Last night we had a conversation. The kind that makes you a little sad. Well, not you, but me.
Mothers day; from the end of April I start to feel the sadness. The twenty-fourth is one of those would have been due dates and it really gets ramped up the days before the holiday, with commercials on full blast.
He knows my feelings aren’t neatly resolved.
He knows I still struggle with my unrequited motherhood.
He never wanted children. He’s always been firm in this belief, and he’s comfortable with it. He loves children very much, but did not want to be a father. He’s a great uncle, and fantastic with his friends kids, but for a number of reasons (mostly related to his own father and his childhood) he decided not to reproduce.
He feels like I’m trying to change him.
I don’t think I’m one of those women, always trying to “improve” and change their man. Still, the old saying about women wanting to change their man, men wanting their woman to stay the same has some truth to it. I have suggested some nicer jeans. I do encourage him to eat more whole grains.
I want to paint the spare room. Maybe a pale blue-green, add a little throw rug, make it nice. This makes him uncomfortable; So does my sadness about being childless.
I have known from the beginning that he didn’t want children.
Honestly, I don’t want them that way either. I can’t have them easily, and the processes I would go to become a mother are done for me, they’re less than desirable. I would not want to put myself through that heartbreak again. He’s not holding me back from anything. Still, I grieve over what might have been.
I have known from day one that he didn’t want kids. The same way I have known how he feels about marriage, and how he does not want to go down that road again. Just like I know about his preference for white walls in the house.
These things don’t stop me from loving him. In fact, the way he holds strongly to his beliefs and opinions is one of the things I love about him. But, it doesn’t mean I agree with all of it, or that I ever said I felt the same way.
Sometimes I want to paint a room the color of sea glass. Sometimes I want to be his wife. Sometimes I still cry about not being a mom.
And I don’t know if that will ever change.