Late-Night Blogging Gets Serious

I recently read that my generation's feminist mothers told us that we could have anything, and that we interpreted it as, we have to have everything.

Now, 10 years into both my career and my child-bearing years, that sentiment resonates strongly with me. I've been in my current job for just over four years and my current relationship for almost six, and I often feel as though I don't have any more clarity on What I Want To Be When I Grow Up than I did in 1997 when I graduated from university. I've been convinced that my life could (and would) take almost every turn imaginable. In high school I was sure that I'd get married but not breed. Then, for many years, I vowed not to take vows (but thought that kids might be OK, or at least that I might have a baby as a surrogate mother).

Since an enlightening conversation with Sunny on our trip to P.E.I. in 2003, I've been more sure that I wanted to have children - at least 2, maybe 3. Last year DLang and I took what could reasonably have been viewed as the next step toward such an endeavour: the nuptials. Our one-year anniversary is only three weeks away, and let's just say we've had a rather rough go of it. So rough, in fact, that I recently moved into my own apartment to give our relationship a bit of space. [File this entry under "humility."] I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but we're talking and seeing each other regularly and are probably closer than we've ever been, which, if nothing else, bodes well for our growth as individuals.

What, then, of my biological clock?

Last week's foray into motherhood, as peripheral as it was, led me to a number of "conclusions." Charlie was born on Saturday and came home on Sunday, and by Tuesday I'd decided, "Wow, I am so not ready for this. At all." It was kind of a relief (the clock had been ticking loudly). However, by the time I returned to NY, I felt panicky all over again at my own uncertainty and lack of a plan (many of the same feelings that led me into therapy two years ago).

In the past year, some of my closest friends with kids have told me that having children was the best thing they've ever done. (In fact, that's what Sunny said in P.E.I.) One said that it was the *most* important. At times I've thought about those superlatives and equated the possibility of not having children as meaning that there won't be a "best" or "most important" thing I'll ever do. Thinking like that, sucks. It fuels the fire of anxiety, and only serves to minimize the contributions I make with my life now. For example, would I have time to bring you the plethora of good times that is UFF if I had to look after an infant? Count your blessings, dear reader(s).

I suppose this entry is partly a confessional (since I've been skirting the whole moving-out thing for two months, and it's getting tiresome - plus I really want to post pictures of my cute new apartment) and partly a reminder to myself to honour and respect my life as it is, today.