Guest Post: Making The Decision

Tonight’s guest post comes from Sarah. She owns Envy salon in Richmond and is an all-around awesome person.

My grandma died. We called her DeeDee. I named her that. I was her first grandchild. She was my second mom.

At the service they said, “The name DeeDee came from Baby Sarah. She would squeal ‘deedeeeedeeedeeeedeeeedeedee’ in her face. So when Sarah started talking, that’s what she called her.” As long as I can remember that’s what everyone called her.

After the news landed and strange forms of attempted comfort started rolling in they started to say “Y’know, I’ve always heard that when you lose someone ya love that means life will bring ya a baby to love.” And then their eyes, like spotlights, were on my stomach. I could see them drawing a picture of my uterus sprouting an alien bean.

“I’m not pregnant. I’m just fatter than I used to be!”

I wish I’d said that. I didn’t. I smiled and told myself to get back into my work out schedule. I thanked Dillard’s for my Spanx. I slammed another glass of moscato. I smiled fakely. When in the suburbs, right?

Hm? What’s that? I’m nearing 30? I’m happily married? I have a good job? So does my husband? Well, OF COURSE, it’s time to think about having babies. Why didn’t I think of that?

SHUT UP! I have been thinking about babies since I was two and my sister was born. I picked her up, cocked out my hip, heaved her on my side carried her and then two more siblings around like they were my own. I was a quick learner too. No bubbles in the bottle. Change the diapie fast enough to prevent the next accident from becoming a bigger mess. Never move if the baby’s asleep comfortably in your possession. No small candies. Chop the hot dogs into this size. 6 year old me even gave my toddler brother the heimlich and saved his life. (I had a weird obsession with the TV show Rescue 9-1-1. I guess it paid off.) I’ve known I was a natural born mother before I really knew anything about being born.

I’m closer to 30 than 20 now. I know what that means for me physically. It seems like everyone I talk to, doctors included, have differing opinions on what that means for my ovaries and eggs. I do feel the urge to pick up every baby I see. I squeal with glee over tiny socks. I cry every time I meet a friend’s beautiful new addition to their family. I get a little more upset each time I get my period. That is what I assume a ticking clock feels like.

I’m closer to 30 than 20. I’m more comfortable in life than I’ve ever been. I have weeded out all the unnecessary people and hassles. I pay all my bills on time. I come home from work and I put on my jammies and we watch our favorite TV show. We have very little to be upset or fight about. A baby would really fuck all that up.

I have so much I could invest in a new life. I like to think I’m a well rounded loving person. It’d be selfish not to leave behind in my child a little of the love my family has always shown me. My husband is an incredible, intelligent, patient, loving, artistic soul. He has so much to share. We could offer so much love to our children.

I learned so much from my DeeDee. I cook, clean, knit, cross stitch, embroider and sew because she taught me to do so. I am a the perfect ’50s housewife. Except I think household duties are as much my husband’s responsibility as mine. Therefore I need to work harder outside the house to bring in at least half of our house’s income. I love all my jobs. Wife, boss, stylist, lover, housekeeper, friend, mess maker, grass mower… I could go on forever. Is there room in there for more work? What would happen to my career? What would happen to my passion for my job and company? What would happen to my love for my husband? Will our finances be ok? How about our dogs? Healthcare? Insurance? Childcare?

This barely dives into the stew my brain makes when I think of my future as a married career oriented baby loving woman in our day and age.

Which is why we made our most responsible and educated decision. Let’s just stop preventing pregnancy and see what the universe hands us. Because, well, it seems like the decision’s bigger than the both of us.

Who knows where I’ll be a few months from now? I may be one of the weirdo women who loves to be pregnant. Maybe I’ll be over come with pregnancy hormones and crying because my ankles look fat. Maybe nothing will have changed for us, and that’ll ok. Or maybe nothing will have changed for us and I’ll be devastated.

I don’t really have an answer on when the time would be right, if ever. I’ll just keep mentally treading water. Privately envying my mom friends and their minis, and secretly mourning the loss of an imaginary baby I made up in my mind after a really great night with my husband every time my special time of the month comes. So please, stop asking me if we’re going to have children. I don’t know.

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