Late to the Parenting Party, but Glad to Be Here

The summer we turned 26, a friend and I jotted down a list of all the hot women over 40 we could think of at the time: Sofia Loren, Madonna, Tina Turner, and a half-dozen or so others. At the time, 26 felt scary and old to us; we needed reminders that women could hang onto their mojo well into their 30s, 40s, 50s, and beyond. We should’ve started another list too: of women having kids over 40. Except at the time, that was the furthest thing from my mind. Kids? No thanks. I never thought I’d want them.

I always pictured a life of freedom, travel, adventure, and romance, but never with a “marriage and a family” endgame in mind. As I’d listen to nearly all my friends talk about becoming parents someday, I’d wonder if something was wrong with me. In my 30s, I’d sometimes do a gut-check of a relationship by asking myself, “Would I want to have kids with this guy?” And occasionally I’d think, “Hmm, maybe.” But I could never quite picture the lifestyle—with any of those guys, or at all.
 
In my late 30s, when I moved in with the guy who made me feel adventurous and romantic and cared-for in all the ways I’d dreamed about—my now-husband Richard—a strange new voice popped up in my head: “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want kids?” I had a hunch we could build a happy life together no matter what we did, and with or without kids. But the kid question now seemed real for the first time—and not just real, but urgent. Was this my M.I.A. biological clock suddenly springing to action at the 11th hour? Or was it just that I’d finally met someone who could make anything, even domestic life, feel like a wild and crazy romp?

Whatever the reason, the idea of kids didn’t scare the hell out of me for the first time. But I knew if there was an even remote chance we wanted to raise a family at some point, it had to be now (now-ish) or never.

I’d been noticing Rich clown around with our friends’ kids, and he was a natural. He could make children crack up with hilarious stories he’d invent on the spot, and would keep his little audience in suspense for days or weeks until they could hear the next chapter. This is a guy who’d probably regret never becoming a dad, I'd note to myself.

The rare times we discussed the idea of parenthood, we agreed (out loud, anyway) that it seemed way too daunting. Plus, we want to travel! And we want to write for a living! Financial instability be damned. And we want to go out a lot, and stay up late, and sleep in! Why mess with our deliciously simple lifestyle?
 
One night, after he'd gone out to dinner with friends who have kids, he came home and started talking about the school districts near us, and what our neighborhood might be like for raising a family. It was a short conversation. Neither of us was quite ready to dive into all that, but I went to bed thinking, Hmm.

Over pizza the next night we continued talking about it…a little less sheepishly this time. For the first time, we asked each other: Could we do this? What if we just gave it a shot? We decided to sort of try, or at least not-try-not-to (which quickly evolved into figuring out which days of the month seemed like the best bets for conceiving). I read “Taking Charge of Your Fertility” on a friend’s recommendation. One February night, I took an EPT test because I suspected something…but still doubted it could be true.

The result was a shock, totally overwhelming and nerve-racking. Fortunately, the pregnancy progressed well. I don’t take that for granted, given how many friends have had multiple miscarriages, or no luck conceiving—some in their 30s and 40s and some in their 20s.
 
Jumping ahead to the birth of our son and daughter: Now I can’t believe I never craved this life before. I’ll fast-forward past the clichés about how raising kids is one of the most miraculous experiences on this planet, only to say humbly that yes—for me, for us, it has been. I’m crazy in love with them, and they make every single day worth living. So there I go with the clichés. I’ll stop here.
 
A few last notes: My childhood friend Rana advised me—when I was grappling with my lifelong un-maternal feelings and trying to decide if Rich and I should go for it at the last minute—that I should turn off my brain and just try. “Don’t overthink, don’t overanalyze. If you end up having a kid, trust me: You won’t regret it.” It seemed like nutty advice at the time. “Aren’t you listening?!” I wanted to yell. “I like my life the way it is. I’m not cut out to be a mom!”

But her hunch turned out to be right-on. I’ve known Rana since elementary school, even though we only see each other sporadically now; she lives in Beirut and I live in New York. But she wasn’t giving me a generic propaganda speech about parenthood: I think she knew me well enough to just intuit that I needed an extra-big kick in the pants.
 
Plenty of my friends who don't have kids lead a rich and vibrant life, and they cherish the freedom and independence that come with the kid-free life. For those who love kids but don’t have their own—because they didn’t want to have children, or weren’t able to—it can be a joy to spend time with other people’s kids, then get to go home afterwards (and yes, sleep in). I completely understand the pleasure of that lifestyle and know it can be an equally happy one (and for some, happier). 

The only question I’d ask—if you're on the fence, and if you've considered giving parenthood a shot—is this: Are you 100% sure you don’t want to try?

Photo courtesy of WikiCommons.