Jorge, my super, sat on my couch the other afternoon, having tea
and pie. My building's heat was out again, but this time the
problem was serious: the boiler had cracked. Jorge was waiting for
a mechanic of some kind to come, and so I invited him in.
"You don't have children?" he asked. I knew he had five, all of
whom still live in Ecuador.
I shook my head.
"You need children for a family," he said.
"I want children," I said.
He nodded and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, it's OK," he said. "In
America, it's OK. You have children at 30, at 35, older. Plenty of
time here to have children," he said.
We went on to other things, but part of me has fixated on that
idea since. Plenty of time to have children? Can that be true?
I never thought I would have biological clock panic, but I am, a
little. Partly it's because a couple months ago my age tipped
toward 40 - I'm 36. But mostly it's because
1. I really do want children and always thought I'd have them
and
2. as of this month, nearly every single one of my close female
friends either has children, is pregnant, is trying to get
pregnant, or is trying to adopt or thinking seriously about
adopting. How did this happen?
Nineteen months ago, when I moved to New York, none of my
Chicago friends had children, and none of my New York friends did,
either. Most of my friends with kids were college friends who lived
in other states, and whom I communicated with mostly through
Christmas cards or reproductions of sonograms.
In Chicago, I was living a youthful life. I played flag
football. I went to performance art. I hung out with friends.
Children seemed very, very far in the future.
But then, toward the end of my time there, I dated a great girl
who adored her many nieces and nephews. I fell in love with them
and with her simultaneously; for the first time I understood the
small joys a daily life with children could bring, and the deep
closeness and respect and love you can feel for someone who
partners with you in raising them.
She - they - were my only Chicago regret.
Since our time together ended, I've been thinking more and more
about having kids myself. And then single women I was close to
started having - or trying to have - children on their own, or
adopting - or beginning the process.
Now, almost every conversation I have with a friend has babies
or children in it. On the one hand, I now feel very comfortable
with adoption, which means Jorge is right - I do have plenty of
time to have children.
On the other hand, I feel very, very ready to have them. I've
got a solid career and a lot of energy and happiness. Plus - and I
hope this sounds the way I mean it to - I kinda want to raise kids
during the same period my friends are raising them.
I already feel like my life is revolving a bit around children.
Having them (or adopting them) myself while my friends are sharing
experiences and babysitting and kid's clothes and strategies seems
perfect.
Yet - I don't want to be a single mother. I'm sure I can do it.
My own mother did it very well, and thousands of women raise
wonderful children on their own. Also, single motherhood can always
happen unexpectedly, for a variety of reasons - even if I were
partnered, it could happen to me. But I would rather start raising
kids within a loving partnership, for my own sanity.
At the moment, I feel very, very far from such a thing, and I've
realized something lately - I actually want children more than I
want to be partnered. And the idea of finding a partner to have a
child is just as distasteful as having a child to save a
partnership.
So what will I do?
For the moment, I'm just waiting. I'm listening to my friends as
they explore their options. I study various fertility processes. I
flip through adoption websites. I read up on adoption law, and what
would happen if I had a child first and then found a partner who
wanted to adopt my child later. I advocate for full marriage rights
for gays and lesbians, so that the whole process will be easier. I
go on dates with women who have children, because if it worked out,
that would kill two birds.
I want to raise children - I'm not particular about whether I
give birth to them or not. A dear friend tells me, "You can make
that happen. That will happen. You have time."
Time, she says. I have time. And Jorge, too: "Plenty of time
here to have children," he said. I try to relax in the fact of
that. But as I watch the children of my friends get older so
quickly, time seems race by.