It’s dangerous hanging out with so many cute babies; my uterus starts perking up and I’m like- sorry sweetie, even if you should reproduce, there’s no one I want to reproduce with. Although I do love babies- they are miraculous and adorable, but fragile and terrifying at the same time. Kids are more fun to hang out with when they’ve reached the age of reason, and you can safely take them on adventures.
People sometimes ask me why I don’t have kids, and I usually say that I didn’t pass the financial questionnaire. Actually, I’ve been pregnant four times. Each time it was like ripping my heart out when I decided to terminate, but it was for the best. I was told that I couldn’t have kids because of medical issues (that turned out to be incorrect), and that I shouldn’t have them because I had such crippling issues with mental health. No one wanted to see those genes in the next generation. I couldn’t bear the thought of torturing a child with such severe depression and family issues, even if they didn’t come out like a flipper baby. The doctors freaked me out about it, telling me I was highly likely to have postpartum depression and psychosis and that no child would ever survive the meds that I was taking. It was terrifying- we’ve all seen the Susan Smith stories, and I’d rather take myself out and/or go to hell than end up anything like that. It’s not like it’s an easy decision- the procedure is incredibly painful and traumatizing.
It’s one of life’s great ironies that I should turn out to be wildly fertile and maternal. I would love a traditional house in some ways- the kids, pets, stability- but my path went in completely different directions. Funny how things turn out. I’m still hoping I can someday have foster kids, no matter how hard it is. There are so many that need a safe home, for short or long term. I know I could help, and I would love the opportunity to try. As an optimist, I think it would be lovely for each successive generation to have it easier and better- I thought that was the point. But what do I know, I’m just the crazy woman who’s going to hell. A few times over.
Love to all
I can’t think of a single song that would encapsulate the topic in this post, so I’m going with Mozart, Beethoven, and a little Chopin.