Intangibles

I read a post the other day that bothered me.  It was written by someone I've read for a while now, but whom I would still consider to be at the early stages of this game.  She is younger than me, which I wouldn't have thought ten years ago would matter.

Something she said, though.

All of us, in our venting, have the right to be heard.  I'm not taking that away from her, nor saying she is wrong. It just -- bothered me.

She wrote about wanting to know when it would be her turn to dress her baby in cute Easter outfits.  And I can remember that feeling.  I remember it oh-so-well.  I remember walking down the baby aisle, fingering the clothes, with a giant lump in my throat.  Now I avoid that section like the plague, but once -- once I, too, dreamed of all the cute clothes and tiny shoes and the neat strollers.  I pictured myself driving around with my baby in the back seat, smiling and happy in my SUV, a carefree young mom.

But now?

Now, it's no longer about the tiny dresses or the adorable nursery decor.  I don't think about possible names, or try to figure out a special way to tell my husband we're expecting.

For me, the tangibles have long ceased to matter.  I don't mourn the loss of the growing belly shots or adorable newborn photography sessions.  Instead, I worry about who is going to hold my hand when I die.  Who will remember me, tell my stories, pass on my recipe for homemade popcorn.  I worry about where I will go for holidays after my parents pass on.

I don't think very often anymore about the things I'm missing now: the funny toddler stories, the sleepless nights, the presents I would be buying or the activities we would be doing (and inevitably posting on FB).  

I do think, perhaps morbidly so, about what I'm going to miss out on later,  if we never have children: the family traditions that won't be passed on, the bedrooms that will forever stand empty and waiting.  The sad looks that I will eventually get, the whispers I will notice.  I think about who will miss me.  Who will wish that I was there, sharing in their special moments?

These intangibles are what haunt me the most, when I honestly contemplate a future without children.  It's so much more than babies, and Easter outfits, and sweet cuddles and kisses.

I want a baby, yes.

But I want a family more.