Last week I had the opportunity to photograph a birth, and it was the most beautiful thing and has absolutely left me changed - to have witnessed such a monumental thing and also such a basic thing of life. Wow. I can now say I have seen someone be born and I have also seen someone die. Someone entering this world and someone leaving it. Weird and amazing and full circle and certainly makes you think about mortality. Anyway.
Back in December I reached the ripe old age of 27, and as of last month, Matthew is 34. And we are childless. Not due to infertility, though I know that could potentially be an issue down the road, especially since my eggs aren’t getting any younger and all that. Nay, we are childless because, up until now, we have not been ready for a child, for various reasons that I will not delve into here today.
Family members have been reasonably patient and non-pressuring in regards to our child-free-status, until recently when Matthew’s grandmother expressed what has likely been on everyone else’s mind. We were at Christmas, and I was holding a cousin’s baby while Matthew sat beside me watching it cautiously. His grandma walked by, stopped short, raised her eyebrows, and said, “Do you need instructions on how to make one of those?” Our anniversary card from her this year also contained similar sentiments. A spitfire, that woman, gotta love her.
The truth of the matter, though, is that we are both so torn about children and parenthood and all that it entails. Having a child involves a certain amount of dying to self, which means that at some point in the process I, for one, would likely have to relinquish my status as the most selfish person I know.