I Forgot to have Babies

I am 44-years old. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never birth a baby. Even if my body would allow it (which it wouldn't,) I don't want to be one of those women who attends her child's high school graduation at 65 or 70-years old. Science has allowed many new fertility options but I am slightly repulsed when I read about women going to gigantic lengths to have a baby in their 50s or 60s. Joan Lunden having two -- TWO -- sets of twins at her age is wrong, wrong, wrong.

I have been blessed with my husband's two children in my life. They are my greatest blessings. All of my friends have shared their children. My goddaughters ... oooh! I cannot explain the passion I feel for them.

Actually, I'm being facecious. I didn't forget. It was a conscious decision. I've been in other relationships and maybe I would've done it but the timing wasn't right. When I fell in love with the husband, there were already two children involved. I have been allowed to be actively involved in their lives. The good, the bad and the ugly.

I was 27 when the husband and I started dating and 29 when we married. The oldies lived in Mississippi and the first exposure I had to the mother-in-law's personality was when the husband said, "I told my mother about you." As the story goes, she said, "Get rid of her -- she'll trick you into having a baby." (I love to remind her of this story because she had never even met me.)

Tricking is not in my nature and obviously, that little prediction didn't come true. The other day she said to me, "You would've been a wonderful mother." Well, well! I'm a little psycho about certain things but it is always done out of love.

Others may not agree with me but I did get to experience motherhood, or at least a piece of it. I'm a nurturer by nature. I may not have birthed a baby but I've nurtured a few children. Still do.