That Kind of Woman: On Motherhood As a Choice, Not a Destiny

The oldest of my five younger sisters, her first child in the crook of her elbow: I always wanted to be a mother, she says. Which shocked me—I mean confounded me, the idea of wanting to be a mother. And then, variously, each sister declares she wants a family, children, one even seeking out a husband who she believes will be a “good dad.” * There is a way I can speak that is stentorian, and when I do, I am not present: I never wanted to be a mother. Distinct from: I didn’t want a child. I did not understand what it felt like to want a child. I did not grieve the loss of my pregnancy, but I did grieve the loss of a younger self who had not yet made a momentous decision on her own behalf. A termination. Loss of innocence? * Your mother had you at twenty-two and you were older than that. I did not grieve the loss of my pregnancy, but I did grieve the loss of a younger self who had not yet made a momentous decision on her own behalf. I didn’t feel ready, it was a shock. A shock? Getting pregnant was a shock. Why weren’t you more careful? You can be careful and a mistake can happen. (I don’t want to admit I wasn’t careful.) A mistake? Forget to take your pill or a hole in the condom or the diaphragm slips. All that equipment to not be a mother… Not be a mother yet. So there was a time when you wanted to be one? To be a mother was what a girl wanted then, and I did not. Once, years later, when I stroked a baby’s skin and leaned in to smell, I wanted a child, but the physical desire entered my body only once—with the man I met when I slipped on the ice. Soon, friends started to have babies, and my sisters. By the time I was in my forties, I had learned to say, What a beautiful baby! By my sixties I meant […]

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