Quite some time ago, pre-Whirling Dervish days, Wise Best Friend said to me “I’ve always thought if you had had children, you’d be one of us.”
This tickled me and actually made me feel quite pleased with myself.
I do hope Wise Best Friend won’t be offended by the broad generalisation of cloth nappies, baby wearing, breast feeding, lefty leaning, hemp and spelt eating (may have made the last bit up, although she does make her own bread which is yummy).
So yes, if I’d gone down the motherhood route, I would, most likely be a ‘natural mama’ (I think I’m getting a rash just typing about this), or at least started out with those intentions (WBF also says she and her sister wish they’d made lists of all the things they said they would never do when having children, and then cross them off as they did them).
I mentioned in a reply to a comment to Are we wicked?
It is very strange that I find myself having the ‘What kind of parent am I?’ thoughts when I have chosen not to be one.
So what kind of (not a) parent am I turning out to be?
I really don’t know.
I can be lazy and unengaged and would rather sit around reading (Yes, let’s create that bookworm image and not of wasting hours on social media, it’s still reading though, so there.), but then Husband and Whirling Dervish have some father-daughter time.
I can be pretty awesome, with a full-blown pirate scenario acted out on a walk to the shops – I’m not afraid to don an eye patch and bandana while popping out for milk.
Most of the time I’m somewhere in between. I don’t think Husband and I are doing everything right. I don’t think we’re doing everything wrong, but because growing up I never formulated ideas (the decision to be childfree was definite by age 12) as to what kind of adult-with-some-responsibility-for-a-child I would be, I sometimes feel adrift.
I wonder if I should have had some kind of list, if only to cross things off when they go awry?