Baby Mine

Baby, baby, I'm taken with the notion
To love you with the sweetest of devotion
Baby, baby, my tender love will flow from
The bluest sky to the deepest ocean
Stop for a minute
Baby, I'm so glad you're mine, yeah
You're mine

I've been thinking a lot lately about having a baby.  

The past three nights, I've had dreams about having one.  In one dream, I was attending a baby shower and realized it was for me.  I wasn't pregnant in the dream, however.  Then, in another, I was stuck in traffic, and I kept calling someone asking how my baby was doing and apologizing for being late.   Then, last night, I had a dream I was working in this uber modern office building and my boss asked me to work late and I told him I couldn't work late because I had a baby at home waiting for me.

When I was a little girl, I never really fantasized about being mommy.  I didn't enjoy playing with baby dolls or playing house.   As I grew up, I can't say that I really wanted to have kids.  I think part of it stems from the fact that my mom and dad were always hounding me about getting married and having kids, so my indirect act of rebellion was to avoid both like the plague.  Not that I was getting offers for either.

After college, I worked in a day care center for awhile.  I enjoyed the kids but at the end of the day, I couldn't wait to get home.  The babies terrified me.  So tiny.  So fragile.  So... stinky.  I always reeked of baby formula and could not change a diaper without gagging.  I used to stuff cotton balls spritzed with perfume up my nose when I had to change a diaper.  I also did not do well with baby vomit.  Everyone would laugh at me and say, "Oh, when it's your own kid, you don't notice so much."  Really? 

During this time, however, I used to fantasize a lot about getting married and having kids.  I wanted to be the "stay at home" mom type.  I didn't want to work *and* be a mom.  I wanted to be the classroom mom who baked cookies and went on field trips.  I wanted to play with my kids and be there when they got off of the school bus. I wanted to be, as corny and anti-modern woman as it sounds, a June Cleaver type. Santa Claus. Easter Bunny. Tooth Fairy. Helping with homework. Birthday parties. Halloween costumes. Disney movies.

When I'd meet a man, I'd size him up as "daddy" material and wonder if he was someone I could share custody with some day.  Sadly, none of the men I met ever really stood out as "daddy" types.  I think I purposely gravitated towards men who would not be someone I'd procreate with so that it wouldn't be a temptation some day.

Then, I shifted my focus to my career and decided that babies just were not for me.  I convinced myself that babies were not for me.  I remember seeing a doctor once and hoping that she would tell me that having children wasn't in the stars for me because of health issues I was having, but she gave me a clean bill of health. 

I've done a pretty good job of convincing myself that babies aren't for me.

However, lately, I've been thinking more and more about the fact that I have no one to carry on my heritage.  No smart little chubby faced lookalikes to be the class clown or the class geek or the class dork.  No one to take care of me when I get old.  

I'm in no position to have kids.  I can barely afford to take care of myself most days and having a cat is about all of the responsibility I can handle.  I know I wouldn't be able to work and take care of kids.  I'm not dating or even actively trying to date. I don't go places where I can meet men.  I don't want to go all turkey baster and I don't have the money for that.  I'd never trick a one-night-stand into that (too much like an old Heart song).

But, I think about it.  A lot.  I worry that my one regret when I get older will be that I didn't have a kid.