Momma. Mom. Momma. MOM!!!

As a child, I remember constantly tugging on my mother's shirttail, seeking attention.  I would repeat "Momma" as often as I had to until finally getting the long sought after, "WHAT?!".  Often, by the time I had received the prize of attention, I forgot what I was going to say.  Infuriating, I'm sure.  Perhaps I just wanted reassurance that I had not suddenly become invisible.  Maybe I wanted to know what was for supper.  I could have just been curious as to who she was talking to on the phone.  Either way, I pestered my mother without shame.  I was the precursor to the Facebook poke.  Poke poke poke poke poke poke.  Day in day out, sunrise to sundown.  Today is Mother's Day and as I sit here performing my Sunday morning ritual of coffee, cigarettes (shut up), newspaper, and Newschannel 3, I received the mother of all pokes.

The talking head on the news informed me that it isn't as unusual as it used to be for a woman over 35 to give birth.  Red Alert Red Alert!!  In one month and one day, I will be 36 years old.  I have built a fairly successful career.  I have completed my education.  I have enrolled in grad school.  I have purchased my own shelter.  I have had my white wedding (and my off white wedding as well).  I have navigated through the murky lake of divorce.  I walked through Central Park and dined at Tavern on the Green.  I gambled (and won!) in Las Vegas.  I have been published.  I have stayed out all night, wore too much make-up, danced in heels, cut my own lawn, done my own taxes, and opened a savings account.  Pretty much, all the things that I associated with being a grown up (a childhood bucket list, if you will) have been checked off.  Well, all but one thing....

Poke poke poke poke poke.  Mom. Momma? Hey, Momma.  Momma.  Mom.  MOMMA!!!  Looking around my grown up house, all I see is my grown self and my middle aged dog.  There are no children here!  So, who is that tugging on my shirttail???  Oh yeah, it's the baby I was supposed to have this year.  In all my succeeding, marrying, divorcing, mowing, and dancing, I neglected to check the calendar.  This was the year.  The predetermined year of motherhood.  Whoops.  At some point in my irresponsible twenties, I decided that being married probably wasn't for me; therefore, I was going to have a child on my own.  Men, who needed them?  This belief became cemented during my second divorce.  No husband? Whatever.  I can do this.  If I am not married by the time I am 35, I will just have my own baby...with minimal male input (please...excuse the pun...I couldn't let that one pass.) 

Visions of 35 year old me, holding my very own baby danced through my non sensical mind.  I guess I figured that I would also win the lottery by the time I was 34.  Honestly, at this point, it seems more likely that I would hit the financial jackpot than hit the marriage jackpot (see previous post)!  At 35 years, 10 months, and 29 days I have run out of time.  Unless I can somehow forge a quicky adoption, my 36th birthday is going to get here before my bundle of joy.  This forces me to put down my newspaper and consider where it all went wrong and how I could forge some sort of new contract with my future self.

I decide to push the deadline back.  Ok, so if 1 in 7 babies are born to mothers aged 35 and older, that means if I can get 6 friends who are 35 and have not given birth in the same room, I have a pretty good chance at this.  Let's see.  6 friends who are 35...not a problem.  Alright, now, who doesn't have a child...crickets chirping....anyone? Anyone??  Short of pulling out my high school yearbook, I could only come up with one other woman.  Wait, ok, two.  Three, tops.  My logic is fuzzy here, but it seems more likely that the four of us will be sitting around playing canasta on Mother's Day 2040.  Alright....scrap that.  I can just as easily birth a baby at 38.

Pushing the deadline back to age 38 gives me two more years to figure it out.  WAIT!  I am about to embark on a two year graduate program.  I can't be hauling my pregnant ass back and forth to U of M after working all day.  I will do well to haul my slightly overweight ass back and forth.  Ok, so how about 39?  But, I don't want to be a newly minted Licensed Professional Counselor, trying to start a practice, with a baby on my hip.  At this point, I ask myself...do I even want the baby?  The answer is yes.  I do.  But, I want everything else too.  Finally, the reality dawns on me.  There is one part of this equation that I am leaving out.  A man. 

