Yesterday, I woke up and I was 34 and married. I have always known I wanted kids, but fuck…is it time already?! I’ve spent my entire life telling myself, my parents, my aunties and my grandma, my girlfriends over brunch, my husband, and every playground MASH game that I wanted 2-3 kids in fact. However, it’s dawned on me this year — what Nate and I have deemed the final year before the inevitable — that I have never actually sat with myself to reconcile what all comes with motherhood. With autopilot switched off, is being a mother something I want for myself? To make the ultimate Shakespearean sacrifice and give forth my life to raise that of another…
Womanhood is often coupled with motherhood; to be a woman is to one day be a mother, they say. One day, that maternal itch will hit y’a and your ovaries will start dancing every time you pass a cute baby in the street, they say. Well, I can confirm the itch hasn’t been itching so I’m beginning to wonder: have I just been tricking myself into believing I want kids or, socialization aside, is this something I actually want? Well, when you put it like that, imma need a second to think…
Now, as my time is nearing, as friends around me are having children and are getting wrecked in childbirth, buckling under postpartum, facing marital issues, and then some, I’m on pins and needles facing that fateful day when my life as I know it becomes completely unrecognizable. There’s an adorable new human in the mix who I’m sure fills my heart and soul with an endless, overwhelming, indescribable love I’d feel eternally grateful to experience, meanwhile my personal time and coveted introverted silence becomes few and far between, my body I’ve always struggled to love amazes me then betrays me, and my husband and I only see each other in fleeting moments trying our darndest to stave off resentment. It’s equal parts terrible and beautiful seems to be the sentiment of most.
I have a lot of thoughts about becoming a parent — complicated thoughts that range from dark and cynical to “Ok, I see their point.” When it came to changing my last name, I underwent a similar internal negotiation. “Wait, why do we do this again?” haunted my spirit until the Scott-Reichel decision was made. I’ve come to accept about myself — questioning everything is just how I’m built. Stepping into the greatest role one can play in life all willy nilly feels irresponsible, so excuse me as I expose my thought process and find myself some peace with this whole motherhood thing.
The Family Pressure
We were two speeches into the wedding reception, when my mom grabbed the microphone to remind me yet again not to take too long. And so the pregnancy jokes, reminders, check-ins, questions, prodding, and encouragements began. It in fact kicked off during my bridal shower, 3 months prior. An aunt bought be a baby planning journal as a gift — something certainly not on my registry.
Marriage, check. Next task: get pregnant. My grandma, headed towards 91, reminds me constantly she doesn’t have long left and to get cracking. I put on a lil COVID weight and the first time she saw me she asked if I was pregnant — I think willing it into existence nevermind she just called me fat. In theory, I’d love for my kids to know my grandma. I’d love for my parents to runaround the yard playing, minding their old knees and bad hips. Their mortality conflicts with our timeline and I’m traumatized by both the reminders of their near deaths and a future where I’m stuck here raising a child without them.
As I walk around freely without child, leave your family to reminder you of the obvious: you’re without child — the tone is vastly different. The question is usually “When?” When do you guys want kids? When will you start trying? Really all I’m hearing is — “When will you be done with this play-play life without children? When will you get serious and grow up?” The life you’re currently building and living ceases in value and you’re demoted to a rebellious teenager just trying to be difficult.
The only acceptable answer to “When?” is now, ASAP, or “we’re trying as we speak.” Say anything contrary and the reprimands about my eggs drying up, it’s time to settle down, and the unwarranted advice and stories of their tough pregnancy journeys ensue. I found a husband, and that was half the battle in this dating pool of unserious people. I even found a really nice husband who will eat up their ackee and saltfish and can be left in a room full of aunties and thrive. Yet, my job is not complete until said husband impregnates me. Being a wife is not enough, being a mother is the only destination. I must produce an heir or what was even the point?
The Clock
My mom gave birth to me in 1989 at 38 years old. My grandma gave birth to my dad in 1951 at 40 years old. I have a cousin who gave birth at 40, another through IVF in her mid-40s, a friend who got pregnant a month after getting off the pill, another who got pregnant with three kids all in her 30s. I’m surrounded by women who’ve aged out of the acceptable, normal range of childbirth — all giving me hope that I’ve still got time.
But then you’ve got family friends with horror stories, my grandma reminding me that my eggs are hard-boiled, and the gyno and literature calling me geriatric. What I so badly want to do it to just live my life without a game clock ticking in the background letting me know when the jig is up. As much as I try to ignore it, the world reminds me constantly. As much as I try to let the will have it’s way, there’s always someone (no one asked) saying, “You know if you wanna have two, you gotta get started now…” The clock ticks differently for everyone; my eggs may very well be fried, but that’s the calculated risk Nate and I, no one else, have chosen to take.
Living with a timer on your life sucks. Oh to be a man…what freedom! This year, Nate and I are trying to buy a house. We’re finally ready to move out of the city and head towards greenery and space. On top of buying a house, we’ve got a NYC bucket list to complete and a trip to Australia to plan — living under the pretense that if we don’t travel Down Under now, we’ll never find time to go once we have kids. Time has always ticked forward but now it’s ticking backward, counting down… And, we’ve run out of time. The page is turning to the next chapter — the longest, most dense chapter in the book of life. Meanwhile, I’m ready to put down the book and turn on a Disney Channel Original movie.
