Year 40

40 was a hard year for me. It was a year of reflection on aging, loss, missed opportunities. Yes, there was reflection on accomplishments, too. Perhaps most significantly, the number 40 represented- with heavy force- the reality that I will not in my lifetime be having a child. I have varying degrees of sadness- and not- about this. Working through it, I’ve discovered a curious notion of consolation.

“If there were ever a time in the scope of history for a woman to be childless, now is it,” I realized. Today, when a woman is childless, perhaps our society thinks about her “self-centeredness,” or of her “not-knowing-what-she’s-missing,” or of infertility, but I doubt that the term “barren” comes to anyone’s mind. A woman is free to elect not to parent, live as a single person, pursue almost any career, and own a complete identity that doesn’t involve procreation.

Just one generation ago, my [adoptive] mom didn’t enjoy such luxury. When she was young, she was told that her career opportunities were Teacher, Secretary, or Nurse. (She chose nursing. I would have died choosing any of those options.) And at that time, in the 50s, it was still understood that raising a family was still woman’s job #1.

My mom raised an adoptive family while living with the knowledge of her infertility. Had adoption not been available to her, she would have felt even further removed from being “normal” or “like everyone else” or “worthwhile”. I have no children but will never have to know whether I may in fact be infertile. I can always imagine that I could have / would have had a baby if I’d wanted. I live in an era where woman have broad choices. Regarding the point of my having no children, I’m really relieved to be here-and-now.