier because you hadn’t lived the joys and dramas that are a natural part of life. Choices, non-choices, consequences, reinvention.
Wanting to say that all life is miraculous, and if not a child of your flesh than a child who NEEDS your love, your attentiveness, your wisdom. Wanting to say – never stop wanting, but want with your heart first.
Sigh.
I have so much to say.
First, I have had baby fever for about 9 months now. 9 long months, that could have culminated in a baby by now. The feelings are raw, real, and so damn strong. I can’t even explain it, although I think most women who have had this ache can understand it.
This fever hasn’t gone away. Hasn’t gone away in spite of my hubby’s money concerns, despite the slowing economy that has slowed down my hubby’s business A TON, despite my own concerns about finishing grad school w/ a newborn.
I gave up the dream of another child right now, so that our family’s stress level would be at some sort of even keel. I gave up the dream b/c I have a monsterous dream of being a master’s level social worker, and making a large scale difference in society.
But this dream is not gone. I may have put it on a shelf, but it’s still here, beckoning me, non-stop.
In reference to other dreams-
I don’t think we give them up. Sometimes I just think they change, over time, and become something different, but still the same, ya k now?
Found this post after googling “i’m not done, I want one more child” so I completely GET IT! I have three (three!) kids already–2 boys and a girl–you’d think that would be enough. I am tired, our plates our full and still….and still. I always wanted a big family, I still feel like there’s another child out there waiting for us. We could do it financially but energetically? Not so sure. I hate *hate* this wanting, wanting though, because it takes away from what I already have in the here and now. Trying very hard to sort this out.