Listen to Your Body
A female friend of mine recently asked me if I thought she should have a baby. She is about to turn 35 and feels like that bus is whizzing by and she needs to either get on or let it go. “That’s not a good reason to have a baby,” I counsel her. “Yeah, but I’m worried I’ll hit 40 and my uterus will self-destruct,” she replied. “I saw something about it on Oprah.”
I just recently read an article called “Listen to Your Body”. It said that the healthiest time for a woman to have a child is when she is between the ages of 16 to 20. Can you believe that?! Sixteen to 20?! In what, dog years? When I was sixteen I wasn’t even smart enough to drive a stick-shift, let alone raise a kid. Thankfully, I’ve matured since then. I can now drive a five-speed like nobody’s business.
I refuse to listen to my body. I’m afraid of what I might hear. And sometimes it’s loud enough for the guy next to me to hear, too. Over the years I’ve concluded that my body gives poor advice; I was 5′7″ in the eighth grade, became nearsighted at 20, and on my 32nd birthday got acne and gray hair. My hips blossomed when I was 13, but I’m still waiting for my breasts to develop. I think my body has a sick sense of humor.
I don’t have to listen to my body to know I’m getting older, not when the media constantly reminds us that our biological clocks are winding down. Is that what I’m supposed to hear when I listen to my body? A ticking clock? I broke down once and listened. All I heard was a low rumble (I think it was some bean dip I ate earlier), but no ticking. Maybe my biological clock is digital. If so, I hope it has a snooze alarm.
Regardless of what anyone’s body thinks, it’s tough to decide if you should have a child. On the one hand raising kids is a rewarding experience. You get to watch this tiny person miraculously go from child to adult. Using your experience and wisdom, you do your best to shape the child’s personality into one that other people will grow to love and cherish as much as you do. On the other hand, the child starts out as a crying baby with colic and poopy diapers, progresses to a whiny toddler who’s favorite word is ‘mine’, and eventually becomes a teenager who demands a cell phone and wants to borrow your car.
Before I decided to have kids, I knew in my heart that parenthood was not all Father Knows Best and Hallmark cards. To their credit, my parental friends didn’t try to white-wash the travails of being a mom and dad. But because actions speak louder than words, I sometimes thought the reason people with kids relentlessly lobbied for their childless friends to have children is because misery loves company. Now I’m not saying having a baby is miserable (although I have to admit, the idea of becoming a mini-van for nine months didn’t thrill me), but let’s face it, everything about your life changes when you have kids. And even though all new parents will tell you those changes are for the better, it’s hard to believe this testimonial when it’s being given by a frustrated father as he tries to mop up the stain on the upholstery from a diaper “blowout.” (Note to impending parents; this diaper blowout phenomenon usually occurs in the back seat of your car during rush hour or in line at the bank or just as everyone is ready to walk out the door. Merely a coincidence? I think not.)
I’m particularly interested in how my businesswomen friends expect to deal with the baby versus boardroom situation. These are high-powered, successful women all waited until they were well into their thirties and forties to have kids. But even these intelligent ladies go through a metamorphosis after they have that first child. They get all gushy and sentimental, as if getting stretch marks constitutes a religious experience.
“Having a child is the most fulfilling thing you could ever do.” Coos one of my best friends, as she sits on a inflatable doughnut, waiting for her episiotomy to heal.
Another friend chimes in, “A baby creates a family, and suddenly life has meaning. All of the trivial things that consumed our time and money before; vacations, ski trips, parties, restaurants, movies, plays, just aren’t that important anymore.” Of course, the new mom that’s telling me all this has developed a facial tick, talks to herself, and has a permanent stream of spit-up running down her back. Who am I to say that the trade-off isn’t a good one?
Being one of these crazy women myself, I must admit, there are certain things that seem to be a little more fun when kids are involved; the zoo, birthdays, Disneyland, Christmas. And have you ever walked around a video arcade without a kid? All the parents in the arcade look at you like you might be Chester the Molester.
Also I’ve noticed that some of my more (how should I put this?) fast-track, corporate-climbing (pushy?), stressed-out friends suddenly become more patient and slow down the pace of their lives after they have children (myself included). No more working late at the office, business travel gets cut back, and everyday annoyances like long lines, traffic, and taxes, just don’t seem that obnoxious to them anymore. One previously high-strung guy I know actually smiled his way through a tax audit.
So what’s the secret here? Does the baby come with drugs (for the parents)? Or is this slap-happy attitude the result of lack of sleep? It’s hard to explain, but has a lot to do with little things like wrapping gifts from Santa on Christmas Eve or teaching a child how to ride a bike. I guess you just have to be there.
All of which was absolutely no help to my 35-year-old friend. “You’re just as brain dead as the rest of my parent friends,” she said. “All you do is talk in circles,” which put her back at square one; confused, childless, indecisive and getting older by the minute. “Try listening to your body,” I said. “I did,” she replied, “and all I heard was a muffled burp.” I’m pretty sure that means that she should either a) wait another year before having a kid, or b) give up on the bean dip.
