I Am Not The Mother Of My Child
Is it too weird to ask ourselves — “Do I want a child?” Or “Do I want to be a parent?”
The first time I thought about ‘my child’, in any form and shape, was in third year of my college. A son. It was just that this imaginary son was of my age—in third year of college and 21. And as I grew, this child grew with me. Same age. Same career graph. Same everything.
I never imagined ‘my child’ as an infant. Is it weird?
I never played mother as a kid. I played teacher, librarian, racer, sweeper, police, a news reader, detective, cook, painter, dancer, Amitabh Bachchan, and even an exterminator. But never a mother!
After my marriage, I might have had flashes of urge to have children. These urges lasted for exactly five seconds. During which my imaginary child would do a Benjamin Button from a 30 year old to a just-born. And poof! The urge was gone as swiftly as it had come—in a flash.
Early on in my marriage, Swati, my only friend from college visited with her kids—my house was hardly child proof or child safe; that evening they nipped whatever little glimmer of mommy desires I could have had in the bud. I told her that. She laughed. “It isn’t that bad.” Maybe not. But it isn’t for me. Just like becoming vegan or doing parkour.
While her kids nipped it in the bud, my mother-in-law trampled that bud. “Sumi will take care of the child. You should have one”. Udit told her off that day. “It will be her decision.”
A school friend WhatsApped a year ago “Why didn’t you have children?”. “For the same reason that you had children, I hope,” I messaged back. “What reason,” she asked. “Choice,” I said, thrilled at my clarity.
Ankur, my ex-colleague said “Savvy, you aren’t the nurturing types”. This, after I cooked chole-bhature for him! What can I say, I have honest friends. And I have killed plants that are pretty much un-killable in the larger scheme of things—Cactus and Aloe Vera. I never had a pet. I can’t pet a pet.
I do not tear up on seeing infants. I do not wish I had a child when I see my friends with theirs. It doesn’t come naturally to me. I am happy for them. I am happier for those who are doing a good job of raising lovely kids. And I feel terrible for those who wanted children but couldn’t have one.
What I lack in mom instincts, I make up for in friendship. I am 11 year old Piku’s sparring partner. I defeat him in darts, he trumps me in the game of life. For 9 yo Jabbar, I am the Santa who gives her books (which of course her mother pays for and she doesn’t know that yet). 13 year old Tara is the older one in our relationship.
I love these kids. Maybe… Once again flat five seconds.
My mum often says, “You get along well with these kids, you could have had one of your own”. I see them once a fortnight or once in a year, I am there just for the fun bits, I can’t imagine sending them to school, feeding them, or nursing them back to health. I get cold feet, even at the thought of it. Ankur is, perhaps, spot on!
I was sure, if I had a child under duress, I would mess it up.
Is it too weird to ask ourselves — “Do I want a child?” Or “Do I want to be a parent?”.
Just wanting a child feels like “the neighbour has an alto, I want one too”. Being a parent is the absolute desire to nurture a child and not treat it like a trophy.
The thing about children is that they need copious amount of care and love. Harsh words—to children and between parents—stick; it shapes children into broken, chipped, cracked adults. And the cycle goes on and on.
My parents were kind to us and to each other. There was no violence at my home. But Udit’s was not the same. Actually, he was more afraid of messing it up than I was.
“I am my father’s son. What if I turn into him? My child will suffer like I did.”
That was it.
I already had a child that needed a lot of love and care. I was going to be his best friend. I was going to fix the chip and the cracks and fill this child with love.
It is work in progress.
My child is now 46!
This was written during one of the Ochre Sky Writing Circle workshop by & . The prompt was “The thing about children is…”
Choice 🙌🙌
Problem is when most of us made a choice or perceive something as our informed choice, we are clueless how much our choice rooted from patriarch, how much it is influenced by social culture norms. I cried buckets when my doctor informed me almost 17years back that they have to remove my right ovary & due to PCOS, probability of me becoming a mother is almost negligible. I did everything said by my hindu parents, hopping from temple to temple to feed poor people, just to improve that chance. We had no courage to communicate the news to my Muslim in-law who were just getting comfortable with our interfaith marriage. Today, when I look back I realise my cry for “I want to be a mother” was not my informed wish, it was colluded with fear of being socially outcast (after interfaith marriage, I had almost zero strength to fight social norms), not getting an opportunity to get motherhood that is overly glorified by society. Not having a second child - despite of everybody including my doctor pushing for it after my baby girl- was an informed choice I made.
Thanks for this beautiful, thought-provoking piece - it stirred innumerable emotions, raised several questions for each of us to ponder
Hard relate to everything in this essay! I adore my friends' kids but that's as far as my parenting instinct goes.
I wonder if the increasing number of people choosing to be child-free has to do with people waking up to the fact that child-bearing is, in fact, a choice.