As Mother’s Day draws near, I can’t help but feel the weight of my childless status. While browsing for the perfect card for my own mom, I encounter messages that tug at my heartstrings, like, “Because of you, I’m a better mother to my own kids,” or “Now that I’m a parent, I understand your sacrifices.” It’s an emotional moment that leaves me wondering if this longing will ever fade. Will I still feel this way at 45 or 50? The clock is ticking, and I’m 42 years old.
Like many, my life hasn’t turned out exactly as I envisioned. I’ve always dreamed of being a mother. As a teenager, I babysat for a lovely family in my neighborhood. Those kids became like family to me, and I spent countless summer afternoons at their home. I even imagined that they were my own, waiting for my dream husband—whoever I was crushing on that week—to come home in a suit. I adored their baby powder scent, soft skin, and tiny fingers that gripped mine.
I won’t sugarcoat it—there were moments when I was exhausted after hours of babysitting and swore off having kids forever. Although I romanticized motherhood, I learned that teenage babysitting is basically a crash course in birth control.
My first job in publishing was with the Golden Books Adult Division, focused on books for parents of children who loved our classic titles. I worked for an editor who specialized in self-help and parenting books. When I transitioned to an acquisitions editor, I found myself drawn to similar topics. My authors often asked, “Do you have kids?” and I would reply, “No… not yet. But I’m preparing for the future with all these parenting books!”
I married my husband at 36, but we chose to delay starting a family while we sorted out our finances. We wanted to be responsible—at that time, I was working in publishing, not making much, and my husband had traded his musical dreams for a steady job in lawn care. We were buried in debt. When I found myself editing parenting books again at a new job, the familiar question arose: “Do you have kids?” I answered, “No… not yet. We just got married,” hoping they couldn’t detect the wistfulness in my voice.
Just as we decided to move forward with starting a family, our marriage faced challenges, causing baby plans to be placed on hold once more. I felt torn between desperation and denial. At my age, I knew I couldn’t afford this limbo, especially without the financial means for fertility treatments or adoption. I resented the notion that if you truly want children, you should do whatever it takes. Sometimes, life is not so straightforward, and I didn’t want to bring a child into the world until I felt ready.
As my husband and I mended our marriage, we revisited our family plans and began trying to conceive. I became methodical, tracking my ovulation and temperature. But as time wore on, the thrill of trying began to dim. Each negative pregnancy test chipped away at my self-esteem, leaving me feeling inadequate. I dreaded each cycle, knowing that despite my attempts to stay grounded, I would feel a profound sense of loss. Friends continued to ask about my children, and my answer remained, “No… not yet,” but I started to fear that soon it might become a definitive “No.”
By this stage, most of my friends had multiple kids, and it felt like every corner I turned, another friend or colleague announced a pregnancy. I love my friends and their children, and I was genuinely happy for them. Yet, I couldn’t shake the sting of seeing so many pregnant bellies. I began to convince myself I was experiencing pregnancy symptoms, only to realize they were merely signs of PMS. One month, I truly believed I was pregnant, only to be met with disappointment when, on the same day, a close friend called to share her own joyful news. I returned home and cried on my husband’s shoulder.
There’s a certain point in a woman’s life where you either belong to the “mommy club” or you don’t, and a large part of womanhood seems tied to motherhood. I’ve never felt the reality of pregnancy, childbirth, or breastfeeding. I often wonder if I’ll ever be part of that conversation.
Every Christmas, my husband and I dream about whether the following year will bring us the greatest gift of all—a child. We envision the joy of sharing the holidays with a little one, complete with Santa Claus, wrapping presents, and baking cookies. We picture first-day-of-school photos, bedtime stories, and guitar lessons. But we also grapple with the fear of loneliness. As our parents age, we confront our own mortality. If one of us passes away first, we don’t want the other to be left alone. I want to know that my husband has someone to love him and comfort him in his old age.
After about a year of trying to conceive, we paused our efforts. I worried about job security, as my company was struggling, and I feared that getting pregnant could jeopardize my career. I had been with my employer for seven years and felt it wouldn’t look good to start fresh somewhere new while expecting. I felt angry that men didn’t have to navigate such dilemmas. I became paralyzed by indecision, feeling it was irresponsible to pursue pregnancy amidst uncertainty.
Months later, I lost my job, and the world still turned. I regret that I spent so much time paralyzed by fear. Over the past nine months, I’ve focused on finding a full-time position, building a freelance editorial business, and yes, we’ve started trying again, as a friend jokingly put it, “pulled the goalie.” I’ve come to realize that life will never be perfect, and sometimes you must take the leap that frightens you the most. I’ve grown tired of worrying about others’ expectations of what a responsible path looks like. This is my life, and I refuse to let “No… not yet” turn into a final “No.”
As Mother’s Day approaches, I brace myself for the well-meaning wishes for a happy Mother’s Day. I will smile, thank them, and carry on. For now, I’m grateful to still have my own mother to celebrate and buy cards for on this special day—an extraordinary gift in itself. Who knows, maybe next year my answer to the question about parenting will have changed. Perhaps it will finally be, “Yes.”
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Summary
The journey toward motherhood can be filled with emotional ups and downs. As the author reflects on their desire to become a parent, they navigate societal pressures, personal challenges, and the complexities of relationships. With hope in their heart, they dream of a future that may include children, all while celebrating the love and support they currently have.