on having children


I turned 36 not too long ago, and my life is shifting in a way that makes the idea of having children a real possibility in the next couple of years.  Well, I should say, that that idea of trying to have children is a real possibility.  So many people I know and love are struggling with this right now, so all I can do is hope that when the time comes, my ovaries and uterus and his lil’ swimmers all cooperate, play nice, and aren’t too aged.  But that may be the topic of another series of blogs, quite some time from now.

Now, all I can think about is: what is it going to be like?  What is it going to be like giving up my fierce individuality and particularity (which entails everything to how I load the forks in the dishwasher to how I’m not accustomed to a partner of any kind) when first I enter into a relationship, and then when I (ye gods willing) bring forth another human into this world? How will I negotiate all of it?  I really don’t know.  I’m very curious.  But I’m also terrified.
First of all, I’m the youngest of five, so, it may be possible that I’ve never, I repeat, NEVER, changed a diaper.  I wasn’t one who wanted to babysit kids when I was younger and looking for work in the neighborhood; instead, I was the cat-sitter and dog walker.  Cats and dogs I understand.  But, um, a kid?  Lucy and Barnaby may be the first babies I held since Sean Patrick and Lucas were born, lo over 20 years ago.  And now I’m somehow supposed to figure out how to hold one, and feed it and care for it and know how to make it feel better ALL THE TIME?  I really don’t know how much of this is encoded in the female DNA.  I think most of it is learned, and I really haven’t had the chance.
I taught myself to cook through books and questions.  I taught myself to run a non-profit the same way.  I taught myself Excel by wandering through it for hours on end (and then asking my staff to make my spreadsheets do what I want them to do when I get frustrated).  I don’t think that’s exactly going to work with a baby.  
I feel really comfortable- and really competent- with infants, and with 20-year-olds.  What am I supposed to say for the other 19 years?  
What’s it going to be like if I’m lucky enough to get pregnant?  How will I deal with the additional body issues?  My mom says that the butterfly tattoo on my belly will look like a pterodactyl.  That would be awesome.  But.  How will I not be scared all the time?  What will it mean for my career?  What if I have a baby and then never, ever want to work again?  What if I have a baby and can’t wait to get back to work? What if I have TWINS?!
The thing is, I have no idea what it’s going to be like.  I already feel woefully unprepared, terrified that between my inexperience and linear, particular ways, I might be a crappy mom.
But, maybe not.  Maybe not.  And the thing is, next to marrying the man I love, there is nothing that excites me more than the idea of giving it a shot.