I Wish It Weren’t Almost Over, Like It Is.
When I was growing up, I wanted to have a whole slew of kids. I believed that life was like The Brady Bunch and that I could choose three boys and three girls of my own. I always wanted a huge family.
I picked names out for the boys. All my life, I only had names for boys. In my college years, I decided I wanted to have six boys.
When I actually (finally) got married and had kids, I ended up with 2.5 boys. My stepson is totally awesome, but since I do not “parent” him, I usually exclude him from my blog. I was thrilled to watch him grow into the fine young man he is today, but he never, ever needed me. He had two perfectly wonderful parents of his own.
I like to be needed. For me, it’s what parenting is all about – even if it means being needed from a distance.
Now that I have kids of my own, and since I am too old to have any more, I regularly consider whether or not I really want another baby.
And when I really allow myself to ponder the question, I realize the sad and shocking reality.
I do want another baby. In fact, I want more than one. I still want (at least) those other four kids.
I want them in the worst way.
I regularly wish I had gotten married about 15 years earlier, so I could have had more kids. My husband didn’t want more children – and I was, of course, nearly 40 when I had my second child. Bill was worried about money mostly, and retirement. He’s ten years older than me.
I even considered adoption because of my age but, for us, that didn’t make any sense. So we got a dog instead.
Still, it makes me sad to know that I only have 2.5 kids, when I really wanted more. I don’t have that Brady Bunch life with kids all over the place. My boys are nearly grown, and there aren’t any new kids to replace them as they leave home. I wish it weren’t almost over, like it is.
It makes me sad that I waited so long to have kids. To be fair, I had no choice but to wait, in order to marry the right guy for me.
But still. It makes me sad that there was a gaping hole in my life for so many years, and I didn’t even know it was a gaping hole.
Or more accurately, it makes me sad that I tried to fill a gaping hole for many, many years – but didn’t realize that giving my time to my children was a more worthwhile endeavor than any of the ideas I had in my youth. My ideas for gaping-hole fillers were utterly pointless.
I am old now, and I know this. I didn’t know anything then.
I guess I feel the gaping hole coming back, as the kids are growing up. And to be honest, I don’t have any idea what to do with it now.