A Frosty Day

“I don’t think I want kids,” I told my shrink.

“So long as you own that decision,” she advised, noting it required full vetting. Meaning, I wasn’t saying it as a reaction to my parents’ mediocre parenting, or making excuses for a partner who was inadequate dad material, or because I wasn’t ready to let go of my newfound freedom to live for myself and not for others.

It was all of the above at the time, and I’ve worked hard the past few years to explore the topic in depth. Today, I’m still unsure what I want, but I’m willing to be open to changes. Biologically my time is close to expiration, but I’ll work with what I have if and when I wish to have children. I enjoy making fun of people with kids, but I’ve never declared war on the haves. I respect their decisions to procreate, and hope more of them would understand my perspective.

That said, this is a pretty decisive partition line of life, with the distance only widening each day. The feeling must be mutual. Today, I was speaking with a very close friend about a mutual friend who is expecting. She thought I was being insensitive and prefaced her opinion with, “As a mother, I’m going to tell you that…” She meant well, and it was an off-the-cuff comment, but she got me good. It hurt like a…well, a mother… It actually made me tear up, which occurs as often as I get laid these days–like never. It shed light on the deep divide between us and I fretted it would only widen with time.

Here I thought I was still standing at the crossroads, but she was far down her path and yelling across the forest thinking I was on the opposite side.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s