| too pretty to be a boy |
[02 Jul 2005|08:04pm] |
I spent the day with a friend of mine, who has a young daughter. Out of the blue, this little being asked me "when are you going to have a baby?" I cocked my head to one side and sort of smiled at her, as my friend looked on in horror, afraid I might well burst into tears. I looked at my friend with a smile as if to say, 'it's ok, let me answer her question'.
I told her that I can't have babies, and she asked me why. I replied that I didn't have the stuff inside anymore that I needed to make a baby. Again, she inquired as to why. I explained that I was very, very sick for a long, long time, and the only way to make me better was to take that stuff out, and so now, at least in that respect, I am kind of like a boy. She said, "you're too pretty to be a boy!" and I laughed. She seemed satisfied with that answer, and the conversation returned to less weighted topics, such as Barbie and dress up.
My friend seemed to have calmed down as well, sensing that my reaction wasn't as she'd expected it would be. Truthfully, it wasn't as I would have expected, either. A year ago, I would have teared up and probably had to leave the room, unable to answer her. Today, I answered it as matter-of-factly as if she'd asked me how to bead a necklace. It was in that moment that I realized, I no longer grieve for my childbearing days. I think this is in part due to the recent realization that I don't actually want to have children. I'd always said so as a child. My friends were busy playing with dolls, being mini 'mommies', while I was plugged into my walkman, listening to Billy Joel.
After the hysterectomy, I felt robbed. Robbed by my disease, robbed of my ability to have a child, robbed of the chance to even decide for myself if that was what I wanted. I think it became more a case of wanting what I couldn't have than actually wanting to be a mom. For six years I cried when I walked by babies in their strollers at the mall, or when I saw pregnant women. I questioned the universe as to why drug-addicted street walkers or welfare moms with twenty kids were allowed to keep reproducing, when the universe had taken it away from me. What had I done? Why wasn't I good enough?
Today made me realize, I was right all along. I knew when I was five years old that I didn't particularly care to be a mother, and I still don't. When I was married and had a stepdaughter, I adored her and loved her like my own. But she was already there. How could I not love her? Now childfree and faced with the question of would I want to change that, my answer is no. Andy and I discussed it after they'd left, and we decided that we like it the way it is, just us and the MoMo (our puppy).
I guess my five year old self knew all along what my twenty-seven year old self needed to figure out. Funny, isn't it, how you can surprise even yourself sometimes?
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