I will say, first, that for whatever reason, the second loss has been easier than the first. Easier in that I knew what to expect, understood what I was feeling, and had a learned timeline of events. It was not emotionally easier, but I definitely functioned better. No catatonic evenings on the couch writing drippy poetry and sipping whiskey. I'll partly credit the new job for that high functioning sadness but I'll also credit the weird, wonderful resiliency of human experience. But that doesn't lessen the hitch in my breath, feel the hollowness of my answer, "no, no children." I am an excellent actress, so no need to assume this is painful for anyone other than myself. I am slick and clever and any discomfort can be easily sidestepped with a quick reference to lawyer antics, my newest kitchen gadget purchase, or a comment on somebody's fabulous shoes.
That's fine. Really. I understand the weirdness of meeting and investing in people, asking questions, picking and prodding to determine points of shared interest. We do so desperately want to connect with people and questions are how that information frequently makes its way to us. But I think it's the expectation of the question itself that I find difficult these days. I don't doubt that mothers want to know if there is shared experience there, a shared bond, working mom to working mom, and that's certainly a valid connection to hope for. But I wish we didn't start there. I wish that wasn't the first of the getting-to-know-you questions. Because I am positive that I will not be a more interesting person if/when I become a mother. I will never be of more value than I am right now. My worth, vitality will not increase. I will love someone new, cherish someone I've longed for, but I've actually experienced those things before. I could talk about my husband that way. And if you'd spoken to me before I met him, I could have spoken similarly about members of my family, dreams, goals, travels. My mind, my heart, my relationship with the world, they do not become more worthy of interest or bond or connection when I can add "mother" to my list of descriptors. I am wholly myself today and will be wholly myself forever.
Women without children never struggle here, they don't ask if you have kids. I don't ask women if they are mothers when I meet them. And it's not because I don't care, it's because their motherhood isn't a key piece of information for me in determining how I will connect with them. Because motherhood is not something we will link arms over, we have to find other areas to connect. Books, school, autumn, a shared love of americanos with vanilla syrup, travel daydreams, cars in the shop. I am aware of my increased sensitivity these days but the questions surrounding children feel very much like an audition with some women, as if my choice of monologue is under scrutiny and the cast list won't be posted until Friday. I think it's this assumed lack of invitation, this knocking on the window of a club I'm not invited to, that scratches the wound. Because so frequently after I say I don't have kids, the conversation falters. Even if I joke and bring up my adorable dog. Even if I ask to know more about the children, what grade, what sport, there's a languishing there and I feel not a little bit left in the cold.
While we've begun the adoption journey, we don't know how/when that road will end. I wish, in meeting women, we could connect as friends, as colleagues, as athletes on side by side spinning bikes, as lovers-of-Jane-Austen, as mutual haters of the office copier, as owners of the same leopard print sweater, and leave the do-you-have-kids questions for days, weeks, months down the road. I wish for many things, and this is one.
