|Oh. Hello, sweet curls.|
Where I work nobody has kids. Most don't want kids. The majority openly express their disdain for children. The greater percentage are stymied that
a.) I wanted a child
b.) don't regret a single moment of being her mother.
When I try to explain how and why I love Ada? Cricket....cricket...tumbleweed rolls by...and then the looks of shock and disgust set in. I end up defending myself briefly before giving up altogether.
Shoot, I didn't get it no matter how much anyone tried to explain it to me. I don't know why I think that I might offer some brilliant word combination that suddenly exposes the joy of parenthood to a non-believer. It's like serving borscht to guests (which I did 2 weeks ago); I probably shouldn't bother trying to introduce something so new and different.
Just the other day I was talking with a woman I work with:
"No, I'm not pregnant yet."
"Shit. My fertility dance didn't work." actually, it did but I miscarried that one.
"Not yet. I just ovulated though so maybe..."
"I'll dance on you again."
"Dude, that would be awesome."
One or two lurkers joined the conversation with something along the lines of, "Eeewww. Why would you want more kids?" The conversation took that turn and there I was trying to convince everyone that having a kid isn't that bad. In fact, I really, really like it - LOVE it even.
More looks of disbelief.
|Hi there, cute baby crocs.|
Just like 98% of the people I work with, I used to say that I hated children. I used to say that I didn't want children. That might have been a slight over statement. It would have been more accurate to say that I didn't understand children. They scared the shit out of me but it was an unthinkable thing to admit. Instead, I tried to act all tough but just ended up sounding like an asshole. I didn't know how to talk to kids or what to do with them or how to hold them. Nothing. I wasn't born wanting to be a mother.
Then, one day, I just knew that I would be a mom.
Tim was right. When we decided to have children and get married (the decision we made was in exactly that order but the execution was in the opposite order. I didn't know I was such a traditionalist but when it came to tacks, I wanted my kids born into the benefit of marriage). He said, "I think that having kids is the next pathway to learning about yourself." At the time, I agreed with the statement and my heart raced at the magnitude of what we were discussing. It was exactly what I wanted and he had articulated it perfectly. I had no idea how extensive that learning would be or what we were getting in to but I was ready.
Then I had Ada. She changed my life in a way so thoroughly good that I truly can't imagine - don't want to imagine - my life without her. In an instant my primary role, the number one thing I would identify myself as for the rest of my life, had changed: she made me a mother. To think that I almost denied myself this massive love...love so pure and consuming it isn't earthly.
A few days after I gave birth, it was as if a light switch was turned on. I see my child in all other children. When they laugh, I hear her laughter. When they ask a question, I think of her curiosity. When they have a tantrum, I empathize with the parent(s) - it's tough when their frontal lobes shut off - and I just wait for the storm to blow over because eventually it will. I have to hold myself back from hugging and kissing children - even the children of good friends in case they think it's creepy that I'm so affectionate, which is borderline ridiculous since I love to watch my friends totally smother my kid with love!
Cue one of the vets leaning back in her chair, contorting her face, and asking, "Really?"
Yes, really. My only regret about having children is that I started so damn late. I'd have a dozen if I could.
Two for Shell today.