Saturday, January 08, 2005
kids
Just got out of a marathon lunch/dinner/birthday party with my cousin and her husband from Surrey and my other cousin from Calgary and her 11-year-old son.
My cousin and her husband have two adorable little spawnlings (this is what the Boy calls them), a little boy who is about to turn 3 (it was his birthday party), and a little girl who is almost nine months old, who I call Pinky because she's a real girly girl and her mom is always dressing her in pink, 1950s-style.
I just went to put something on my bed a minute ago and found a tiny pair of brown socks, no doubt belonging to my little cousin. I actually sat and held them for a few moments, thinking, as I am apt to do these days, about kids.
I asked the Boy last night what he would do if I got pregnant and decided to keep the baby. He said he would start drinking and doing needle drugs. I can only assume he was kidding because he never offered another response, and eventually I gave up asking for one and we went to bed.
I kept thinking about it all night, though, which was easy since he was snoring like a small unconscious elephant and I couldn't sleep anyway. I really worry sometimes about kids. Not because I think I would be a bad mother. On the contrary, I think I would probably be an excellent mother -- the kind who reads parenting magazines and doesn't enforce gender stereotypes and teaches her kids right from wrong. And I would likely spend time with them because I would genuinely want to and not because I would feel like it was something I had to do. I'm a little worried that I would pour myself into my kids, to the point where there would be nothing left for me and nothing left for anyone else. I honestly think I might wake up one morning after 10 years of motherhood and realise I had never been to South America, and I had never had a job I really enjoyed, and then have one of those meltdowns that you can scarcely afford when the kids need to be woken up and fed and taken to school and a million other things need to be done.
There are so many mistakes I could make as a parent. And there are so many mistakes I could make as a person convinced she needs to have kids someday. What am I willing to give up in order to have kids? Love? Career options? Independence? All of the above?
As I was looking at those kids tonight, I was thinking that they were darn cute, but I sure hoped they were going to be out of there by 8:00 so I could go out and do something with my Saturday night. That feeling soothed me somehow. It made me feel like I wasn't a way-too-old 21-year-old who was incapable of having fun. But later when they were bundling up little Pinky in her little white fleecy coat with cat ears on the hood, I was holding her and she was looking up at me with her huge eyes and I thought, quite frighteningly, that I could get used to her being around all the time.
I thought I would love to see her grow up and be beautiful and smart, and most of all, to see her grow to love me.
I guess it was a pretty corny few minutes.
Then of course, more complications presented themselves. For one thing, I don't like the kind of guys who want to be parents at my age. I like guys who have integrity but are generally carefree in their early twenties. If the Boy started telling me he wanted kids tomorrow, or even in a few years, I'd actually be a bit freaked out. I loathe those responsible types who have their whole future plotted out on a chart and who are basically like sperm donors with personalities attached. It sounds awful but I want my relationship before I want kids, before I even want to think about kids. I want some passion, and I want to have heated conversations, and I want to go out for dinner and act like I'm grown-up without actually having to be grown up at all.
Above all, I do not want my relationship to be totally ruined by kids. There has got to be a way to manage it so that love and sex survive regardless of having little critters to worry about. There has to be a way, but so far I'm baffled. I have no idea how to go about it. My parents have managed it, but I think they're the exception rather than the rule.
My future, when I really think about it, scares the crap out of me. I have no idea what I should be doing with my life and with my time and with my plans. It would be great if there was a God to show me what to do, but that kind of fantasy expired like sour milk ages ago. People with God fantasies must have things so fucking easy. It's like the one-word answer to every difficult question: how do I feel better about my life? God. What should I be doing with my time? God. Where do I come from? God. What is my destiny? God. Who cares about me? God. Who should I love? God. What is death like? God. Who will help me when I make mistakes? God.
It's like a Wheel of Fortune where every single square is exactly the same. No decisions necessary. No gambling allowed. What a boring, boring game. I will have to gamble at some point.
Living in the present, at least for the time being, allows me to breathe a little.
Maybe I'll just make plans for the summer. Something frivolous, like "get a job," and "look good in a bathing suit for once." I'm not very good at frivolities.
Then I'll see what the future brings.
As long as there are a few things I can count on, I think it'll be alright.
And at least my future has some options.
-N
