Maybe, I’m maternal deficient.

Is there such a thing?  If there is – I’m definitely deficient.  Mayday, mayday, need some supplements now.  I thought I was ready.  I talk the big talk but I can’t walk it.  My husband reminded me of when we first started dating (he is seven years my senior) and our talk about kids.  At the time, I confess, I thought I wanted a family early and I told him I did.  Although, in my defense, he told me he did too.  Ten years later, he’s still not that paternal. 

 

So, what is “maternal deficient”?  The best way I can describe it is that I lack a certain “excitement” around children.  The women I socialize with all love kids.  They love to watch them, hold them, play with them, kiss them, hug them, marvel at them.  I’m an arms-length observer.  I acknowledge, I smile, I squeeze their hand, I pat them and then I go on my way.  If I walk down the street, I don’t always look at them or smile at them.  Hence, why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m maternal deficient. 

 

There’s a stigma associated to this deficiency too.  Other women think I’m self-involved (a little is normal, isn’t it).  They think I’m too career-oriented (I like working, what can I say).  I fuss too much about what I wear (a few labels never hurt anyone).  I choose to talk with the men about the latest headlines rather than the feeding/sleeping challenges of their little ones (I’m sorry but I just can’t relate).  I get awkward around too many children (I panic, when I’m outnumbered).  My play tolerance lasts only a few minutes (I’m sorry, but I tire of the kicking the soccer ball). 

 

There you have it – I’m deficient.  I know I’m not supposed to be.  I know I’m supposed to long for children.  I’m sure things will be different when I do.  And I’m sure they’ll be more different when they’re my own.  For now, please don’t judge me.  Try and remember how you were before you had children.  The days when selfishness reigned, when sleeping in on weekends felt like heaven and when not being ready was okay because everyone else wasn’t either.  I know I have a lot to learn and I know I’ll probably be joining you to talk about poop, diapers and sippie cups. But for now, I just need to wade through this at my own pace, on my own terms.

You’re a cat and I’m a cat too!

I do have moments when children seem like the best thing and I better hurry up and get to it.  And for some reason it often happens on Hallowe’en.  Before you get creeped out, listen to the story.  I have a habit of crying after some cute kid comes to our door asking for candy.  It happened the year before last and my husband laughed at me for being a nerd.  This year was no different.  I decided to dress up like a cat (it was easy and what else do you be when it’s only a day away).  I drew on my whiskers, attached my tail, put on my ears – I was set.  This little girl came to the door (she was dressed like a cat too) and she was the sweetest thing.  Her dad stood watching her from the sidewalk letting her be a “big girl”.  I put some candy (at least three kids worth) in her bag and she looked up at me and said, “You’re a cat and I’m a cat too!”  I swear, a piece of my heart broke open and a feeling rushed over me.  She walked away, down the steps and took her daddy’s hand never knowing that in that moment, all I wanted was my own child to give me those special moments.  Those seemingly simple moments where a few normal words connected together make all the difference in the world.  I shut the door and cried like a baby.  Heaving.  Dripping.  Slobbering.  Even I was a little embarrassed – that she could have that kind of impact on me.  I don’t know when it might happen but it definitely brought me a little closer.