Kids. To have or not to have? That seems to always be the question.
And an ongoing quest for many childless women in their thirties. Here’s an account of one drastic measure I took to try and answer it.
“I just feel this pressure to know by now and I don’t.” This would be brought up several times in therapy at age thirty-six. The big bad question mark that haunts every woman’s brain. Kids? To have or not to have.
“Why do you feel that pressure? And why now?” My therapist should’ve known better than to ask something this open-ended as my preferred style of speech with her is, the spiral.
“I’m in a relationship with someone who definitely wants them and I’m getting older, and I feel like if I want to continue dating him I need to know. And I feel like I don’t know. And I feel like he’s waiting for me to figure it out. And yes, I am the older one and I am the one running out of time, because eggs and stuff — and yes, I also know that there are other ways of having them, but I don’t want to be an old mom either. And honestly, I already would be an older mom. So, I just need to figure it out so I can dump him or marry him or dump him and marry someone else because come to think of it, I actually don’t even know if I like him enough to have his children.”
We decided I would make a pros and cons list and bring it to our next session.
She emphasized that the list should not involve a partner, “This is a life-altering decision, it must be something you know you want without outside influences. Because things happen. People die, get sick, divorce.”
I promised I would write my list acting as if I didn’t have a partner, current or other. This was hard. And a lot of work. Five minutes in I gave up and booked an appointment.
With my legs spread and a camera coming toward them I felt like a Kardashian. Who other than the rich and famous check in on their eggs for fun?!
I sat in the fertility clinic eagerly awaiting the ultrasound probe to examine the quantity of my stash. I know, this seems excessive. But hear me out. This was going to be my coin toss. Once I had an indication of what I was working with the initial reaction would give me my answer. It was a foolproof plan. Better than any list.
First, she mentioned my impeccable blood work and how while the numbers look great it’s best we get inside to see what we’re working with to have a full view when discussing options.
“Wow! Look at all of them!” She used the analogy of my ovaries being cookies and the follicles were the chocolate chips. “Four, nine, twelve. Let’s check out those chocolate chips on the other side, shall we?!”
Dr. K had the perfect bedside manner for her job. Her excitement came off naturally as I am sure 99.9% of the women sitting in her stirrups want to hear this news. Because really, unless a production team from E! is following you around, people tend not to frivolously get their eggs checked. In fact, to get the appointment I went in under the pretenses of freezing them. A strong consideration if the coin toss reaction went a certain way, only a minor fib.
“Sure.” I tried to match her enthusiasm but honestly, I didn’t see ovaries or cookies, or chocolate chips, or sprinkles, or eggs. I saw grey splashes on white blobs with black dots on … is that one moving?! Plus, I didn’t have time to look at baked goods I was trying to tap into my gut emotions. I was here for a coin toss. Read the room Doc.
“Ohh this one looks even better, see that. Right there. So many chocolate chips.” Now she was just making me hungry.
“Mmhmm.” My gut felt nothing.
“You have the ovaries of a 24-year-old!”
This was the age Dr. K came up with from the results of all my tests. She was thrilled for me.
I was thrilled for me too. Mainly because there was a part of my thirty-whatever body that was still livin’ it up in their twenties. But as for the coin toss, all I felt was that I still had more time. And the last thing a procrastinator needs is more time.
I played my role and listened attentively as she described the retrieval process and the astronomical price tag attached. Coming off a master’s degree and a year unemployed (thanks COVID!) I considered how I’d propose this to the Bank of Dad. Their VP of Financial Decisions is a woman and I happen to know she has a soft spot for grandbabies.
But then I remembered that retrieving the eggs was only half of the equation. At some point, you need to fertilize them. And you know what fertilized eggs need? A parent. And do you know who doesn’t know if she wants to be that? You see what I’m getting at here.
And that’s how I found myself back to my pen and paper writing a pros and cons list where all the cons became partnered pros and all the pros became solo cons.
“I couldn’t do the list,” I confessed to my therapist.
“So you’re still on the fence.” She said this nonchalantly as if I had twenty more years to decide, which I didn’t.
“I don’t feel on the fence. Being on the fence means I haven’t decided. And honestly, I feel like my decision is that I could go either way. When I am dating certain people, I can envision it. When I am single, I can imagine an amazing life without it. And then sometimes I wonder if that’s a defense mechanism because I know I won’t have it, but then other times I think if I wanted it so bad I would do it on my own. And I don’t know if I agree that I should have to make the decision alone. I have knocked down the fence, I am on both sides of it.”
“You want to know what I think?”
“Always.”
“I think you think too much.”
Always.
So me and my twenty-four-year-old, currently single, chocolate chip cookies have taken a vacation from thinking.
Maybe we are allowed to have two paths in life we’d be perfectly fulfilled traveling. Maybe I’ll meet my life partner and together we’ll decide which way to flip the coin. Or maybe in twenty years when someone asks me why I decided not to have kids, I’ll them I didn’t, I kinda just forgot.
Until next week Whino’s … Stay true to your word and keep your word true to you.
From my heart to yours,
Xx Dani
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