Tick tick tock goes the internal clock

Earlier this year I talked about my funk. I haven’t had the courage to write about part of that depression until now. I’m thirty-four years old and not naive that my days of becoming a mother are more limited the older I become. In fact, when I was in my twenties I made a remark that if I did not have kids by the time I was thirty-five I guess I would not have children at all. Needless to say remembering those words coming out of my mouth this year on my birthday was a hard pill to swallow. Maybe that’s part of why mother’s day was so hard for me this year. I attempted to start writing about why mothers should need shown appreciation, and my other mother, earlier this year and could not bring myself to finish the post. Not on Mother’s Day and not because I don’t believe in such. I did not because when you are faced with a uterus who is constantly angry at you and judging you for the lack of child in your womb it is difficult to do so.

One top of that, for the past nine years Mother’s Day has been beyond difficult for me to appreciate. My first Mother’s Day without my mom is one that I do not talk about often. My goal was to make sure she had fresh flowers on her grave that year and to go back a week later to replace them with a lovely silk arrangement that would last.  I just wanted to do something different.  I wanted to do something I knew she would appreciate.  The only problem was between putting them in the vase and walking back to the car, I lost it.  I had not cried that hard in my life outside of when someone practically pushed me, at least that is how it felt, up to my mother’s casket the day of her funeral to say goodbye.  I did not want to say goodbye.  I did not see the point in saying goodbye because I’m determined I will meet her again one day.  Saying goodbye was far too permanent. Saying goodbye to a parent is a natural part of life but one that literally takes a part of you away.

I remember talking with my Aunt June that day though because my Aunt Wydeen wanted to do something nice for my nanny that year.  She wanted all the kids and grand-kids to be there because she knew how my nanny would be feeling that year having to deal with the loss of her daughter.  Everyone seemed shocked when we actually showed up, but the truth is I would not have shown up if it weren’t for my Aunt June.  I wanted so desperately to stay at home.  I did not think I needed to be around people that day. There was a part of me that felt I would ultimately end up bawling at the party and that no one needed that. I did not want to spread this gloom and doom to everyone in the room.  What was the point?

In many ways that sentiment has not really changed.  I’m still afraid that I will let out this bitterness that creeps in every around that time of year. A part of me that wants to wish all my friend’s a Happy Mother’s Day to those who are moms. Some years I do, but for the most part I rarely do.  Sometimes I will like a post that showed how their children appreciated them for the day, sometimes I will avoid social media entirely on that day and lord knows I hate going into stores after Easter.  I remember once that my friend and manager at Dollar General refused to let me be the one who put together the Mother’s Day display that year.  She still has no idea how appreciative I was that she kept that task away from me. I’m not sure I could have gotten through doing so.

So with these this year I find myself wondering if I were ever actually be a mother to a child as opposed to something furry.  I think what makes the difficult of accepting I might never have children is because we live in a society that puts so much pressure on our wombs.  We have to become mothers and if we don’t as a woman we are a failure.  I don’t believe that.  I believe I will feel fulfilled with my life regardless of if have a child or not, but not having children was my ultimate plan.  Much like others I plotted out the what ifs of having children one day with friends when I was younger.  I even post joke reasons revolving horror films of why I probably should not be a mother.  The truth is I think I would be a lot like my mom and insist that my child express himself or herself however they see fit.  The only difference is I would need to learn how to make amazing Halloween outfits.

The ticking of this close has become increasingly harder to accept and one that I talked about with another aunt during my vacation this year.  I think most people have accepted I’m not having children.  I think I might be the only person who has not.  With that said I don’t know what the future holds.  I know that I don’t want to be a single mother if I don’t have to be.  I am also not in a good place financially to have a child, though I’m told most people never are financially sound when having a child.  I do know that I don’t want to bring a child into a complicated situation and I feel like by attempting to raise a child alone that is what I would be doing.

Those are hard facts to face though because if I don’t do that I probably won’t have children.  I think they are harder to face because I think my dad would be the best grandfather ever. There is something about the idea of seeing that look on his face if I were to ever say the words, “I’m pregnant,” to him that makes me smile. I believe that is mostly because I know he would be amazing and it hurts to think I won’t give him that happiness.  It’s a happiness I feel his deserves.  The odd part about this all is I feel he would tell me this is something I shouldn’t worry about because it’s going to happen or it’s not.  I used to believe I was okay with that, but for once I’m not truly sure how I feel about that.

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