My first marriage was a childless one that ended ten years ago. Now 41, I married my second husband Gary, who was eight years my senior. Although neither of us had brought up the topic of a child before we tied the nuptial knot, I knew I had to take immediate action if I did want one. After turning over all the scenarios, we came up with one advantage: allowing me to experience motherhood, an advantage set off by a list of disadvantages: high risk of childbirth for me, sagging energy that would make us pant while chasing a toddler, possible financial difficulties after retirement, and even the embarrassment to hear someone say “Your grandson is really cute”. I would turn 48 when my child entered the first grade and 60 if I was to see his high school diploma. Gary’s numbers would look even more disheartening. With all the extra work and stress coming from the anticipatable and the unforeseeable, we might not be fit enough to attend our child’s college graduation. When Gary and I made the sad but practical decision to stick just to each other, I was torn in half in a graveyard silence that followed. Gary had to arrange a trip to the east coast to help ease my disappointment.
We were two hours into the deep ocean on a whale watch tour in Boston when a huge hunchback suddenly jumped out and flipped over in the air before it dropped belly up, causing tons of water to explode. But before my widened eyes could blink, the creature leaped out a second time, accompanied by a baby whale. Then the bodies went down while the tails shot up, making one spattering after another. The crowd went crazy; and I was mesmerized, not as much by the fantastic sighting as by the closeness of this whale family. My eyes began to swim, and my heart ached.
The mother whale must be teaching her baby, and she must be brimming with pride. Gary was busy videotaping, but I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and started wondering if some common sense was worth questioning. How incomplete I would feel for the rest of my life! I wouldn’t have the opportunities to hear the first baby cry, to be enchanted by the sweet babbling and constant leg kicks, to witness the first roll over, the first effort to stand up, the first step, let alone the wedding, the blessing of being a grandma… I would pay to be torn with birth pain; I would pay to have sleepless nights so that my baby could sleep in lullaby; I would pay to parent a teenager; I would pay to…
That night I didn’t take my pill, and I made love with passion. That night I had a dream: I flipped over the ocean with ecstasy, and I wasn’t alone.
We were two hours into the deep ocean on a whale watch tour in Boston when a huge hunchback suddenly jumped out and flipped over in the air before it dropped belly up, causing tons of water to explode. But before my widened eyes could blink, the creature leaped out a second time, accompanied by a baby whale. Then the bodies went down while the tails shot up, making one spattering after another. The crowd went crazy; and I was mesmerized, not as much by the fantastic sighting as by the closeness of this whale family. My eyes began to swim, and my heart ached.
The mother whale must be teaching her baby, and she must be brimming with pride. Gary was busy videotaping, but I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and started wondering if some common sense was worth questioning. How incomplete I would feel for the rest of my life! I wouldn’t have the opportunities to hear the first baby cry, to be enchanted by the sweet babbling and constant leg kicks, to witness the first roll over, the first effort to stand up, the first step, let alone the wedding, the blessing of being a grandma… I would pay to be torn with birth pain; I would pay to have sleepless nights so that my baby could sleep in lullaby; I would pay to parent a teenager; I would pay to…
That night I didn’t take my pill, and I made love with passion. That night I had a dream: I flipped over the ocean with ecstasy, and I wasn’t alone.
