by The Wannabe Mom
At 24–after my hubby and I had been dating a few months–it started. It being that question that seemed to be on everyone’s tongue at the time: “When are you getting married?”
In case you didn’t know by now, I’m a bit of a smarty-pants. I would always have a quick-witted response locked and loaded. I would say, “Probably just after the baby comes next spring.”
Oh, the irony! I know. I know! Or, I’d hit them with this little ditty: “We already did. Last month. You didn’t get the invitation? It must be lost in the mail.” This one shut them up every time.
I did marry him. Pretty quickly. Not to avoid having to answer that question all the time, but because I loved him more than anything. And, Mama always told me when I found the person I could “stand to be around for the next 50 years,” I should make it legal and get the tax credit.
Fast-forward five years and I’m dodging bullets again. Only this time, it’s much more personal. And I’m much more sensitive.
This particular bullet shoots right through my heart: “When are you going to have a baby?”
It knocks the wind out of me each and every time. So much so, I can’t even shoot back with my normal, clever responses. It takes all my strength not to burst into tears when I see their eyes move towards my barren belly and their mouth open to ask.
Part of me wants to be honest. Part of me wants to lie. Part of me wants to tell them to $*&% straight off.
I’ve heard my “purpose in life is to reproduce” I’ve heard we are such a “great, cute, perfect couple” and we could make the “greatest, cutest, most perfect” babies. And, I’ve heard everyone’s favorite–my “clock is ticking”. But I can’t take any more pills, give myself any more injections or have any more sex.
I’m doing ALL I CAN. And, it’s still not happening for us.
What is it about that question? Before I stood in these patent-leather-peep-toe-infertility-pumps, I was just as guilty as the next person of asking my girlfriends if baby-booties were right around the corner. It seemed a natural way to start a conversation.
Now, I know better. I don’t dare ask. It’s none of my business. It’s rude. And, for anyone trying really really hard to have a baby, it’s truly like taking a bullet. Now, I’m empathetic. I hope everyone reading this feels my pain and thinks twice about shooting that gun in the future.
So, all of you CNBCs (childless-not-by-choice-s) out there–how do you respond to the awful question, “When are you guys going to have a baby?”
Hit me with your best shot.
If only I could breathe and hold back the tears, I would fire back, “I don’t know. Maybe when you get some manners.”