To Mom, Or Not To Mom... That Is The Question
Okay, so this isn’t pertaining to my usual topic of polyamory or Tinder dates, but I guest blogged on my friend Rhiannon’s blog about motherhood. (Have I ever used that word before? Probs not.) It’s basically a letter from me, a non-mom, to moms. I thought I’d post it here, on my own blog, so you guys know:
a. I’m still alive.
b. I’m still writing.
I’ve posted a link to her blog at the end, to corner you into reading my blog first. Enjoy.
Dear Moms,
Sup? It’s me, non-mom. From the alternate universe. The one you wondered if you might end up in. And you’re a mom, the one I still wonder if I’ll ever be. Don’t you wish there was a reboot of Sliding Doors, but instead of the two trains, there’s one Gwyneth that has a baby and one that doesn’t? Which life ends up better? Which has more love? More pain? More meaning?
(And if you’ve seen the movie, less waiting tables?)
I used to think I was a weirdo for not having maternal instinct. I’m being very deliberate when I use the term “maternal instinct.” It’s annoying when people assume women who don’t want kids, don’t like kids. I do like kids. I’m a proud, fun aunt, capris and patterned tops to boot. I also love my friends’ kids. (Hi Porter!*) I’m just very self aware that I don’t have that natural instinct that most women have, to birth one.
I started noticing maternal instinct creeping up on my girlfriends in our early twenties. I used to wait tables at a rib restaurant with my good friend Sarah. These were back in the days we’d actually still serve in heels. (Ooof.) For months, I saw Sarah’s face light up every time a baby in a stroller came in. She got SO excited. Played peak-a-boo at the speed of a good improvisor. I’d usually just stare at the baby, and wonder how much food I was gonna have to sweep from under the table once they left. I was also tracking how much Sarah held her breath at tables with seniors, who were marinating in perfumes and Bengay. Finally, one day I made a deal with her:
“Hey, I’ll take the geriatrics if you take the kids.”
And that was the beginning of a beautiful server partnership. And my first sign that I actually might not have maternal instinct. You can force a lot of things in life- a laugh, a zipper, one or nineteen extra things in a suitcase… BUT- you can’t force maternal instinct. And I’m no professional, but I don’t think you should.
If I had it, I’d use it. But I don’t. So this is my life.
To be fair, I was a very popular babysitter as a teenager. You had to book me a month in advance if you wanted me to watch your kids on a Saturday night. I had a regular gig looking after Heather and Shevaun every day after school for three years. In some ways, I feel like I’ve already raised kids. And for cheap! Four dollars an hour. You can only wish for child care prices like that these days. (I did make them all watch The Young and the Restless though.) I was a one woman Babysitters Club. And I took every dime you paid me and bought Guess Jeans and Espirit T-Shirts. Thank you for giving me the gift of being able to afford such style. My dad was still trying to pay off the Nova.
I owe a lot to moms. More so to my own, who got pregnant with me at 18. I often feel like I’m living my 20’s and 30’s for two. I’m grateful to my sister, who has kids. Now I have the pleasure of being a long distance aunt, who enjoys sending creepy cat postcards. (And when I say creepy cats, I mean creepy.) My parents have grandchildren, and I still have a silly dream I mustered up at 18. And they seem to be equally proud of both of us. (BLESS supportive parents. Living in L.A. for two years has proved to me that not everyone has them.)
I’m not one who likes to argue existential debates. I know what I feel, and I go with that. Plain and simple. If I’m doing life “wrong,” then so be it. When I started comedy, twenty years ago, I seemed to be the only one plugging that childfree life. There was an untapped well of jokes in this department at the time. Like:
“I’d rather look pregnant than get pregnant…”
“I honestly believe that smiling at a child at Loblaws… is just as good as motherhood.”
Now I almost feel hacky for doing these jokes. There are now at least two generations under me that are done with the patriarchy. I also have girlfriends who are praying they get the tail end of it. If there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that no two women have the same plans for life.
I had the best interaction with a mom at a BBQ the other day. I was scooping some sort of festive salad on to my paper plate when I found myself embarrassed about the state of my finger nails.
“Oooof. I should have at least clipped my nails into some sort of shape where they don’t look like jigsaw puzzle pieces.”
She responded with,
“You should see my toe nails.”
“Mine too!”
(Hard to say “me too” anymore.)
We instantly bonded. That’s the one thing that always connects me with a lot of moms. Our lack of “pretty girl” esthetics. Of course, for a mom it’s probably due to a serious lack of extra time. I have no excuse. I just don’t care.
At this same party, I ended up bonding with another chick. She was my age, and like me, of the childless lifestyle. Much like two moms who meet and bond over having the same age kids, me and this girl found a twinship over not having kids. It’s equally exciting for us! (I got this term “twinship” from my bff Melissa, who will probs get nervous that I’m quoting her, and will text and say “NO! It’s not my term! I read it in a book! I don’t want people to think I made it up. I feel bad.” And if you know me, you know I also have a twinship with Melissa.)
The cool thing is, either way, women are finding connections with each other. And isn’t that all that matters?
“Thanks” to social media, moms and non-moms believe they have a good look into each others lives. You probably think I take 82 vacations a year (or so it seems), and I get scared your kids are going to be fully grown before my career takes off. When I see moms in my fave coffee shop on Montana Ave, I’m mostly jealous of their cookie purchases. I have no excuse for buying a cookie. At least you can say,
“… and a cookie, for little Ava here.”
And then you eat half the cookie. I see what’s happening there. Bless kids for giving grown-ups a reason to eat cookies. I can’t buy a cookie. It’ll look like I just got dumped or something.
I know there’s still a good chance I will end up a step mom, and I gotta tell you…
I’m into it. I actually like the idea of being a step mom. Rhiannon seemed shocked when I told her this. I know fairy tales ruined the idea of step-anythings decades ago, but what’s so bad about it? Kids aren’t dumb. Parents are exhausted. Two moms and two dads just may be what it takes. Plus, I’m probably gonna skip the sleepless nights and crazy medical bills. (America only.) OH, but I can tell how shit my reputation is by how long it takes a single dad to introduce me to his kid…
(That’s a good sign for divorced mom’s though. I can rest assure you that your baby daddy is picky about who they let in to your child’s life.)
I better wrap this up. I told Rhiannon I would keep my babbling to a max of 1500 words. (What mom has the time for more?)
In closing, I’d like to thank all moms for their clothes at clothing swaps. Your maternity clothes are my beer drinking clothes. I’m a woman who loves to bloat. Thank you for joining me in my love for Birkenstocks. (Sorry, Allison Dore.) Oh, but to the moms who lose the baby weight five seconds after having a kid, and walk into the coffee shop with your stroller and size zero yoga pants…
Fuck you.
Just kidding.
Have a cookie.
Signed with a shit tonne of respect,
Your new non-mom friend,
Christina Walkinshaw
*Porter is three and while he’s starting to read, I’m pretty sure this isn’t his genre. I need a scratch and sniff blog. Send toy cars.
Here’s Rhiannon’s response to this blog:
http://theobliviouschildblog.tumblr.com/post/176022952325/to-be-or-not-to-bea-stepmom
