Thirty-One (10 of 31)

I write the baby blog entries every Saturday, so I thought that I would use today’s Thirty-One entry to re-present to you an early baby-related entry from 2002. It’s one of the first times I wrote about my desire for children in this space, and I think it’s an interesting and fairly well-written piece. So, without further ado…

Motherfunkin Maturity

As many of you already know, in the weeks since I was let go I have become particularly enamored with the television show A Baby Story. That probably seems strange to those of you who’ve read this page for a long time, or for those of you who’ve known me long enough to remember my really angry, depressed, and bitter days. Today I discovered the show was on more often during the day than I originally thought. I discovered I could devote even more time to this silly little show I shouldn’t be watching because it always makes me melancholy. Oh joy!

There’s this crisis going on in my brain about babies and starting a family. I wonder about why Stef and I want to have kids and why we want to have them sooner rather than later. Are we wanting this because we’re lonely or needy? Are we wanting this because we aren’t enough for each other? Those aren’t good reasons. They aren’t good reasons at all.

The thing that strikes me is… when I think about children I get sad. I want to be a father. I want to have a family. What’s the sadness about? I think it’s that I feel I’m missing something. I feel that there is a part of my life that is incomplete without kids. Now, do I equate this with loneliness, with needyness, which we’ve established are the wrong reasons? Or, do I equate this with genuine self-discovery? Do I chalk it up to the fact that as I’m growing older I’m actually discovering that a family of my own is something that’s missing in my life?

These questions are driving me nuts.

They’re driving me nuts and I have an awful lot of time to think about them. I create long to-do lists every day and every day I cross off at least eighty percent of the things on my list. By the time it comes time to cook dinner I’m exhausted. I can’t handle being a housewife anymore. I start to think about what that means for my ability to successfully raise a family. I get more depressed. What if I was the one staying home with the kids? Could I handle it?

And then I think… aren’t I too young to be worrying about all this? We’re only in our mid-twenties. We’ve got time, don’t we? That’s what some friends have said, would probably say to me now.

Maybe so. But it all boils down to the fact that we want kids and we want them now.

I just struggle with whether or not we want them for the right reasons.