- I had never been particularly drawn to babies or had a strong desire to become a mother, so I was uncertain about whether I wanted kids.
- After much deliberation, my husband and I decided to stop using contraception and see what would happen.
- Following a miscarriage, I realized that I did want children and eventually gave birth to a son. While I may not have a natural love for kids in general, I adore my own child.
When my son was born, I experienced the same mixture of awe and joy that most new parents do. In the hospital, my husband and I admired our creation, entranced by his dark hair, long lashes, and tiny fingernails.
This was a scenario we never thought we’d find ourselves in. Neither of us had a natural affinity for children, and the idea of having one never strongly appealed to us.
Uncertainty about parenthood
I was never what you would call a “baby person.” When friends offered me their newborns to hold, I would politely decline. On airplanes, I would inwardly groan when a distant child became fussy. Interacting with kids always made me feel like I was playing a role and not being genuine.
Living as millennials in London, my husband and I prioritized our careers and experiences over starting a family. We spent five years as expats in Abu Dhabi, enjoying the freedom to travel and indulge in fine dining. We were both in our mid-30s, married for almost a decade, and people had stopped asking us when we planned to have children. The conversation about starting a family was one we avoided, not knowing for certain what we wanted. However, the topic resurfaced when a friend announced her pregnancy, causing us to reevaluate our own desires.
During a late-night heart-to-heart, my husband expressed concerns about the possibility of regretting not having children in the future. We decided to try something different and stopped using contraception, allowing fate to dictate our path. If we couldn’t conceive, at least the decision would be made for us.
About a month later, I unexpectedly became pregnant.
There was a brief moment of surprise that everything worked out biologically, despite my age of 35, which put me in the category of a “geriatric mother.” Unfortunately, the joy was short-lived as I experienced a miscarriage. We were ushered into a small room at the hospital, where a nurse empathetically comforted us behind her mask.
The embryo had lasted for four and a half weeks, and I carried it for a total of six weeks. Miscarriages aren’t something that one quickly recovers from. They are drawn-out ordeals, with weeks of emotional and physical pain. Despite the hardship, we found a glimmer of hope in the loss and felt compelled to try again.
Love for my own child
Throughout my life, I never felt a strong urge to become a mother. Even during my second pregnancy, those feelings didn’t change. I didn’t fawn over other people’s babies, and even during ultrasound scans, I remained composed.
However, everything changed when I laid eyes on my son for the first time. It was not a sudden love for all children, but rather a deep affection for my own child. I was enchanted by his quiet demeanor in the hospital, observing his surroundings while other babies cried. I adored his stubborn refusal to have his feet covered by a blanket and his adorable curly mullet.
Courtesy of Camille Hogg
Jokingly, as we left the hospital as a family of three, I commented, “Our baby is everything. Other babies are just Ken,” referencing a line from a recent “Barbie” movie. This sentiment continues to ring true even weeks later. In the early stages of parenthood, I am starting to grasp the complex nuances of wanting and not wanting children.
As our lives shift from fancy dinners and spontaneous travel to feedings, naps, and bath times, I still miss our previous lifestyle. I empathize with others who are contemplating parenthood, grappling with intrusive questions and waiting for the perfect moment to start a family.
While caring for my son at 3 a.m. as he cries inconsolably, I am filled with fear of making mistakes. However, when he gazes up at me with curious eyes, grasping my finger with his tiny hand, a profound sense of completeness washes over me. It is a part of myself that I never knew existed.
Even after becoming a parent, it is unlikely that I will ever truly love other people’s children. However, I will be more understanding the next
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