November 29, 2020 Baby Moon to Kauai
I used to wonder why I didn’t want to be a mother.
I’ve always loved other people’s babies. But was never given a shred of desire for my own.
I love the way my sister’s and friends’ children look like mini-versions of them but I’ve never once dreamed up one that looks and acts like me. I love witnessing the beautiful way their bodies, hearts and whole worlds expand around the process of creation. I’m in awe of it but have never once desired it.
For years, I’ve speculated why I might be missing the innate longing. But I never doubted its absence. Instead, I became unapologetically fulfilled by all the desires that were born in its place.
I was never told I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant- only that I might struggle to carry to full-term due to complications with my reproductive health in my early 20’s. With that confirmation of slim odds, I started to understand my lack of instinct a little better. I adopted a story that sounded beautiful to me- one where something bigger than me preemptively gave me the peace I was going to need about a life without children. I never felt sad or even curious to “increase the odds”.
When I shared this detail of my life with people, they said things like, “you just haven’t met the right guy, trust me”. Part of me believed them because I had no reason not to. Until I did meet the human of my dreams (enter Willie) and did not feel a sudden surge of maternal urges as promised.
One of the first things I understood about Willie was how much he loved children. So, we talked about it often to make sure we were both still on the same page with our priorities throughout our relationship.
We knew we were a whole family whether or not we chose to expand it (though, I had started to imagine we might). But even those imaginings were rare and they were only ever of the many ways Willie is built to be a father. I could never get a clear picture of anything beyond that. We didn’t try to force a life outside of the one we were inhabiting. Willie’s favorite thing to remind me is how sweet our life transitions are when they are organic and intuitive rather than overanalyzed efforts.
We agreed that we would never put the stress of “trying” at all costs on my body and on our relationship. The more time that passed, the more we questioned if we even wanted to trade our current life to raise children.
When moments of desire did come up for one of us, we talked about it’s origination and authenticity- was it because it seemed like everyone in our lives was doing it? Or because maybe after you’ve been married a few years people default to that question? Or because we’ve been indoctrinated to believe certain things about our roles in society? Was it to fulfill a void? Or was it coming from an honest desire that was true to who we’re meant to be in this world?
As the majority of our friends spent the last decade creating their family life, we were creating a life too.
One where we would dream up our next trip on the flight home from the current adventure. Endless experiences in different cultures and cities, enjoying new friends everywhere we found ourselves. We satiated our appetite for ambition and growth living in the greatest city in the world- then left when we craved cliffs diving into oceans and fiery sunsets. For that decade, we went where we wanted, when we wanted. We relished every generous minute of freedom and joy- it felt like life without borders.
We had an ectopic pregnancy about 3 years ago. I did not feel sad about it the way the OBGYN expected me to. When I shared it with a few people, most of the responses were, “ I’m so sorry” followed quickly by “at least you know you can get pregnant now”. The automatic assumption that this was the goal started to make me feel slightly broken. Why didn't I feel grief at this loss?
Gradually, over the next couple of years without noticing the shift, I began to feel more convinced that something was broken. Not physically. I’ve never subscribed to the story that the value of a woman is limited to her reproductive organs. I feel strongly that not all women are here to create in that one specific way and I still feel clear that I am not one of them.
But every time another woman would speak in absolute terms of “when you have your own kids…”, “just wait until you’re a mother…” , I grew more concerned. Hearing men tell my husband “watch out, the baby fever is coming” if I enjoyed holding their baby or acted interested in seeing photos of their kids at a company holiday party.
Why didn’t the idea of having my own babies spark joy and excitement the way everyone candidly, presumptuously spoke about it like it should?
Even the friends who often shared their own lack of desire to have babies- suddenly all started announcing they were pregnant. That’s when I started to feel REALLY broken. Even the ones who swore they felt like I did- actually did not? Or somewhere along the lines it changed for them. But they never shared the shift. I later learned, many of them did not share out of sensitivity to the assumption that I in fact wanted to have babies but could not. More evidence that I was supposed to want it because we are biologically wired for birthing.
As all of this introspection was taking place, I was becoming more active in the foster care community. In contrast to the traditional sense of family, this was something I have always been profoundly moved by on the level of my soul.
Every statistic of children abused, neglected and discarded. Every story of a birth parent stuck in a vicious cycle of poverty whose child is pulled from their arms. Every final hearing where a child ages out of the system, completely alone in this world, fully primed for homelessness, incarceration and/or death. Even the beautiful stories of reunification or adoption. All of it wrecks me like nothing else.
Over the years my involvement has gone from small donations of time or money when I could spare it-stuffing duffle bags or holiday stockings to larger investments like becoming a CASA (court appointed special advocate) for foster youth. As I became more involved, Willie started his own journey inward about what it might look like to expand our family by loving someone else’s. That process was a deep dive and a beautiful story for another day.
Slowly, I started making more sense to myself. The reason I’ve never felt attached to the process of making and birthing babies became crystal clear. The strange indifference I feel toward genetic bonds makes foster care fit like a custom made glove. I was born to love other people’s children.
Willie and I spent a LONG time deciding if this was for us. 8 months ago, we landed at yes. We will become licensed foster parents in 16 days. We don’t know if it will be for three weeks or forever. And will never be ready for all the ways they say it changes you, so naturally, we are currently (safely) baby mooning in Kauai. :)
I don’t feel broken anymore. Just a very steady knowing in my bones that I am uniquely qualified to mother the world in a way that sparks joy and terror in all the ways they said it would.
xx
Kelly