You’ve noticed: three close friends are becoming parents for their second times.
How can I tell? Because lately You, characteristically quiet and cooperative, have turned (in Your own still fairly quiet way), rebellious.
For someone who has claimed and wielded ownership over this body since I took Puberty to task for its lies and the self-doubt they induced, I recognize this passive resistance quite clearly. It’s gotta stop.
Calm down. I’m telling You the nicest way I know how–with clean food, okay some Soy Creamy, and resolve. But You need to chill.
Maybe you forgot: I run this body.
And it is I–not some pitiful circumstance–who gave up on the idea of You assuming traditional motherhood. Your mourning is palpable and admittedly fair. I get it.
Unlike the (sometimes) well meaning people we know who pass as parents, the pact we made–about bearing babies and all–was never about making a fashion statement; earning a trophy of achievement; keeping Him; completion of the holy trinity: husband, house, and kids; or “accepting” a “mistake” as a “blessing.”
While I don’t remember deciding these things deliberately, I did know that is not what being a parent ever meant to me.
Likewise, I can’t pinpoint the moment; no monumental epiphany or special event preceded my decision, to not to become a biological parent. But alas, this is the crossroads at which we find ourselves.
I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t understand Your frustration. We had plans. Big-g-g plans and crazy names!
You probably remember when I told my girl in college that I would have 4 or 6 children–odd numbers meant there would always be an “odd man out.” She wondered how would I ever travel as I’d planned. When would I find the time or energy to write? I told her that’s what strollers, partners, and belly straps were for. Remember that?!
But the best laid plans of mice, men, and mothers-in-waiting often go awry.
Sometimes I still don’t have the energy to write and my passport is as dusty as my dance card. But I still run this body.
It prays and mourns and celebrates; I decorate, go gentle, or push it from its slumps. Which brings me to this point: You, my friend, need to get out of this slump. We give life, not sap it. We. Give. Life. (So get your shit together).
The Boss of This Body