I spent almost 30 years being petrified of having children. My parents had an oops baby at the age of 40 and I had watched tumultuous times with a toddler (and divorce) follow. Growing up, I was told that children are unpredictable and uncontrollable; what if I couldn’t cut it as a parent? What if some poor kid inherited all of my weaknesses? Courtesy of my baby sister, I also knew, firsthand, what making a bottle at 3 am felt like. When I told my parents how tiresome it was, they’d laugh and tell me never to have children. Looking back, I see the pain that they were in during that time in their lives, and where the jokes came from. What I didn’t realize was how far they’d sank into my heart.
But then life happened; my stronghold husband happened and 30 hit. I was still afraid but I trusted that there might have been lies in my head about what I thought I knew about children. I gathered every ounce of courage that I had and we went for it. And went for it. And went for it. The months and years went by. A doctor told me she was surprised (by my total lack of contraceptives) that an accident hadn’t yet occurred in the decade that Mike and I had been together.