I'm going to take a break from documenting our Arizona trip for a while to talk about something that's been on my mind a lot recently: babies.
Don't worry, I'm not preggo and have no plans to be (in fact, I have very well-executed plans NOT to be). But that's kind of the issue -- I have these crazy ideas in my head I've never had before. Ideas that whisper in a creepy, cooing voice, "Wouldn't it be neat to be pregnant? Wouldn't it be nice to have a baby of your very own?"
I've been having these conflicted, somewhat deranged thoughts for close to a year now. I think it probably started around the time I was in the hospital with a still-ambiguous mass on one of my ovaries. It was treated and [supposedly] resolved, but I am fairly confident that my hormones were thrown out of whack afterwards and still aren't back to normal (and may never be). So I'm chalking most of this baby fever up to a case of the crazies, courtesy of my messed-up hormones.
A few of my close friends from high school are expecting, and many, many more acquaintances (both older and younger than I am now) are already mothers. Those who have children are absolutely in love with them and swear on how being a mom beats everything else by a mile.
Again, I'm conflicted. I feel this overwhelming agreement, understanding, and kinship that oh, yes, a child is the most wonderful gift you could ever receive; but simultaneously: Hm, you must be a masochistic egomaniac, that is the only reason anyone would ever do such a stupid, stupid thing!
I often see tiny babies in the grocery store and my heart just melts and I crave one of my own, and my mind wanders to what it might be like. It's typically a girl that I think of, and she would of course be BEAUTIFUL -- she would have Andy's* dark complexion and freckles and my blue eyes, and she would be incredibly brilliant because, really, how could any child of ours not be? And I think about how sweet it would be to hold our baby and play with her and teach her things, and how I know she would just melt Andy's heart, too, and our parents would be so thrilled, so doting; maybe I could stay home with her and that could be my full-time job, just to love someone all day... It's all very appealing.
And then I think about potty-training, and 3 a.m. feedings, and how paranoid I would be that my child would grow up to be fat like me, and so then I would probably starve her or put her on some really extreme feeding program, like breastmilk untill she was six or something insane like that, and whether or not to let her watch TV because I think it's probably bad for early development to be exposed to that much consumerism but I also remember how much I loved Sesame Street and it seems cruel to make her into a weirdo who doesn't know what TV is when she gets to preschool, and OH SHIT I'll only have nasty, smelly boys anyway, because all Andy's family is boys and brothers and they all have boys upon boys and the man's chromosomes dominate the sex of the baby, right? so I'll be doomed to never have a little girl, and would I really love a child if it wasn't what I wanted? would I treat it differently? and whether or not to have natural childbirth, because -- in strictly philosophical terms -- I think everyone's issues probably stem from birth trauma, so how would I minimize that? and how can you avoid it? and why even have a kid if pushing it out's just going to fuck it up beyond repair anyway, not to mention everything else you'll ever do that will totally ruin it and make it a neurotic messed up adult?
Then I calm down and count my blessings that I am not a mother, and I do not have to worry about those things.
Yet.
*Perhaps one of the most disturbing facets of this daydream is Andy's automatic inclusion. When we first started dating, and mostly ever since, I professed that I didn't want kids and he agreed that he didn't either. The only thing stopping him from getting a vasectomy is the knowledge that, as many people do, he might change his mind about kids someday. So we were happy in our decision to be childless, and it was a non-issue in our relationship. But since this hormonal fantasizing has begun, Andy's been dragged into it against his will. He is now forced to imagine his life with a child, and it [understandbly] makes him very, very uncomfortable. I try to make it crystal clear to him that I am making no plans to have a baby and do not actually want one right now, but he is still generally nervous about the subject, given my past history of being impulsive, sneaky, and selfish.
The obvious reasons I see Andy as the father of my prospective children are: 1) because we plan to spend the rest of our lives together, and 2) I literally can't imagine my future without him. When I think of anything in the future -- buying a house, having a career, growing older -- I only think about it in terms of Andy being there, too, and how he would be involved and how it would affect him. That's just how my mind works now.
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