First plane to Rio

I was pretty late to the Mommy Game.... 42 (and a half) when my twin daughters decided to arrive on the scene two months early. I won't bore you with the gory details of my three years of fertility-related gymnastics and less-than-glowing pregnancy (do feel free to email me if you would like a copy of that whiny manifesto), but I will say that, all in all, I'm now in a bit of an odd spot. Yes, I know you always hear about how women in in their 40s having kids "later in life" is becoming the new norm, but I don't personally bump into other me's very often, I can tell you. It seems like everyone around me belongs in one of 4 categories:

• significantly younger than me, but with children the same age as mine (which means these young moms have fewer wrinkles, less cellulite, and are many years away from fanning themselves with their notebooks during meetings because, dammit, did someone suddenly turn up the heat in here?)
• my age, with kids quite a bit older than mine (and some of these people have GRANDCHILDREN, I kid you not!)
• my age, but have made the conscious choice not to procreate (these people stand out by dint of their well-rested faces or by a tired but blissed-out expression that shows they obviously spent the previous evening at some incredibly cool wine bar, not worrying about getting home to the babysitter who is about to cost them a small fortune)
• my age or just slightly younger, who are still straddling the fence and wondering if they should take the plunge into parenthood. These are the people who listen to your stories ("She puked for 3 hours -- completely ruined my new duvet -- and then I finally got her into bed just before dawn... had about 2 hours sleep before I had to get up, make lunches, and get out the door to work...") with a glazed look of fear in their eyes. 

These are the people to whom I would like to say: Think carefully. Very, very carefully.

This is going to be such a non-PC opinion to express, so you may want to tune out here or flip over to a site bearing pics of puppies or something along those lines. And I want to preface my comments by stating that I love my children with all my heart and am eternally grateful that all of the fertility crap did indeed work, that the scares I had during pregnancy never materialized into anything serious, and that I got exactly what I prayed for. BUT.... no one -- and I mean NO ONE -- tells you the truth about having kids. Why? Quite simply, if they did, the human race would die out. Seriously.

There is nothing easy about parenthood. Nothing. When you're planning to have kids or are pregnant, people tell you: It's a huge responsibility, one that never ends once you have a child. And you kind of get it. You're like, yeah, I know, once I'm a parent, I'm always a parent, I'll always be thinking and worrying about my kids. They'll always be on my mind. But I'll deal with it. It's part of this new, wonderful phase of my life. The good will outweigh the bad. Right?

Oh, blissful ignorance.

Once you have a child, your world becomes almost unrecognizable. I'm sure there are some people out there who picked up their newborn, strapped it to their chest, and kept doing whatever they were doing (going to concerts and coffee shops, hanging out at markets and book stores) without missing a beat. Those people are not human. They are aliens, or robots, or alien robots. They must be. Because for the majority of us, a child takes your well-known world and suffuses it with a colour palate you didn't even know existed. They turn your sense of balance on its ear. They make you question your own strengths and weaknesses. In short, they come in like little tsunamis and overwhelm everything in their paths. Sometimes it's in a good way, sometimes it's not.

And you know what? It's ok to say that it's not all wonderful. It's human and liberating and acceptable to admit that sometimes you wish you could hop the first plane to Rio and simply leave it all behind.

It's ok to say it's not all ok. It's ok to not love being a parent all the time. I wish more people would say this out loud so the rest of us would feel less guilty. Because, quite frankly, I'm moving too fast right now for guilt. I can't let it slow me down. There's too much to do.

So to those of you who can freely enjoy your Saturday night (mine, by the way, was spent writing this while going in periodically to rock my child who, for some reason, is battling sleep with a ferocious tenacity) -- whether you're out watching a movie, enjoying a good meal, or maybe even having a luxurious weekend getaway -- I salute you. Don't let anyone tell you a life without kids can't be meaningful or rewarding. It can be. It will, however, be different than mine. And that's ok.