New Archive:
November 2000 Issue
Sitting on the Fence
By Marci Cohen
A friend once told me that the hardest thing about being a parent wasn't the 3:00 A.M. feedings, or the constant exhaustion, or even the jelly smeared all over her antique Persian rug; it was the fact that now her heart lived outside her body.
She then went on to explain that this vulnerability, turned on its side, was what made parenting unique and beautiful. A paradox, I suppose. A difficult choice that every adult has to make. However, I have witnessed every friend, one by one, make this choice as if it were no choice at all. As if it were a given, like leaving home or landing your first job.
For me, it is more complicated than that.
While I am cruising around the southwest in my convertible during the carefree summer months, most of my fellow thirtysomethings are packing diaper bags, toys, first aid kits, and juice boxes into their SUVs and heading to the beach, simply to parent in a novel environment. Forget about catching some rays, reading a good book, or taking a dip in the sea. For them, the day consists of meeting the needs of others, once again, to forsake their own.
Now don't get me wrong. I know there's pleasure somewhere in this equation. In fact, becoming a parent is supposedly the most intense joy one can ever experience, a distinct and indescribable bond. I have been told that comparing this attachment to that of a lover, sibling, or parent is like trying to compare ice cream to sushi; not better, just different. Very different.
So here is where the complexity comes in. If I make the choice not to have children, will I miss out on what it means to be human, to feel love in all of its forms? Or does one not miss what she never has? This is the question that has been plaguing me since I turned thirty.
We are faced with choices every day. Some are as benign as what to prepare for dinner. Other choices, such as buying a house or choosing the next president, are more significant. However, the enormity of choosing children beats any other because once you go for it, you can no longer turn back. You can't bring your child back to the pound because he just won't potty train.
Without firsthand experience, the parenting decision seems much like a Catch-22; if I have a child to see if I want to have a child, it becomes too late to determine that being a mom is not for me. But if I don't, I may miss out on life's greatest reward. And I certainly don't have forever to decide.
Most days I find myself at various places on the proverbial fence. After a day at Chuck E. Cheese's with my sister and her three young boys, I feel exhausted, drained, and thankful that I can curl up with a pint of Ben and Jerryıs and watch a video. But as I absentmindedly pull dried pizza sauce out of my hair, I am reminded of their faces, so eager to learn and so hungry for love. All the mothers I know assure me that when you have your own children, the energy regenerates itself, and it can be taxing, but nothing could be more worth it.
The baby question hits me as I simultaneously struggle with decisions surrounding an aging parent. As I spend much of my free time easing my mother's recovery from colon cancer and settling her comfortably into senior citizenship, she lovingly asks me, "What would I do without you?" And this inquiry naturally begs the question, to whom will I turn when I lose my youthful fervor?
I imagine one day soon the answer will gently tap me on the shoulder. I will turn and smile, and feel as though no other option had ever existed. Whichever side of the fence I happen to land, it will be for the right reasons.
Marci Cohen lives in Somerville, MA and is a teacher of
academic skills and writing at the Cambridge School of Weston. She also
creates original designs for furniture, sportswear, stationery, and ceramic
pottery.
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