When I turned twenty-six, my mother started a fifteen year campaign to get me pregnant. Moving to Taiwan didn’t stop her agenda–she just ramped it up every time she saw me. Some of the reasons she proffered: it was a woman’s biggest duty; it was special for a mother when her daughter had a child*; she would move back to Minnesota to help me with the child; I could compromise with my boyfriend at the time who was starting to make noises about wanting children by having one child; I could adopt a black baby to match my cats. By the way, the last was said in a joking tone, but it was only a half-joke. She even dragged my grandmother into the conversation by saying she, my grandmother, wanted to be a great-grandmother before she died. Why, I don’t know, as she never showed any interest in being a grandmother, but probably for the prestige. I said that I could do it, but would have to have sex without a husband to get it done in the time frame (grandmother was dying) and incredibly, my mother said my grandmother would be fine with that. A lifetime of Christianity thrown out the window for someone else having a child in order to bestow upon her a meaningless title.
I am not exaggerating that she mentioned this every time she came to visit and would. not. let. it. go. She could not imagine that I could be a woman and not have children. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want children; it was my duty. I have never been sure of anything in my life other than that I never wanted children. One time, she wore me down to the point where for a brief moment, I considered having a child just to shut her the fuck up. Fortunately, I came to my senses and realized that was a shitty reason to have a child and never thought about it again.
When I hit forty, my mother dropped the kid talk, but then she ratcheted up the ‘when are you getting married?’ bullshit. I realized in my late thirties that I did not want to get married. I saw it as nothing but misery, honestly. Not just because of the bad marriages I saw around me, but because I really, really, really did not like compromising with my time. I do what I want to do when I want to do it and how I want to do it. My frequently-given comment is that if I want to eat cereal at three in the morning, I damn will eat cereal at three in the morning. I have a friend who can only eat a certain cereal when her husband is on a trip by himself because he considers it a children’s cereal. Even the good marriages I’ve seen are involved and day-to-day. I mean, that’s the way it should be; I’m not dissing marriage itself. But there’s no way I want to coordinate with someone when I just run to the store or whatnot.
Back in my thirties, my BFF tried to convince me that marriage was what you made it. She said you didn’t even have to live together. You could live in separate houses or duplexes or on separate floors. She’s right, but you still have to interact with that person on a regular basis. More than just a check in with them in the morning and go about your day.
My mom pushed hard. She said who would take care of me when I was old? I should marry a strong man who–I don’t remember the rest of what she said because I blocked it out. Also, I thought about how she was in such denial. Would my father be able to take care of her if she were to become deathly old? Hell, no. He couldn’t even take care of her when she had shoulder surgery for fuck’s sake. When she had emergency gallbladder surgery in the States, he never came back to visit her. I was the one who took care of her, not him.