A conversation with a former lover, some thirty five years ago, as best I could remember it.
Scene: A couch in the living room. I am reading and smoking a cigar. She is staring off into the middle distance, pensively.
She: I've been thinking about something.
I close my book, and compose myself to listen.
Me: Yes, you have.
She: What?
Me: You were showing every evidence of cognitive activity (smiles.)
She: That smirk of yours will drive me to murder one day.
Me: Anyone in particular, or just a general homicidal rage?
(She says nothing - for a moment.)
She: I've been thinking that I'd like to be a mother someday.
Me: I know a lot of mothers. Had one myself. Most of them, if you get past the obligatory worshipful glurge, seem to find it overrated.
She: Can you be serious - just for a minute.
Me: Sixty seconds on the serious clock. Go.
She: I always thought the biological clock thing was bullshit. But I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever have a child.
Me: Is having a child important to you?
She: I mean, it kind of feels like a duty to the future.
Me: I don't think so. There are plenty of children being born. And arguably, things are getting a bit crowded. Do you mean a personal duty, or a duty to society as a whole?
She: Well, I've dreamed of having a baby to love since I was a little girl.
Me: Since there is still time on the Minute of Serious clock, I'd point out to you that you wouldn't be having a baby.
She: You are intentionally obtuse. You want me to say, “What? Of course I'd be having a baby!”
Me: So...
She (sighs): What? Of course I'd be having a baby!
Me: No, you're not. You're having a person. A baby, a squealing toddler, a sullen teen, an ungrateful adult, someone who will not only make you feel like you're doing some sort of blessed, blissful duty, but will also drive you right up to the edge of behaviors you never thought yourself capable of. When your car is driven into the ditch, when bedroom doors are slammed, when you've spent years, decades seeing to their every need only to have every word you speak greeted with rolling eyes and undisguised contempt – that's what you're signing on for.
There's also labor and childbirth. I've never been through that, but I've been present for it. It looked like something slightly less pleasant than a chat with the Gestapo.
She: So what, I...
He: Fair warning. The Serious Clock has expired. We now return you to your regularly scheduled smartass.
She: Reset the clock, please. I need another minute.
He: Okay, but only the first minute is free. I'm cooking tonight. You get kitchen cleanup.
She: Fair. Done. Anyway, motherhood. I think I can handle it. My Mom did. Your Mom did.
He: My Mom never missed an opportunity to say, “From the day you were born, you were nothing but a heartache to your Father and I.”
I corrected her. “Your father and me.”
She: I think that was a violation of the Serious Clock. I'm off the hook.
He: I assure you, I was never more serious in my life. Not that she was wrong in substance.
She: Fine. Anyway, have you given any thought to it?
He: I'm already a father. Twice over.
She: Oh yeah, you mentioned that. How did it go?
He: You'd have to ask them. Although, to be fair, she moved away and divorced me. I never got much of a chance to do much dadding.
She: That's terrible. So sad.
He: I'm not sure they weren't better off for it. Lousy marriage. Two less compatible people were never hitched. Anyway, do continue.
She: So, do you ever want to try “dadding” again?
He: “Ever” is a long time. Right now, no. I don't think that this conversation would be improved by having a little person come into the room and demand whatever came into their incomplete, uncivilized brains to want.
She: Some people would find that selfish.
He: I refuse to acknowledge a duty to a person whose existence is entirely theoretical. Besides, I like being alone with you whenever we both want that. Parenthood means giving that up.
She: Still, I think that having a little person to raise, to enjoy watching them grow, to help them prepare for the future...
He: I am willing to compromise. Beagle or Labrador?
She: I take it the clock has expired.
He: Correct.
She: Well, I'm not resetting it. I'll be doing your laundry next.
He: Also correct.
She: Just think about having a little boy to teach all that you know. Wouldn't that be a joy, to know that all that you've learned will be passed down the generations?
He: I suspect that wouldn't be the case. I'm nothing like my parents. I share none of their values or their viewpoint. It's unfair to little Mister Theoretical to expect that he'll be a vector for my worldview.
She: Sure. He might be just as much of a knee-jerk, compulsive smartass as his Father. But I'm sure he'd be intelligent, kind, in his eccentric way, attentive...
He: So he'll take after you, then.
She: Very funny. But a little Christopher...
He: I hate that name. Haven't gone by it in all my adult life. But if we're discussing names, how about “Gilgamesh?” or “Nebuchadnezzar?”
She: Urgh. No. Why would you...
He: Very strong, historic names, with great stories behind them. If you don't like “Achilles,” or “Odysseus,” how about “Jubilation?” “Jubilation Thornton.” Jubal, for short.
She: I don't know why I ever...
He: Or if it's a girl, how about “Cassandra?” That way, when she's a teenager, and screams “You NEVER listen to me!” we can say, “Well, blame Apollo. Nobody ever listens to Cassandra.”
She: I'm almost ready to do the laundry. Or leave. Keep it up, funny man.
Me: Okay, here's a freebie moment of serious. It's not fair to bring a kid into the world to meet your need to have something to love. It's not right to bring a person into this suffering world to carry on your legacy. That's a burden most people can't and won't bear.
She: So what is a good reason?
Me: Damned if I know.