The Cons (and Occasional Pros) of Having a Baby-Crazy Family.
by Andrea Waner
They’re not interested in my favorite position. They don’t care if I’m especially vanilla, or if I’m into something a little more kinky. And I can assure you they’re definitely not interested in my climax, or if I’m even enjoying myself.
No, none of that. They want to know if I used protection, and not in a “practice safe sex” kind of way. They want to know if I let his “baby batter,” “baby gravy,” “man chowder,” “string of pearls,” “pole milk,” “nut butter,” sneak it’s way into my lady bits.
I am 26 and childless, something that is practically unheard of in my family history. Many in my family are pregnant before 20, and definitely before 25. Few go to college, fewer leave their hometowns. My mother walked across the stage at her high school graduation, straight into her wedding ceremony, four months pregnant with me. Growing up, she consistently encouraged me to go and do more, be more.
When I graduated high school, I moved out of my suburban St. Louis hometown, went to college two hours away, got married, and got a job that paid decently. In figuring out who I was and attempting to create my own future, I discovered that I liked whiskey, politics, wine nights, breakfast at 3 a.m., regular baths, a clean house, and the structural integrity of my vagina. When it comes to my family history, it feels as though I am the proverbial black sheep, a stone-cold rule-breaker.
I can almost nail down the exact moment my family started asking about when my partner and I were going to have kids. It was the summer after my college graduation. I had my degree, a job, and was about to get married—what else was I waiting for? In their eyes, the stars had aligned. All the proper pieces were in place for me to, theoretically, take the next step.
I opted instead to refine my taste for craft beer and pick up roller derby while my mother stashed away nostalgic bits and bobs from my childhood for my future children. My behavior never sent the message that I was ready to have children, but the questions never stopped. Every holiday allowed for further probing into my private life. “When do you think you all will start trying? When do you plan on getting pregnant?”
I eventually want kids. I really do. I’m just not ready now. And I don’t know when I will be. That’s always my answer. Even still, the questions have become so frequent that a few family members have come up with their own answer before I can even chime in. “Andrea is a career girl now.” It’s as if my choice to not have children yet means I’ve passed the point of no return. My career is now my “baby.” I refuse to think that I have to choose between one or the other. I look forward to being pregnant and watching my belly grow and scheduling appointments with a doctor like this Gynecologist in Odessa, TX, making room for the life inside of me. But I also dream of the day when I become a high-profile communications professional in a political setting. I’m sure that the harmony between being a doting mother and a professional will come, but for right now I’m not ready for the scales to strike that balance.
For a long time I wanted to move to Chicago to work on my career/“baby” and be near my best friend from college. I fantasized of living in a walk-up, taking the ‘L’ to work every day, and getting caught up in meetings with powerful people. Chicago felt like an escape from the seemingly mandatory trajectory that many in my family followed. In the city, I could get lost in obligations and adventures, hide in the vastness of anonymity. In my mind, the pressures of settling into an early motherhood wouldn’t follow me across state lines. I could focus on growing my career until I was financially, and emotionally, ready to be a mother. I wanted to explore the enigmatical concrete jungle, not a small town playground with a baby on my hip. But I got the good job in mid-Missouri. I didn’t get to run away to the big city just yet. I remained rooted relatively close to where I was planted—with what often feels like all eyes on me to plant my own seeds.
Even with the successful job and lovingly over-invested family, I still find myself envious of my friends in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles and other far off metropolises. The distance from family gives them an excuse to enjoy their freedom sans children. Maybe the pressure doesn’t reach them there—no connecting flights for obligatory procreation. But then again, maybe the distance gives them an excuse to hide from themselves, subconsciously justifying their decision to not have children by living in high-cost cities and small apartments.
It’s a fine line I walk, one that meanders between selfishness, insecurity, and expectation. I often wonder if I feel the pressure to have children now because my parents (and most of my family) are less than two hours away—or if I have somehow associated not leaving my home state with having reached a stalemate in my life plan, where my next obvious step is to get pregnant because I never truly left home.
Times like these, I look to my role model, Leslie Knope from NBC’s Parks and Recreation. She never left home and yet is still able to harness all her energy into enacting change for her community and remaining dedicated to her career and relationships. She put her career first and let the family building blocks fall into place later in life—all while never leaving home, something that often feels disjointed to me. So many times I find myself wanting to get away, to move across the county, to get the powerful job, so that maybe then the pressure to take that next big step will dissipate.
But while I remain in mid-Missouri, I cannot run. I’m forced to deal with these pressures. I have to grapple with my family’s obvious, albeit rarely vocalized, fear of me moving away; and since I do not have children, never coming back. The conversation with my family is full of constant reassuring, reassessing—the push, the pull. I know that when I am ready to have children, they will be wholeheartedly loved and supported, and for that I am grateful. I know that I am a work in progress and tend to grow restless, but it’s times like these where I have the realization that I can enjoy my freedom with no strings attached. Freedom that will later afford me the sanity that parenting requires—something that I think satisfies both my family and me.
(All images credited to NBCUniversal)
