This is one of many posts I’ve thought about for years, but have never written. I’ve talked about it a little, but never put into writing the wonders/fears/weird thoughts.
I’ve always thought I’d have kids by now.
Dreams about a sweet child waiting to be born from my belly were staples of my teens and twenties. I still have quite a few pregnancy dreams, though less often now.
Most of my teens I kinda hoped I’d be married with one or two kids by my mid-20s. The block to this was I wasn’t dating anyone and for the longest time no one expressed any interest in me. College disabused me of that notion of kids fairly quickly, but there are probably a lot of factors that go into that, chief is the fact that people have told me that I’m not that approachable.
My upbringing shaped my view of children also. I was raised with a pretty narrow Christian view of marriage and sex from early high school. I never took any kind of purity pledge, but in hindsight I can see how many of the “I kissed dating goodbye” ideations had a near detrimental affect on my sexuality. No sex outside of marriage (not difficult because no one was ever interested) and while children are a gift you should be waiting to have them with a husband’s help.
I held a lot of “in god’s time” thoughts in my head to justify what wasn’t happening. Surely it’ll happen for me as it was happening for all my friends. Surely I’d find someone and have children before I was too old to do so. Surely?
When I hit my mid to late twenties, I was a few years into my career and starting down a new path. The idea of children started to be, not less appealing, but seeming less likely because I STILL WASN’T DATING. I still wanted children, but my life was heading a different direction.
I arrived into my 30s and children started to seem less of a thing that may happen for me. I’m starting to think about my time, my money, my sleep. It all started to be less appealing. I still want children, but there’s this almost reluctance. I travel for a living, and giving that up is so low on the things I want to do.
You hear from parents who love their children dearly, but who tell me to live my life. They weren’t sure they’d do this again (as early or at all) if the opportunity presented itself. They mention the un-fun parts of having children. I’m all, “no thanks!”
Here I am. Still wanting kids, but less so than in my teens and 20s. Frankly, when my mother brings it up, it’s a big old no to me. There’s a lot that goes into kids and I don’t want any of that right now.
But there is this… fear. My siblings have children and I do not. Will there be someone to care for me when I’m older? It’s strange that typing that makes me cry, but here we are.
Apparently I gave a lot of complicated feelings tied up in the children thing. Less a biological clock thing, as my desire has seemed to lessen. More a confusing mix of feelings. Not a worth thing, but an uncertainty about what I want and why.
I still want kids, but I’m not sure anymore I’ll ever have any. I know it’s not too late for them, but at what point does one say it is? Maybe I’ll figure that out.
