You’d think it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sex. Having children.
You’d be wrong.
We are so accustomed to being able to control if we reproduce or not, that it’s almost impossible to admit, that we don’t really control it. We can limit the possibilities or maybe enhance them. But we do not control. It’s a conversation that every teenager needs to have the nerve to have, and every still single 30 something woman has to have the nerve to have. What are we gonna do about it?
I’ve noticed that being sexual in a committed relationship is somehow, for me, entwined with the need to reproduce. The things my body wants, are the things that would make me pregnant. I have sometimes been angry, disappointed and sad because Wonderboy didn’t come inside of me. On the intellectual level I can understand why I get upset, but I also agree with Wonderboy that it’s not the right time. This is what we decided, together, remember? I have no right to be upset.
But I’ve been growing tired with the same old excuse. It’s not the right time? So, what is?
The really excruciating thing here is that we are only using coitus interruptus as our method of birth control. I know! It’s not sound! It’s the devil’s tuxedo! But it’s worked for us for two and a half years now. And I guess you already guessed, what I’m thinking? Yeah, I’m wondering, if it’s working – or if I am not.
It’s never been my dream to have kids. I thought for the longest time that I probably never would, and I sure as hell never wanted to. And then. I got my unbelievably hard and challenging career going. I got my degree. I met Wonderboy. And – BOOM – suddenly I want babies. There’s no mistaking this for something else. When I even imagine that he’s going to come inside me, I drift off. My whole body is a bomb that just keeps exploding. It also keeps exploding if he happens to joke about babies (not wanting them or how they would make him miserable) or just doesn’t come inside me. Even if that’s what we decided on.
Damn it. I want it so bad, and yet, I don’t want to want it.
Because he doesn’t.
I’m in the same diabolical loop that half the population of the world is, has or will be in. My desire is irrelevant. I’m expected to want it. I’m the mother! Who doesn’t love babies? And he’s the man. Where’s the ball and chain?
I have a confession to make. Something happened two years ago, and the withdrawal wasn’t succesful. (It was a very acrobatic position, if you must know. We were so young and agile then.) So, we talked about it. He was devastated. It was too soon. It was not what he wanted at all. I agreed. It was too soon. So, I went (with him though) and got the infamous morning after pill. I was fucked up for a week. I didn’t throw up, but I was weak and fragile like I was terminally ill. I couldn’t even go to the store, it was too straining. And with all this undeniably horrible evidence that my body was getting rid of the possible pregnancy, I realized that I did want it. I didn’t want to let it go.
I told this to Wonderboy. I was crying uncontrollably, and he of course took it pretty seriously, it was his fault after all. We decided, we made a pact, that if anything like that ever, ever happened again, we would be happy for the conceived baby. We would never go through it again. He would never make me.
He hasn’t. But it feels like he has. Because a couple of weeks ago, when I chipperishly asked him how many children he’d really want, he answered zero. What had happened in the two years we’d spent together? How was it suddenly zero, when it used to be something else. Fast rewind: I told him on the third date that I wanted children. He said he didn’t. I said Well, i can’t date you if you don’t think you can, ever, want children. But I’m okay with it not being now, or next year or even the year after that. Hell, I don’t want them now, but I know I will, at some point, if we are happy together. I know I won’t be happy without them. And he said Okay, I guess I should start wanting them, then.
If it sounds like coercion, I must say that I don’t think it was. At that point, I could still choose. I didn’t know him that well, and I know myself pretty well. It would have been awful to let this unbelievably beautiful, sexy and gentle man go, but I wasn’t in love with him or anything. I could’ve made the choise according to my beliefs.
But I can’t anymore.
So you see. I feel he is the one coercing me. He has betrayed me. We’re about to be married. It’s been two years since the first real accident and the also so real realization, and he hasn’t spoken a word. He let me believe he wants me, and wants children with me. We have talked about our family countless times, the ways we’ll be better parents than our parents were. You know, the cheesy stuff.
And now? He’s unsure. Uncertain.
No, that’s not it. He’s aggressively not wanting it. He’s fighting against my desire, my need, to finally build a family. From what he says, I’ve kind of gathered that because I mentioned babies so early on, he thinks he’s somehow interchangeable. That if he doesn’t, I’ll just move on to the next guy. But I only want children with him. Because I trust him. Because I love him. Because I thought he wanted it too.
What a fucking tragedy this life is.