This could be because of my age.
This could because of my sex.
This could be because babies are cute.
This could also be because EVERYONE I KNOW IS KNOCKED UP…or at least, so it seems.
Whatever single or combination of reasons that is causing this post, I’m just curious if I’m the only non-pregnant person in the world right now?
People, I’M MAKING A BOLD STATEMENT, I understand that.
And, obviously, I logically know that not every woman is carrying an alien in her uterus. However, with all of people in my semi-immediate circle in process of producing another life, it certainly makes me feel like….well, like something is missing.
In fact, this realization first hit me over the head while I was traveling with my family to Texas in March. We were making the trek to see my sister and her kids perform in their annual River Place extravaganza (this year was Aladdin!) and the whole week was about kids and their Mommas. Grandmas, Mommas, sons, daughters…and one childless Aunt. I felt like I was excluded from certain conversations, as well as, purposefully excused myself from other discussions regarding parenting because there’s really only so many times a woman can hear, “Well, when you have kids…”.
You see, I believe that there is this secret club amongst women who have had children.
Suddenly, you have the right and power to make statements about parenthood and child rearing, while throwing a few “you wouldn’t know what it’s like to…” comments around. I went on a camping trip awhile back with a ton of mothers and the final scene of an evening was of all the women sitting around the late night camp fire telling HORROR stories of labor and raising their children. This was so graphic and upsetting, I had to go to bed.
If I want to contribute to these types of conversations, I’m given the strong impression that my opinion doesn’t really count because I don’t have “hands on” experience. But I mostly don’t want to pipe in anymore because I really don’t have said “hands on” tales about child rearing.
I’ve been told that being a teacher isn’t the same thing.
I’ve been told that I don’t know about the commitment, late nights, hospital visits, stress, strain, and hardships.
There have been eye rolls, exaggerated sighs, impatience about my own parenting theories, all resulting in a large, red DENIED stamp across my Motherhood Passport.
But, as my husband will tell you, I am ready to be a Mom. BIG TIME. I’m ready to have my own personal, intimate, difficult, heartbreaking, and soul lifting experiences between me and my own. I want to have hours of watching mystified at a tiny person who may look or act like me (or not at all) and marvel that I MADE THAT, and it CAN DO STUFF.
I would then get to sit around with the other Mothers and talk shit and shop and not feel like such an uneducated asscanoe who has no say or thought.
I would get to sit with my own children during family gatherings, where I can be recognized, needed, and included, even if it’s by a toddler who couldn’t be anymore needy or difficult.
I would get to be someone’s Mom. A Momma, Mommy, WeMoMo, Mother, Woman, Person.
The truth is, the invisibility of NOT being a Mom when everyone else is is tough.
So, for the time being, I’m going to sit back and continue to watch life develop and unfold around me. I’m going to stay the “Cool Aunty”, the awesome BFF, the supporter of all tiny people, and the ring leader for “Independent Smalls Across the World”. I love that my people are doing it, making others, and getting this part of life’s experience first hand.
And I am not going to let myself stress about this.
Because mostly, I’m just getting really excited to join in, too.