To baby or not to baby

That is the question.

There are few things in my life about which I waffle. Typically I say I want to do something, and it’s as good as done. There is no second guessing, I don’t take too many informal polls of my friends and family, and I make a concerted effort just to listen to my gut and go with it. However, the issue of becoming someone’s mother is not lending itself to that same kind of decisiveness. For months at a time I will be open to the idea and even actively pursuing it, and then there will be a stretch during which I find the prospect downright repugnant.

What is the root of the ambivalence?

We all know “there is no right time” to have a baby, whether it’s with respect to finances or career, but these are in fact, two rather large sectors that should be aligned somewhat before such an undertaking. I think I can live with the idea of my paycheck being cut in half for the sake of daycare, especially given that vacations will become nonexistent, mom clothes are purchased at Target and not Bebe, and going to the salon will be a thing of the past. However, I cannot afford to derail my career at such a vulnerable point. Nor do I want to. I don’t have a full-time job, I have an all-time job, and I like it that way.

“It’s a love like you’ve never known” also is not a justifiable rationale for taking this plunge. That may be true, but let’s talk a little about the loves I DO know. For instance, how about my love for taking a vacation twice per year? How about my love for having a few drinks on Friday night or boozey brunches? What of my love for spending hours of uninterrupted time with my husband? Going to the gym or for a run when it’s convenient for me? It appears as though my life as I know it will become unrecognizable. The problem is: I like my life!

Perhaps I think I am too young to embark upon such a journey (a one-way journey, I might add). Having spent 5 years pursuing my doctorate led me to believe that time had stopped so that when I graduated I was still 25 rather than 30. Now 5 years later I always consider myself to be about 27 or 28, which really showcases not only my reluctance to grow up, but also how I tend to be more right brain than left brain because clearly that is very funny math. So mentally I’m all “Aw yeah, I’m young. I’m hot. It’s all good”. But my eggs are all, “Um, girlfriend? Yeah, don’t kid yourself. You can go to the gym every day and twice on Sunday, eat tofu and beans until you pop, and get your 40 winks, but you’re still 35. Let’s go”. They are very rude eggs! That’s a lot of big talk considering they are afraid to venture outside of the protective environment of the ovaries. Unless of course I coax them with some pretty high-powered fertility drugs…

But having said all that, the other night I had a dream. In it I was on a bus and there was a girl there sitting next to me. She was exiting the bus, but she was leaving her little baby behind. She just didn’t want to take the baby (I was unclear about the gender) with her. I couldn’t understand her reasoning, and amidst all my stammering about how this was impossible, what is this little thing to do without a mother? etc., I pulled the baby close to my face. To my utter amazement, I felt these little lips, against my cheek. The baby was rooting, but making a little fishy face. Now I know what you’re thinking. The rooting reflex and a little fishy face are worlds apart. I know, but you’re missing my point. The point is that I didn’t stand up and get my “too-hot-for-this-shit” self off that bus with the mother in the first place. Why the hell not? One possible explanation for this inaction on my part is that in the dream I was not the one who had given birth. My body was in the same shape it is now as I type this, and there was no question that I could squeeze into my most-est fabulous-est jeans. However, that thought didn’t cross my mind during the dream. An alternative, but less appealing explanation, is that I liked the feel of those lips against my cheek. Is that even possible? I don’t know, but I felt strangely soothed when I woke up. As if that one little dream, about one little fishy face, is supposed to assuage my fears.

Was that my subconscious mind telling me it’s ok to be afraid, but being afraid is not a good enough reason not to do this (or anything in my opinion)? I think that’s a little deep and asking quite a bit from my subconscious mind, if you ask me. I don’t know. I can’t come to any concrete conclusions at this point. Instead I will just have to rock on with my bad “I-ain’t-driving-no -minivan” self. Yeah, it’s a lot of big talk from someone who melted over a little fishy face, I know.