The Raising of a Whole Entire Human
So here’s the thing: I’ve never really been a kids person. You know those people who see a cute baby and just have to hold it? Yeah, that’s not me. I’ll smile and wave from over here.
Now I love the shit out of my nephew. He’s the best. But my sister-in-law warned me of “The Constant.” They’re constantly around, constantly needing and wanting, you’re constantly on call. I’m already tired.
It’s not that I’m stressed about whether or not I’ll be a good mother. I’ve heard “Good parenting is possible for anyone who’s willing to learn.” I’m a smart girl, I’ll figure it out. Plus, if I had any doubts about my abilities, I for damn sure don’t about Nate’s. I married the most compassionate man in the room and I trust our children will be absolute cherubs if he has anything to do with it.
Really, my concern is that my pastimes have never included babysitting or spending time with kids. So I’m kinda sorta hoping and wishing on a prayer that I even like this whole raising children thing… Particularly seeing as my entire life and a huge part of my identity is going to become absolutely consumed by it. For so long, I’ve regarded motherhood as the moment I’ll be “giving up my life to raise a child.” My freedom and independence…poof, gone. I fear I’ll be swallowed whole by motherhood with no one to hear my screams beneath the baby’s cries.
For four years, I ran a college prep program with 18 teenagers. Overnight, we damn near adopted these kids and guided them through the hell of COVID and onto college. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and along the way, I lost myself — self-care out the window, mental health in the gutter. The Dark Ages. The precedent has been set on my unfortunate ability to relinquish all control and care for myself in the face of children. With motherhood, I’d be charting a new course. Will I crumble like before? is the question.
The Pregnancy and The Birth
Pregnancy intrigues me for all the wrong reasons. I’m intrigued by the prospect of fun food cravings and the power to send Nate to Wendy’s at 10 o’clock at night. Rihanna has made pregnancy fashionable and I’m excited to strut belly and back rolls out without feeling like I need a pair of Spanx. I picture Nate, me, and gut full of human lounging on the couch watching the baby kick while we fall deeper in love and develop a new form of love for the first time in our lives. If pregnancy was just that, sign me up.
Except, it’s not that. With each new friend or family member pregnant, their horror stories have seeped into my consciousness. The food aversions, the constant state of nausea, the inability to find any chair comfortable, the desperation for freedom in the 9th month, watching and knowing your body will never look the same. It’s the luck of the draw that terrifies me most. Will I be the glowing woman with an easy pregnancy or the one on her deathbed? I pray I’ve given my doggie bags to enough homeless to cash in these karma points.
Now birth…what’s there to look forward to? “It was a great experience, you gotta try it for yourself.” - said literally no woman ever.
As a bohemian, I’m drawn to the black and white IG photos of women in the comfort of their homes. They’re maybe in a tub surrounded by their midwife and doula, seething in agony and dying for a hit of that epidural they quizzically deny. You hear of Serena Williams almost dying because they don’t believe in black pain, also reminding me that death is a possible outcome. Every woman nowadays seems to have been induced or had a c-section; something feels amiss.
Frankly, I have a low pain tolerance and I’m terrified of being trapped in that pain for hours upon hours. I’m going to be terrible at birth — says the same girl who drops her knees during pushups in boxing class because my arms were a wee bit tired. They say, to give birth is to live out the full extension of your womanhood; that sounds beautiful and poetic and like a man made that up. My body will perform something miraculous, my love and appreciation for it will surely grow and that newfound relationship is all that really intrigues me.
The Impact on Me and Nate
These are our final days as a terrible twosome. Our final moments of lounging around with nothing to do but annoying each other for funsies under the sound of our living room record player. Not that that’ll die completely with kids, but the purity and boundlessness of it will.
We’re spending our final days preparing for a time when I’ll inevitably hate Nate. We’ve already watched Fair Play and both read “All The Rage”, dispelling the myth of equal partnership and preparing for a domestic balance that’ll minimize resentment just as my swollen boobs are enslaved to his new rival. I have “How To Not Hate Your Husband After Kids” sitting in my Amazon wish list.
I imagine our love will swell in ways — watching a little clone of the other will warm our hearts to bits — but also dissipate in other ways, as we become two ships passing in the night meeting up as our heads hit the pillow and we awake to run the madness back again. The constant. We’ll be constantly on the move, in service to the tiny humans. My best friend and I will become business partners in running a household enterprise and romance will be scheduled in.
Our tiny human will be so cute though and the cuteness overload will manipulate us into feeling happy, is my guess. But we — the pair of us — will be different. Holding onto to US will be a feat. This is where they say marriage is hard and my fight to protect us from the complications the tiny human will serve to us is a toil I just wish wasn’t inevitable.
The Moral Implications
No one wants to talk about this. It’s too real. It’s too dark. Nate and I have attempted and within moments his head started to spin so I let him off the ride.
