I had a dream a few nights ago that left me shaken.
In the dream a doctor looked up at me and said, “You’re pregnant, it’s a girl”. Sitting in a room filled with fluffy pink clouds I knitted a little blue and white blanket, my family around me, my little bump in front of me (which should have been a heads up - when I was pregnant there was absolutely nothing little about me). It was a peaceful dream, full of joy which was rudely interrupted by a siren blaring up to my hotel room window from the street below.
I was on a work trip interstate; my son and partner were at home. My belly still had a bump but that was bloating from the room service chips I ate at midnight and that I may have snacked on cold for breakfast.
I looked around the hotel room, so bleak, so quiet, missing my sons’ carpet of LEGO. I burst into tears.
I didn't want any more kids. I have one that I love fiercely that fulfils all my maternal needs and desires, he is truly the light of my life and all those other wonderful things people say about their children.
I am 38, my career is finally back on track now that my son is in school. I’m living my dreams! I work across the country, I have it all! Why would I want a tiny, screaming, pooping, time sucking crotch goblin?!
Culturally as a young and healthy Lebanese girl it was expected that I would have children, plural.
When I was younger, I dreamed I would be like Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music, benevolent, singing to my army of children in matching outfits and the oldest would care for the youngest. Culturally as a young and healthy Lebanese girl it was expected that I would have children, plural. When I told my grandmother I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up she would tell me, “one day you will make a great mother to all your babies”.
The stark reality was that upon having a baby post 30, giving up my career and starting over again, I realised that I did not want another kid. The one I had was perfect. My child was finally out of nappies, sleeping through the night, imagine the waking hell it would be to start that again? No, thank you.
Resolved that I did not want another baby, I shook it off and enjoyed the freedom of checking out of the hotel, no cleaning, no responsibilities. Not stepping on the damn LEGO carpet or yelling “GET YOUR PANTS ON, PANTS PLEASE. I SAID PANTS”. I had a couple of hours before a meeting so I hit the mall, thinking I would take home some gifts for my son, or my little niece and nephew.
I walked into a very adorable children’s boutique, wall to wall in tiny outfits. I stood there looking at the tiny booties, remembering my sons little teeny feet. I looked at the little flower headbands, dismayed I would never have a child that I could force to wear this ridiculous frothy pink floral monstrosity I would normally avoid like the plague. Then I couldn’t help it - I burst into tears (again).
The stark reality was that upon having a baby post 30, giving up my career and starting over again, I realised that I did not want another kid.
Standing there looking at a wall of baby blue and pastel pink, tears running down my face I felt so incredibly ridiculous, I hated the damn gender binary and here it was making me feel like as if something huge was missing from my life, my arms. My inner monologue screamed “What is wrong with me?”
Noticing my tears the store assistant asked me if I was ok. I turned to her and blurted “I don’t even want another baby!!”. She smiled and said I wasn’t the first woman “hijacked by her hormones” to walk in and do the same thing.
I smiled at her but was quietly, completely indignant. Hijacked by my hormones? Me? That isn’t a thing. I was in complete control of my emotions except for the part where I kept crying about an imaginary child I didn’t really want.
At the airport I called my partner and said: “Babe, I think I want another baby?”. He laughed and reminded me that I definitely did not want more kids and only two weeks ago I had told him to get a vasectomy.
On the plane a lady was seated in my aisle with a gap between us, she had a teeny tiny precious baby girl on her lap. We started chatting and found out we had lots in common. We grew up in the same part of town, we were both migrants. The whole time her beautiful precious baby on her lap, little feet peeking out of her blanket.
As we landed I reflected on how hard it was to travel with a baby. All the extra things to pack. I looked down at my one tiny backpack I needed for a week remembered those early months, the colic, the all-night feeding, the cracked nipples and nappies. The near hallucination of sheer exhaustion. The sense of losing my personal identity and the feeling that I was merely a vessel to sleep on and a cow producing milk.
When I woke the next morning, I had my period. All I felt was pure relief.
