Motherhood

I don’t think I would be a bad mother. I mean, I worry about being too self-obsessed, having high standards and about (unsuspectingly and unconsciously) transferring my own neuroses onto a child. But, I wouldn’t hit them, I wouldn’t berate them, I wouldn’t begrudge their existence. I would love them. I expect I would anyway. It is rare to meet someone who regrets having their children. Sure, I realize there are times when parents wish they could lie in on a weekend. Could watch television without interruption, or have a night out occasionally with friends. But, when I look around I mostly only see love. I only see parents who would give everything they have, including their own lives, for their children. I am sure I would be like that.

So why is it that some people don’t want me to be a mother? I don’t think they imagine I would be a bad mother. So, is it fair that I am unable to be a mother because I have no man to love me, to share my dream of parenthood and to impregnate me?

When I imagined my life it wasn’t like this. I wasn’t a single mid-level public servant spending her nights with books and television, paying off a mortgage single-handedly. I was married (or at least partnered, though most likely married in my young fantasies). I had an adoring husband and I had children. I probably also had a fulfilling career – of sorts. Though as a youngster I was never ambitious career-wise, other than teenage dreams of modeling, acting or writing.

But here I am. Forty-one years old and single. Forever single. After a lot of travel (and self-loathing), in my mid-thirties I decided to make a conscious effort to meet someone. A man out there also (even if unconsciously) looking for me. I went out to the pub only to find a few drunken win-ons (well two actually!). I went speed dating. I went to a couple of singles’ functions. I tried online dating. And yet. Here I am. Forty-one years old and single. In my darker moments I despair that I am unloved and unwanted. That I will always be. That I will never experience being in love, and being loved. I will forever yearn for intimacy – not just the physical type, but the more important type. The kind you get from someone who loves you and knows you. The real you. Again I want to ask if that is fair. It isn’t, but I am a contributor to that. I cannot feel rejected, because I have not met someone who I thought I could love, who I wanted to love.

But here I am. I have been waiting for love to find me. I have proactively sought it out. But now I am tired of looking and thinking about it.

But there was more to my dream than that. There was a family. I have never imagined that I would not have children. I have always loved children. I have waited, patiently, for the rest of my dream, so that children may come too. Of course, I realize it isn’t always that easy. For many women and families, children may never come – no matter how much they are desired.

I may sound like a petulant child. But, I don’t think it is fair that I cannot be a mother, that I cannot have a child, just because I have no husband. No partner. I have contemplated this for many years. I didn’t think it would come to this. But I have to make a decision. I am 41-years old. It may already be too late.

I have contemplated the financial implications. A single woman, working to pay off her mortgage. Can I afford to have a child? Can I even afford to get impregnated? What it keeps coming back to for me is…. cannot I afford not to try? Can I afford to reach 50, 60, 70 years of age and live constantly in regret of lost love. Love that was never experienced, but was there to give.

I cry as I write this. But the decision is no longer an emotional one. I have thought about this constantly. I have stressed over taking a 3-month old child to daycare at 7am; working all day. Picking them up at 6pm, tired and exhausted. Only to have the child cry through the night. Perhaps it would not be like this. But I expect the worst. My niece did not sleep through the night until she was 2-years old, so I suffer no delusions about a 2-month old child sleeping through the night. Perhaps I can take 6 months off work. I can downgrade my home. I can budget accordingly. After all, people with far less than I, make it happen.

So, despite everything, I have started the process. I now need to make some final decisions. How far am I prepared to go? Emotionally and financially, to make my dream a reality?

I am saddened by the lack of support from those who are supposed to provide it unconditionally. I have doting parents. My only valentine’s day card is from my mother who writes, “I am sure (and hope) that you know how very special you are to us. May your year be a special one and may you find joy and much satisfaction in all parts of your life.”

But, my mother has been unfailingly negative about this since I first raised it several years ago. I know she will come around. It isn’t ‘how’ I am doing it. But that I am doing it at all that worries her. Last night she told me that she hoped I realized that I would get no support from my brother and sister-in-law, and that my brother in fact asked her at Christmas to talk some sense into me on this issue. I am not sure whether their concerns relate to me being able to manage financially, or is about the burden of being a single parent. I cannot believe they would think that I have not considered these things in making my decision.

I had already decided not to tell my brother and sister-in-law anything until there is no going back. I am occasionally surprised by their support, but unlike my parents, they are rarely there for me on an emotional level. I never tend to count on them for that type of support. And, my brother is perhaps the one person in my life who I can love and hate with equal passion.

My friends, however, are unfalteringly there for me. They were surprised that I went through with the research and even made appointments. I am typically apathetic. But, this is different. This is important. This is my life.

The next step is the key one. It is the one where I take that leap. I don’t know what will happen after that. Perhaps nothing but disappointment and devastation. There will be no going back. But, at least there will be no regrets.