Growing up, I never thought I'd want children. In fact, the idea of having children seemed like something for breeders- dumb centrelink-queuing bogans, and something for the stupid people to do. People who had a brain, as I [ever so modestly] perceived myself to be, would grow up to be career women, and have interesting, exciting, jet-setting and, importantly- childless- lives. This was not only how I thought it would be, but how it should be.
I was the youngest child, and even youngest of all my cousins until an "accident" when I was about 10. As the accident lived about 3000 kms away though, I had very little contact with anyone younger than myself, and found kids to be loud, annoying, and didn't see why anyone would want them. I imagine this was somewhat influenced by my mother who always seemed to regret the time she had taken to have children, and the negative impact it had had on her life, career, travel aspirations etc and kept her locked in an unhappy marriage.
My involvement with children was limited to none until I moved overseas and worked as a teacher. As a 20 year old, fresh out of uni, I have to admit that my motivation to teach overseas had very little to do with wanting to teach, and more to do with providing me with the means to live overseas.
Suddenly, I had a few dozen kids aged 5- 15 giggling and running around me on a daily basis, curious to meet, see, touch and torment the first white person they'd ever seen in real life. After my initial discomfort with the alien nature of this interaction, to my surprise I not only tolerated, but enjoyed the time with the kids.
As I made friends overseas, many of whom were older than myself, I spent more time with babies and toddlers, as my friends started families.
Then as I reached about 24, an odd realisation struck me, and I found myself thinking "I would quite like a child one day". I laughed at myself when I realised how unlike me that thought was, and dismissed it almost immediately.
Much to my chagrin, when I was younger, so many people had scoffed at my attestations that I didn't want children, saying with a chuckle "just wait 'til you're older". I found it condescending, somewhat insulting to my intelligence, and disrespectful toward women who make a conscious choice not to procreate.
Now, as much as I truly hate to say it, even through gritted teeth you won't hear me utter this much: They were right.
It hasn't been a miraculous overnight epiphany; no revelation after meditative self exploration- more of an erosion of what used to be- like barnacles growing on the base of a ship, gradually changing the way its parts are able to move, dragging on it's progress through the water, almost imperceptibly slow in the changing of its course toward a new direction.
I still find myself wishing at times that I didn't want children- as being a single 30 year old woman, there are plenty of people who are only too willing to remind you that you have less than 10 years left. "Experts" who crap on at length in newspapers about how women's being "too picky" or selfish is ruining the fabric of society by not breeding on their desired schedules (See Post Don't get pregnant, won't get pregnant, can't get pregnant). Occasionally some kind person will accompany this with a comment about the biological clock or, my favourite: "Tick Tock!", with an ever so well intended clock-ticking finger gesture.
Guess what finger gesture I feel compelled to respond with?
Not wanting children would make life easier. It's one goal where there's no promotions through merit or hard work. If you say you want a job, you study, apply and work hard- you'll get it. You say you want a baby to a date and he's run out the door before you blink. The more pressure or focus you put on it, the less likely it is to happen, but forget about it altogether and it may never happen. Catch 22.
Being "that age" it seems that every week (or this week, every DAY) someone either announces their pregnancy or gives birth. As happy as I am for my friends, there's this overwhelming sense of envy that it's not me and anxiety that, especially since the cancer, it may never be.
I used to laugh at the "pathetic" women I would see cry around babies, or when talking about them, and now, at work today when another person made their joyous announcement, I have become one.
Karma is a fickle bitch.
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