The Niblet.

Last week I packed up the "yoda" and made the trek to my parent's house in the boonies for a much needed break, and to help my mother take care of my nephew. The Niblet (a nick name coined after seeing his ultra sound picture) is almost two years old, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him. Always in a sea of family, and never for very long, so it was my intent to put in some valuable auntie time.

The visit wasn't quite what I expected, in a lot of ways the Hallmark moments I envisioned just never materialized. I've always been good with kids, babies and toddlers especially. I don't know why exactly, they just seem easier to make a connection with than older children. Perhaps I'm more in tune with them because I'm just a big baby myself. Anyway, I was anticipating making an effortless leap into favorite aunt status,I even brought a couple of groovy toys wrapped in brightly colored paper with which to break the ice.

I was surprised at how hard I had to work to gain his trust. We did this two steps forward, one step back dance for the first three days. One minute he was all smiles, the next, a small dark rain cloud of baby temper would appear, and a petulant demand to "go away" or "move" would follow. At first this mini munchkin rejection really hurt my feelings. Silly I know, because a lot of it had to do with him being away from his parents for over two weeks. He clung to my mother,"Nana", because she was familiar. So I kept at it, and little by little he got to know me, started to trust me more and more each day, and by mid week we finally hit our stride.

I could make him laugh by pretending to cry when he tried to send me away (perverse little bugger!), and by the second half of the week he had decided I was okay. He still preferred his Nana (who doesn't), but he also started looking for me when I wasn't there, playing with me without Nana, and only tried to send me away as a game. Evidently faux crying is highly entertaining.

By the end of the week, as I pulled out of the driveway to head back home, he was waiving and shouting "bye bye Shawnee".
I have to say, it brought tears to this auntie's eyes.

Sans Children.

With the recent passing of my forty-first birthday I find myself contemplating my current childless state,continuously poking that potentially tender spot like a sore tooth you just can't leave alone,until finally coming face to face with the reality that my window of opportunity is slamming shut in a big way. Hell, in my current single state, short of an immaculate conception or a run in with a turkey baster, that window has in all probability already closed.

I've never really been sure I wanted children. Oh , sure there were/are moments when the pull of motherhood makes itself known; like when I spend time with my two year old nephew, when I hold some one's baby and breathe in that baby smell(you know the one), or read a particularly touching blog post that allows a random glimpse into the life of a happy family. It's during those moments that the tick-tock of that despised clock drowns out the rest of the noise my life usually makes. But when push comes to shove, If I'm totally honest with myself, can I say with 100% conviction that I truly want a child, and all the baggage and responsibility that comes with having children? Does this sound like denial,or sour grapes? Perhaps. At the very least it sounds a hell of alot like ambivalence. If by some chance accident I found myself pregnant at this point in my life, of course I would be... terrified, but also not entirely bummed about it. See what I mean? Ambivalence. And ambivalence, at 41, where child bearing is concerned, is basically a no go.

Sometimes I mourn for the experiences that I will miss out on, there is no denying that. I will never feel that fierce unconditional love a mother has for her child, or experience the growth and deepening of the mother daughter relationship with my own mother by giving her a grandchild (not to mention, there is a certain level of guilt as well). And while I can't say I will ever miss the experience of childbirth itself, I do feel left out of the "war buddy" camaraderie women share with the retelling of their birth stories. And quite frankly if you don't have one of those bad boys of your own to share, there are only so many times you can hear that kind of stuff without wanting to run screaming. That is some graphic shit, man!

Does this make me less feminine, less of a woman, less female than the women who have had children? Have I failed in my prime directive to go forth and multiply? Does this overtaxed global village even need the burden of one more living creature to support? These are questions I have no answer for. Sometimes I think this choice, my choice, makes me just as much a woman as the choice to have a child does. Then again, sometimes I feel like I've rushed the sorority, and was found somehow lacking, so now I'm to be pitied, or simply dismissed in terms of having anything worth while to impart regarding all things children.

Ive been in those groups of mothers (and, in all fairness, fathers) as they discuss the ins and outs of raising children; topics run the gamut from discipline, bed times, and nutrition, to how much TV and computer time to give them.Some of what I hear makes me sure that some people really shouldn't raise children, but by not not being a parent myself, any input I make into these conversations is usually met with blank stares, or the oh so popular refrain "Well, you don't have children, so you couldn't possibly understand". I'm not going to lie, that stings a bit, and there may be a grain of truth in that statement somewhere (sometimes I do feel like a stranger in a strange land), but it doesn't mean I'm completely clueless. Certainly no more clueless than some of those parents who (no lie) can't seem to get their 7 year old to bed any earlier than 11, and then wonder why the child is not doing well in school. Hello!? Seriously?

I am lucky though, my best friend is not one of those kinds of mothers, and has always allowed me to share in much of the raising of her children. They're my
God(dess) kids, and I have been an integral part of their lives since they were born. In fact I was still sharing a house with her and her hubby until the oldest was almost three. I helped raise them, still do to a degree, and for that experience I am grateful.

I've written myself into a corner here, and I'm not sure where this is going, or what,definitively, I'm trying to say about all this. Hell, maybe it all just goes to prove that deep down I do want a child, but even if that were the case, to what end? I would still need to come to terms with this new found revelation as something that in all actuality may not happen. I suppose if I really do want a child, there are steps I could take, single or not. I know I would have a huge amount of support, but I have serious doubts as to whether or not I'm selfless enough to raise a child, especially on my own. I've also contemplated the idea of being a foster parent, and haven't written that off entirely. But again, as a single woman, a fairly selfish one at that, I don't know if I have what it takes (practical considerations aside) to be of use to a child in crisis.

Aw, come on, it's not nearly as tragic as it sounds, I'm philosophical enough about it most of the time. It is what it is, and my life is what I have made of it. Torturing myself, obsessing on something I'm not even sure I want will not change things, it will only serve to make me miserable. So, I will enjoy the kids that I do have in my life, revel in the freedom and extended adolescence being without children affords (sleeping in on weekends is still pretty awesome), and try to keep myself open to any unforeseen adventures that may pop up.