But let’s talk about it. You know, the whole our planet is on fire thing... America is in decline thing... A potential Trump horror movie sequel is in pre-production… What future will our kids have? What world will I leave them in to survive on their own? Feeling the pessimism I often feel, are we just having kids to bring a piece of selfish hope into our lives? But as soon as we kick the can, they’re just left to fend for themselves in fucking Mad Max?!
Why aren’t we all just adopting? There’s thousands of babies and children worldwide without homes or a family to love them. And yet, the novelty of having one of our own — a lil mini me — and the novelty of experiencing pregnancy for ourselves… Are we all just fulfilling selfish desires that actually go against the betterment of the collective?
I appease myself with the reminder that the future has always felt bleak, so it shouldn’t stop us from building a family. But I haven’t yet been able to explain why adoption isn’t just the answer and why, despite my self-righteous morals and very real pregnancy and birth fears, adoption still isn’t tantalizing enough...
The Upsides
Surprisingly, I’ve come very far in my thinking. The fears are still real but I’m also closer than I’ve ever been to feeling ready.
Back in 2022, I went to dinner with a friend who’d just started trying to get pregnant with her husband. I asked how she knew she was ready and she said “I’m ready for a new pace of life. I’m ready to focus on anything else than just myself and my career.” I hear that. And I’m kinda starting to feel that now.
Sometimes I’m so tired of myself. My anxieties, my work grind, same shit different day. 10 years deep in NYC and the day has finally come where I’m ready to sit the fuck down in a place with trees. I have a lot of friends, I’m Mrs. Popular. And I married someone with a large community as well. I’m socially exhausted and as much as I love my people, I love myself, my husband, and my peace so much more. Protect your peace, they say. So I’m about ready to nestle into a lil love bubble of our own creation. I’m about ready to be around the corner from my parents in Jersey, witnessing their aging as it happens rather than letting it sneak up on me. I’m about ready to think about something important beyond myself and my work. Just lemme sneak in this lil trip to Sydney first and I got you Nate!
To build a family that is our own, to experience a new dimension of love — it’s still aspirational, despite the bells of whistles of treachery it comes with. The meaning of life is to create love, to give love, and to receive love. To lead with love. I watched my own parents do a stupendous job at it. I think Nate and I have it in us too.
We birth these humans out of us and then stand by and watch them grow, praying our influence doesn’t fuck them up. By a certain point, you stand in observance as they take control of their own lives, as they make their own decisions — sometimes good, sometimes bad. You watch them physical grow up and yourself grow old. The circle of life. It is poetic and I can just let that be.
If this motherhoood, parenthood, should I-shouldn’t I topic interests you at all, I found alot of lil gems that helped me reconcile my thoughts as I wrote this essay. Here are two that really got me thinking:
READ: “How millennials learned to dread motherhood” (Vox)
LISTEN: We Can Do Hard Things Podcast EP 278. The Power of Child-Free Women with Ruby Warrington
Progress Update: December/January Monthly Midnight Watch - Small Axe!
The Monthly Midnight Watch is looking hella quarterly! I admit, I was dragging my feet to finish Small Axe. Watching black people face injustice just doesn’t have you running to the couch nah mean? But I watched it and I’m really glad I did, if only for the mind-altering conversation my brother, sister, and I had over the microphone.
I say “mind-altering” because I’d never really sat and thought through my first-generation American life experience to the extent that Small Axe forced us to. I’d never really parsed through what it means to be Jamaican-American and why the African-American history and experiences can at times feel distant to me.
The episode is still in the editing booth but should hit The Nite Owl any day now. You can still watch Small Axe (Amazon Prime) and join me in the Small Axe Discussion Thread to share your thoughts.
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you’re thinking or just drop me a line and say hey!
If this edition of The Nite Owl spoke to you, feel free to pass it along to others :)
Thanks for sharing bc every word you said is true! I’m 35 and 2 years into a marriage (Covid relationship) that has been really challenging. So the baby question is popping up all the time from others but I’m dragging my heels. Which I never thought would happen since I’ve always wanted to be a mom. But the way my marriage has been so far has me 2nd-guessing. Being in the fix-it stage of marriage certainly can’t be the right time to have a kid but like you said, the biological clock is ticking. So either we do it now in less-than-ideal circumstances or we wait until things get better (if they ever do) but maybe it’ll be too late then….its a conundrum. The desire to have a child and knowing your time is running out, but with the knowledge that you don’t have a partnership that’s strong enough to handle it. At least not yet. Sigh. How come no one told us that adulthood would be like this? Anyway, sorry for venting but really appreciate your thoughts!!
I looooove this. And I have to say, as someone who had these exact thoughts prior to getting pregnant, I think going in knowing all the downsides made a lot of my worst fears about motherhood not come true! I've actually found becoming a mother much more intuitive, blissful, and empowering than I thought possible. I somehow feel more myself! Of course my daughter is only 10 months old so I'm sure many horrors await me lol. Also fwiw I found pregnancy and birth to be a fascinating experience. Miserable, yes, but also weirdly interesting. Like skydiving or reading Ulysses or hiking Mt. Everest. Not for everyone and really scary and painful, but no regrets lol.