A pregnant pause

We are nothing if not all things kitten.

Our sunroom -- whose real purpose remained elusive for five years -- is now “the playroom.” We have an old sheet on the living room floor to protect the carpet from snags and the kittens from carpet shmeg (we think the Scotch Guard coating on the carpet makes the fibers break down in the sun so we end up with very linty kitties). We seem to be waking up at about 7:30 every morning since that’s when the clinic opens and therefore when the kittens seem used to resuming human interaction. My back is screaming uncle from all the sitting I’ve been doing on the floor playing with Zak and Sarah. I could regale at least myself with all sorts of adorable kitten stories and funny anecdotes. I have posted several dozen photos on Facebook and seven videos on my YouTube channel. My iTouch has a photo album which I can share while in line at PetSmart. I am the definition of a new mom.

And this brings me to the other big thing that was distracting me there for a bit a few weeks ago. In addition to worrying about the health of kittens I hoped to bring home, I also thought I might be pregnant. Yowza.

Rob and I agreed years ago -- during the few short months that we dated -- that neither of us was terribly interested in having children. But we also agreed that if we did have kids, one of us would stay home full-time at least until all the kids were in school. Both of us had stay-at-home moms before there was a name for it. We both felt there was enough value to it to prioritize and arrange our lives around providing the same for our hypothetical offspring. In the era during which women were being promised we could “have it all,” I concluded I didn’t want it all. Frankly, it looked exhausting. Nope, I would either have a career or have kids. I didn’t think I could do both well. I was going to make a choice. And I chose career.

Rob and I kept the conversation open over the years. Minimally, on our anniversary hike in Yosemite we would check in with each other on the kid thing. “You?” “Nope. You?” “Nope.” One time there was a much more lengthy conversation over dinner at a Chili’s where we both left the restaurant thinking, “Hmmm, maybe!!” We were wise to sleep on that thought because by the next morning it was gone.

So we had our careers. Our suitcases often passed in the night as we both racked up lots of frequent flier miles on expense accounts. Kids just didn’t fit into that picture and we were fine with that. We loved our life as it was and had no regrets. Besides, we still had plenty of time.

Then my back became an issue. During the several years of two spinal fusion surgeries and recoveries, I watched a number of friends become parents. I paid close attention to all the bending, lifting, and stooping that comes with parenthood. Even though I was medically ordered not to work again and was therefore a stay-at-home person, becoming a stay-at-home mom seemed irresponsible. I wouldn’t be able to be the interactive, energetic, playful mom I would want to be. Even if I had wanted to have kids, becoming a mom with lots of back pain just didn’t seem to make sense.

Then about four years ago, in my late 30s, a medical issue came up that resulted in the distinct possibility my time was up on the kid thing. For three months I tried to wrap my head around the idea that regardless of my opinion, I would never be able to have kids. Well, at least not biologically. Although that all passed as a “never mind” little medical blip, it provided me a very real heart-to-heart with my biological clock. It rang once during those three months, at a stop sign outside of town. I sat at that stop sign and burst into unexpected tears at the thought that nobody would ever call me “Mom,” that the choice I had been consciously making for over 15 years was now final. I mourned my non-motherhood for about 30 seconds. And then, unexpectedly at peace, I looked both ways and made my left turn and barely looked back.

And so here we are, almost two years past the agreed upon age by which we would ever have kids. And I was pretty darn certain I was fine just enjoying other people’s children. But then the stress of the kittens and worry about an elderly relative and medical things that come with being a woman in her 40s all lead to a gift I didn’t know I needed. A gift of nearly two weeks of contemplating the very real possibility of becoming a mother. And during those two weeks, when suddenly the discussion wasn’t nearly as hypothetical, I discovered I was scared out of my mind. When once again the universe said, “Never mind,” I realized for certain something I have suspected all along. My biological clock is not just on an extended snooze; it actually only tells time.