Back In That Place
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
So I go to pick up my package (usually residents have to show ID in order to collect their packages). I walk up to the front desk, and say hello and I'm here to pick up a package, and do you need my ID? She smiles and says hello and replies, "No, that's okay, I know who you are." I was a little surprised, and a little embarrassed (I usually remember faces/names pretty well but maybe I forgot her?). As we walk to the mail/utility closet, she asks me, "So where's your baby?"
Apparently, I don't need to be embarrassed after all. "I don't have a baby." I feel surprisingly calm. This is not the first time I have had to answer this question. Nor is it the first time that I've been mistaken for someone else. Nor is it the first time I've been mistaken for someone who has a child (it's weird). I feel no heat in my face. It's a nice to stop feeling slightly guilty for not knowing the concierge in return.
"You don't have a baby?" I wish I could convey the right amount of the shock that was in her voice with typed words, but alas, I am not so talented.
"Nope." I manage a smile that says in my mind, no harm, no foul.
"I could have sworn you had a baby." She puts her hand on her hip now.
"Nope. Not me." I start to wonder if this lady thinks I'm trying to pull a fast one over her. Maybe I shouldn't have smiled.
"Well. Sorry about that." Relief. "Why not?" Thud. I just want my package.
I wanted to answer honest. Clever. But not too clever that it would be immediately read as snide. But instead, I said: "I'm in grad school right now, and I want to finish that up." I purposely did not say I was getting my Ph.D. Sometimes it feels snobby to say it out loud.
We walk over to the desk so I can sign out my package. "How long you been married?"
"Five years in June." This is getting awfully personal, and I ask myself why I'm answering these questions. I guess it's because the questions themselves are, so far, innocuous. Mostly. A case of mistaken identity. A question about how long I've been married. I'm conveniently forgetting the "Why not?" question because I have my package in hand. All I need to do is sign it out.
"That's a long time. Whatcha waiting for?" Now, I'm starting to feel mean. The pen is in my hand. I have to print my name, then give my signature. I take extra long signing my signature in order to compose myself-- because where I was once impulsive enough to throw poison barbs at someone offending me or poking their nose where it does not belong, I have learned self-control (it's all B's fault).
The lady said something else that was probing, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. My mind was boiling. All I know is that my response was:
"I mean, we can't even afford to buy a house right now, so... ya know how it is. Especially in L.A."
Sadly, to both questions probing me why I haven't had children, my response sounded more like a defense. An excuse. And I hate that. But I keep telling myself that I have to pick and choose my battles, and I didn't have the energy to broaden a total stranger's mind about various life choices on a Saturday afternoon with my family waiting for me back my apartment (my mom and brother were visiting). Plus, she didn't seem mean-spirited. More like curious. She didn't deserve a sharp tongued response any more than I deserved to be offended. Right?
But still, I'm ashamed at how I responded. I got flustered. I could feel my face turn red. I was caught so off-guard. And it's kind-of bothered me ever since. Not so much that she asked. But that I wasn't confident in my answer. More like hiding in it.
