Reality is a mother. A Catholic or Jewish one

As we get older, many of us lose that feeling that “things will turn out OK.” We’ve seen the other side of “OK.” We know everything happens for the best but that doesn’t stop it from stinging like a motherfucker.

I have lots of friends trying for babies, buying houses, buying cars, etc. And I guess I’ve been in my field too long and been tossed out on the street too often despite being the hardest-working asshole on the Eastern seaboard. But I keep my car I bought in 2001 and it kills me daily to afford my rent in a chi-chi ZIP code.

I was saying to a friend whose spouse wants more kids but magic isn’t happening yet this time around, I never felt the pull to be a mother. And that must make me an oddity.

Don’t get me wrong. Last guy I really had some feelings for, I figured we’d march down the marriage and kids route. I’m pushing 40 and he’s pushing 50. I figure, waiting isn’t the option it was when we were all 23.

So, if I was gonna hang in there with this moving-at-a-glacial-pace entanglement, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to say, hey, I wouldn’t be upset with this sort of outcome.

I guess that’s ring-chasing to a man. But Christ, this is someone who told me he wanted at least two kids and even though I’m in no fucking rush, I thought I’d put it out there.

I figured it was faith.

There was no water in THAT pool when I took the leap.

Oh well.

Faith is something I’ve struglged with forever. I never felt the “pull” to have kids because I’ve never met anybody I felt overwhelmingly bullish about procreating with.

That and I grew up poor, with five generations crammed in the two-bedroom rowhouse where I was born in a bad part of town. I never wanted to do that to my kids.

And I always thought I’d be more valuable to a man if I stayed kid-free. I’m thinking “not so much.”

If I got knocked up now, I’d have to quit my job and find another. There’s no way I could handle it all. Even if I could leave at 5, that’s an hour commute and if I had to cook and put the squirt to bed by 7, I’d see her for like 15 whole minutes.

I often think I’m so clever, that I’m free to travel and do what I want to do. But the truth is, while I crave the jet-setter life, if I’m stuck in this area and with a full-time-plus job and with responsibilities out the wazoo, then maybe I wouldn’t hate having a little structure … a little something to “work for” … if you will.

Maybe that’s it. People don’t necessarily have faith that it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to. But that if we’re stuck in this life, we should do it our way … however we define it.

But I look at one friend struggling with infertility and you can’t help but root for her. She knows what she wants. She tries EVERY avenue. At EVERY expense. After EVERY heartache-filled loss.

You root for her because it’s what she wants. She has put it into the universe that she WILL be a mother, damn it.

People don’t root for me because what do I want? I want safety and security and a feeling of achievment. Big deal. I want a cute apartment and a car that doesn’t need repairs every three weeks. Whoopee.

What if I put it out into the world that I want the world’s best relationship under the sun? A true partner? One I can build a life with and travel internationally with and maybe even (ring-chasing alert) marry?

What if I wanted a kid? Would the universe finally cheer for me and … more importantly … would it support my dream just for “putting it out there”?

But what if I said I want to be CEO of a company and own the highest-tech penthouse in all the lands where I could entertain my staff to reward them for how hard they work for me? What would the universe say then?

I guess it would tell me to believe in it and work toward it and it will come. And to have a little faith. OK, a LOT of faith.

The hard work part is easy. It’s the believing that trips me up every time.

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