Screaming baby, 12:00 am, the sound coming loudly from an open window next door. An immaculate couple lives with their child in a similar, turn of the century house turned duplex, our windows are practically side by side. They have an annoying diesel car that they start up at any given time and than let run for what seems to be hours on end. I am not sure if either of them have jobs. This puzzles me, perhaps they are both stay-at-home parents? Could someone really afford that luxury? Perhaps one of them is a Microsoft millionaire, the kind I keep hearing about, part of the young, elite, wealthy hipsters who have bought up all the Madrona property. Why would they live in a duplex? (The other half of the unit is inhabited by a tiny, old, black lady named Mabel who has resided there for 40 years).
Josh and I have slowly realized that the crying that we hear frequently is typical for a baby. We hadn’t realized how much babies really, truly cry. At first I thought maybe the kid was just sick, and that’s why he starts screaming for a good solid hour at 3am. Now I am guessing this is just typical baby behavior. Kids cry. The whole ordeal sounds exhausting, and the screams are painful to our ears, I can only imagine how it must feel for the parents.
The crying has recently prompted Josh (and myself a little) to shy away from having babies (anytime soon). Every time I think I’ve convinced him that pro-creating might be fun, the shrill crying of our tiny next door neighbor rains down on the baby parade. Not that we were planning on firing it up this year or next, but there are constant reminders that time is a’tickin. Josh’s eldest sister has three children under the age of four. She joked that we needed to start having kids soon so that our children could play together. Josh said, “We plan on having your kids baby-sit our children.”
Of course, whenever thinking about this topic comes the whole: What if it turns out we are unable? (All that wasted birth control pops into mind immediately). We agree we don’t want to be one of those psychotic, infertile, parents who spend thousands on fertility treatments. Sure there’s adoption, but what if you adopt a little psychopath? You’re already taking a chance with your own genes, why risk someone else’s?
I already know I don’t want to be one of those forty-somethings trying to start a family. It can’t possibly be easy to wait that long. Can you imagine how exhausted you’d be chasing after a teenager in your fifties or sixties? I also know that I have always inherently wanted kids. Unlike Dr. Phil’s annoying, always-in-the-audience-smiling wife, I have never felt like I was “put on this earth to be a mother.” Lord, who is that confident?
I also fear losing my looks, getting fat, experiencing permanent under-eye circles. These egocentric, self-absorbed thoughts probably mean I’m no where near sacrificing my life to have a kid. I see women jogging by with baby strollers and I admire them. (Hell yeah, I’m getting a jogging stroller, thank you very much). I am also currently neurotic about my stomach, how big it is after eating a cupcake, how many sit-ups I need to do; I worry how my neurosis might grow after my stomach goes to hell. Maybe I’ll be too distracted, maybe it’s just all part of the aging process, but I have prided myself on being in good shape. I fully plan to grow old gracefully, I really do…
Whenever I mention some of these thoughts to other parents they give me that weary, “you have no idea”, smile. I’m sure I sound like an idiot most of the time to current Moms and Dads. I also get the whole “no need to rush into it” song and dance as well as the “there is no manual, you have to make it up as you go along.” Of course I have no interest in rushing it…I’m only talking about it because I have to, because they throw all these stats our way, because I don’t want to be a parent in my fifties on the off chance that my aging body could even crank out something that late. My father said, however, that several of their childless friends changed their tune when they hit their late thirties. Suddenly, the career they had worked so hard on wasn’t the ‘end all be all.’ People are having families later on average, and I’m just fine with that. However, I don’t want to struggle with infertility just because I waited so long.
Back when we were in our early twenties and expounding on our make-believe future, back when we didn’t even have a solid idea of what we wanted from each other, back when we were merely dating, Josh and I figured that by 28 we’d have a kid. 28, right? At 22 that seemed so far off, like 28, wow, we’ll be practically 30 so of course we’ll have to start than. And than when we were 25, a year off from becoming engaged, living together pretty solidly, Josh and I thought: Ok, 30…we’ll start at 30. After all, my parents started at 30 and they had 3 children. It’ll be great to have kids in our 30’s, let our 20’s be our glory years, the real good times. Now turning 30 is only 2 short years away. Along with having children comes the whole tangle of The Dream. We should have a house, of course, we should be home owners before pro-creating…and solid jobs, income is so important, y’know. Oh, and we should be really solid and secure within ourselves, and be really established in a community so that we’ll have a whole village to help raise our kid.
Times like this I think, even though it would have to beat a 98.9% odd, an accident might alleviate a lot of the ridiculous planning. Of course no one is 100% ready. And if you wait until you have enough money, you’ll never have kids. Right?
Anyway, long story short, the next door neighbors have really given us the solid reality of what it is like to have a small person depend on you. They’ve removed a lot of the ‘aww, how cute, I want a baby” feelin you get when looking at a chubby toddler riding in a grocery cart. I know, I know, my Mom said “it’s different when it’s your own children…really.” I imagine she means forgiveness, the ability to look past your screaming, snotty nosed child and see the goodness, the part of you that really matters.