I felt like I had finally gotten past the point of pondering this subject. A few months ago, I put a book on hold at the library called,
Maybe Baby: 28 Writers Tell the Truth About Skepticism, Infertility, Baby Lust, Childlessness, Ambivalence, and How They Made the Biggest Decision of Their Lives. It was published by Salon.com based on their "To Breed Or Not To Breed" series. I was number 15 or 28 or something on the wait list, so I forgot about it as I normally do with the books I put on hold that aren't immediately available. But I got a notice on December 21st that the book was finally available and would be held for me until December 28th--and instead of walking the 6 blocks to the library the same day I got the notice (which is what I normally do), I decided to ignore it.It felt good to be past the place where I read everything I could on being childfree by choice, being a parent, or being on the fence. I even cut back on religiously reading/posting to the CFBC message boards that I used to frequent--and in fact, I abstained for the entire month of October just to see if I could. I had wondered to myself, and to B, if the forums were a way of justifying to myelf a certain level of bitterness about the subject because I wasn't the only one who felt pressured to make a decision by some weirdly invisible force--because no one person was pressuring me, certainly not B or my mom. Not even his parents really. Not really... well..Okay, so when we went back for our niece's christening in October, his mom kept shoving the baby into B's arms at really inopportune moments. For instance, his sister's laptop was broken, and he was troubleshooting it (he's handy that way), and he's trying to type commands into the DOS prompt and his mom says, "Here, hold the baby," out of nowhere. And B is like, "Uh. I'm trying to do something here." He's holding the baby kind of awkwardly cradled in his arm while he's typing, one-handed, obviously annoyed. And his mom says, "Well, you better get used to it!" I so had to suppress the urge to ask, "So what does that mean?"It's weird, and completely unfounded, but I felt like we were being judged--or rather I was being judged. After we got home from the Michigan trip in October, I felt sad when B said brightly, "Hey, we escaped the weekend without having to why we don't have kids yet! Everyone was so polite." But even though no one said it, I felt like the question was lingering in the background. Especially with the way his mom kept fawning over the baby and trying to get us to interact with her. Like, how could we be married for four-and-a-half years and not have kids yet? Like, what have I done to their good little Catholic boy?Anyway... I guess what all this rambling is trying to say is that the concierge was the final straw. I went and picked up that Maybe Baby book today at the library because I feel like I'm back in that place. The place where it's scary to contemplate these stupid ideas because B's ambivalent anyway. I want to be ambivalent, too. It'd be much better than the fear. But--and again probably TMI--but every time we make love, every night when I take my birth control pill, I can't help but wonder how can I be ambivalent? We're actively trying not to have children. We're not open to the possibility of bringing life into the world. Wouldn't ambivalent mean that we could take it or leave it? Either outcome wouldn't suck or be the best. We'd just deal?I missed one day of pills last week because I drove down to pick up my little brother in San Diego, and the two of us stayed up until 4 a.m. playing games--and it slipped my mind. During the first week, it's okay to miss one or two pills, if you've been on it long enough, it does not inhibit the effectiveness according to the pamphlet of information (it's the second, and especially the third week, where it gets iffy). On Sunday, after everyone left, B and I jumped each other, and as we kissed, he stopped and asked me if it's safe. I was confused and didn't know what he meant. Because you missed a couple pills last week, he said. I didn't actually miss pills, plural, I missed one, and it's fine. Okay. Back to kissing.I don't know why, but that bothered me. I don't know if it's because it strikes me as the opposite of ambivalent or what. So why am I so annoyed at wrongly categorizing an opinion/feeling? Am I so confused that only proper labels give me solace?Another subtle hint, which I know I'm reading too much into, but can't help myself: Zhoul didn't get a Christmas present this year. Every year we've had her (which has been almost five), B's parents have got her a little kitty something. A new toy. Some canned food. Nip. I remember being surprised and really happy that B's mom did that. I thought it was cool. When I asked why she did it, B's mom said, "Of course my grandkitties get presents, they're the only ones I've got!" Now, the first Christmas there's a real baby around, no kitty present. I'm not offended or anything. I just thought it was a little sad. At least the book is a really good read so far.
Labels: books, cfbc, childfree by choice, parenthood, uncomfortable questions
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3comments
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at December 27, 2006 10:57 AM
said...
I, too, have had to deal with some awkward presumptiveness about havin' babies lately. Maybe it's something about the holiday season that brings out the nosy in people.
Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that, in the end, it's your decision 'cause it's you that has the baby (or not). Take your time, do whatever reading and thinking and soul searching you need to do, and make the decision that's right for you. Everyone else can just have their own babies if they want 'em so much.
-A
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at December 27, 2006 10:58 AM
said...
Very true. I was just excited/relieved to not have all the questions and fears swirling around in my mind for a while. And now I feel like they're all back. I just want to not care about it right now or ever.
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at January 10, 2007 9:38 AM
said...
I've stopped the questions with my mom by telling her when she asks for grandchildren to go talk to my 17 year old little brother, she doesn't find that as amusing as I do. But what I haven't stopped is this feeling of emptiness and failure that not having child puts on my life in her eyes. When I told her about a publishing company expressing interest in a book I collaborated on, she said "Well, I can't brag to your Aunt about that, your cousin just had a little girl. It just doesn't compare." I was flabbergasted and hurt, but understand that academic achievement, personal goals and perservance mean little in our family in comparison to popping out babies for everyone to coo over. What helps me is Mike's recoil at the questions about children as he loudly exclaims, "Hell no we aren't ready for kids."
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