Something about being told by eight psychics that I may be adding to my tiny family sparked more of an internal–and then external–dialogue than I’d initially thought. I was so shocked at the notion, and the story of how the information unfolded, that I shared my experience with a few people: my husband first, then a few coworkers, then my best friends, then my mother in law, grandmother and my aunt. Of course I told the story with an incredulous vibe, a “can you believe that?” tone of voice.
Their reactions, in order of their appearance: freaked the fuck out, “wow, that’s crazy,” variations of “I didn’t want to tell you this, but when I was away I had this weird feeling you were going to tell me you were pregnant when I got back,” “I shouldn’t tell you this but for the last 6 months I’ve half-expected you to tell me we needed to make some changes to our living arrangement,” “Great-grandkids? I can buy little things and Christmas will be fun again!” “Baby goats!”
Up until last week, I had two thoughts about having kids: 1) I was pretty sure I wanted them, but not yet, and certainly couldn’t foresee when the right time would be. 2) I didn’t understand this biological clock bullshit and how women all of a sudden needed children. Up until last week, logic trumped biology.
But damn if there isn’t something to group think and talking about the possibility out in the open. All of a sudden, we were “talking about talking about” having a baby. Mother-in-law had a good point; we both have steady jobs and health insurance, something that isn’t guaranteed when we start our own business. The saying, “nobody’s ever really ready to have kids” started to really make sense. The idea became less scary and a little more exciting. People do it all the time, right?! We can’t plan our life to the T, right? At 29 and 33, we have time and yet we’re not getting any younger.
My body responded to these talks in the most freakish way. Apparently my ovaries have ears. And when they heard there was a possibility that what they’ve been working toward every 28 days between them might actually move to the forefront, they went into high gear. Apparently my reproductive organs have gone all Benedict Arnold on me and are plotting to hand over the fort.
But while it started to sound like talking about having a baby might be a sure thing, the schematics started to come into play, the most obvious being the fact that we live with his mother.
The glaring question became, if we add to our little family, how far will it push our venture back? Will we move or continue to live with his mom? Moving to another place just the 3 of us as a holdover until we buy a farm will seem like a consolation and will move the dream that much further.
The conclusion seems to be, why make our (and future) lives any harder than they need to be? If we don’t know where we’ll be in two years (and, I know, in this climate even people who thought they knew where they’d be have found their lives topsy-turvy), why not work toward a little more stability? We’re stable now, but it isn’t the preferred method of sustainability.
So, for now, the talking about talking about having a baby has subsided. And the push to finish the business plan and start our own venture has increased. I can’t help admitting I’m a little disappointed. I’m starting to see that once you wind that biological clock there doesn’t seem to be a snooze button. A two-person front of logic is holding off the ovarian assault today. I hope our fortifications hold.