When I was about twelve or thirteen I had a bet with my best friend. So sure was I that I was going to be a ‘young’ mommy that if I didn’t have a child before twenty-five I had to buy her lunch and if I did, she owed me lunch. Not sure why lunch was the prize, I guess it was what we thought we would want to be doing at twenty-five, lunching. We even documented the whole thing on an A4 blue lined piece of paper. I may or may not have even laminated it.
I turn thirty-one next month. Thirty one. I wonder if broodiness is one of the last taboos? You’re not ‘supposed’ to want to be a stay at home mom now a days. I’ve been in conversations where girls have scoffed, laughed and been down right disgusted by the idea of some one who would choose to raise babies the ‘old fashioned’ way. I just sipped my white wine and kept very quiet.
So I’m broody, very, very broody. I kind of always have been (hence ridiculous bets at thirteen). In my early twenties it was more a Brangelina kind of broody, rescuing babies, adopting babies, saving babies. Living the baby dream. A big plan like buying a Winnebago and road tripping across America. In my late twenties, broodiness got pushed to the back of the shelf for a bit. Bottled away whilst things like falling in love, getting married, getting divorced, buying a new kettle and rebuilding took over. And a little thing like yearning to be a mama was like wearing pearls and a mink coat during the war.
So now here I am, at almost thirty-one, owing my best friend at thirteen, six years of lunches. And it’s a strange place to be because half of me is so happy to have had my twenties to grow and learn and be independent and drink cocktails with my girlfriends whenever I wanted to. And the other half of me is so desperately sad to not have done one of the things I feel like I’m alive to do. Yet.
I wonder what we’re supposed to feel, us broody girls in the in between generation? Are there other girls out there feeling like me too? Walking the line of feeling rock and roll and free and yet sometimes feeling a little empty and sad.
I know, that in time to come, when I’m walking around in stretchy pants with a rounded belly, the timing will be exquisite, the only way it should have been. Just sometimes, in the time before stretchy pants and rounded bellies, I daydream about opening my front door to find a little basket on the doormat, with a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket inside. With a note saying ‘Please take care of me’ or whatever note appropriate thing a baby in a basket would say. Sometimes, okay, just sometimes, I even open my front door and look down. Shaame.
Either way, stork or stretchy pants, I’ll keep you posted…
[I should mention that Mr Ameezing has and always has had full disclosure on the baby wanting. Not once has he put his hands to his face like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone and run away screaming. Just one of the many reasons why Mr Ameezing is Mr Ameezing]
[Beautiful image via Bury and Discover]