The man that I deemed so unnecessary is now vital.  So this is what it's all about.  Single parenting is possible, but parenting is something designed for two.  Two heads are better than one.  Four hands are better than two.  Two incomes are better than one (especially when there is a student loan balance!).  Two extended families are better than one.  As much love and mothering as I could provide, I would never be able to provide the stability that a dad could.  Say what you want about girl power, the person who will be in charge of choosing my nursing home is going to need a good childhood!  And, it seems, all I would be able to provide, on my own, is a just good enough childhood.  I never dreamed that I would be faced with the "having it all" dilemma PRIOR to having a child.  I just always assumed that I would have it all.  Not that it would be handed to me, but I never doubted my ability to make things happen for myself.  Until this morning.

So, it isn't just a matter of pushing the deadline back.  I could push the deadline back indefinitely.  Women give birth at 40, right?  Sure they do.  But how on earth will I pay for my daughter's wedding on a fixed income?  How will I chase around grandchildren when I am on a walker?  At best, I could hope for a teen pregnancy.  Somehow, this doesn't sound like "having it all" to me.  The longer I wait, the higher the chances are that the only grandparents my child will know are cement headstones.  Grandparents are another thing that I deemed unnecessary all those years ago.  I was raised in a nuclear family, far away from grandparental intervention, and I turned out okay.  I, however, had two parents.  The paint on the white picket fence in my mind is peeling away rapidly. 

Today, I had planned on a leisurely day of some light yardwork, reading, perhaps a trip to the grocery store.  In short, a low stress day.  Obviously, planning isn't my strong point.  Thanks to Newschannel 3 (who, as it turns out, is NOT on my side...as the slogan says), I now have to rethink my life choices.  Isn't it ironic (real ironic...not convenient Alanis Morrissette ironic) that today is also the 50th anniversary of the birth control pill?  The tiny little pill that made most of my life choices possible is now the cause of the crumbling of my plan.  If plan A is birthing the unplanned baby, and Plan B is planning not to birth the unexpected baby, what is plan C?  Plan C is yet to be determined.  It isn't as easy as running out and grabbing a husband and making babies.  I bet I could find a husband before my 36th birthday, if I wanted to.  I want more than that.  I want to make sure that the person I sit across from, as I read the newspaper and sip my coffee, is someone I actually like.  Someone who won't bitch and moan about having to pick the baby up from daycare because I have a client at 5pm.  Someone who will answer questions such as "Where do babies come from?" with courage.  Someone who will spring for the deluxe model of anything.  And finally, someone who will love me and provide that child with an example of "how it should be".  I'm opting for balance over girl power.  And, I guess that is appropriate...seeing as how I am no longer a girl.  I am looking for the concrete slab foundation to build my house upon, and concrete takes a long time to set.  I suppose I could just forget the foundation and start building...but my house would surely crumble with a strong wind or heavy rain. 

Things happen for a reason and I am still fairly certain that I will end up with exactly what I need and a little of what I want.  The saying goes, "Sometimes things have to fall apart in order for everything to fall into place."  Pretty much, I am in the land grading phase of my life now.  The land has been cleared, a survey has been completed, and now I am staking out the layout.  The concrete truck is on order and when it gets here, I can pour the foundation.  Just like I took a leap and passed on that ridiculous job, without knowing if another offer would come, I am going to have to once again jump; passing on the ridiculous dream of bringing up baby all by myself.  That could mean that I find myself leeching off my nursing home roommate's kids on Mother's Day 2050...or it could mean a seat at the dinner table with a huge coursage and a stretched out shirttail. 

And with that, I am hitting the snooze button on my biological clock, tucking my shirt in, and rolling up my sleeves.  The proverbial horse needs to be led to his position in front of the cart.  Once he is there, I've got some light yardwork, reading, and grocery shopping to do.