Teachings of My Youth. Sort of.

So, if you know anything about the Mormon church, you probably have noticed that we place a HUGE emphasis on the importance of having/raising children.  And we begin teaching this to our youth, especially the girls ages 12-18.  (I assume they do the same for the boys, too, but I've never been there to hear it, so I don't actually know.  It's possible they emphasize going on a mission, with the assumption that marriage and parenthood is the next step after that...?  Yeah, I don't know.)

I've been working with girls this age for two-and-a-half years now.  And I'll admit-- I don't seem to talk too much about being a mother.  Mostly because, despite what I just told you in the above paragraph, I have no recollection of hearing lessons about being a mother.  I'm honestly not sure if this is because we didn't have those lessons, or because I just wasn't paying attention.  Perhaps I blocked it all out?  I don't know.  It's sort of a mystery to me.*

But whatever was or wasn't being taught, I knew having kids was an important thing to do in that same ethereal way that I understood my body's organs were busy pumping away, keeping me alive and functioning.  It must be important, but it wasn't something I gave much-- or any-- thought to.

But it's just now that I am realizing how thankful I am for this teaching.

Because-- to be perfectly honest-- I was never someone who was interested in having kids.  I babysat for several families with wonderful children who I adored.  But as soon as their parents came home, I was happy to flee back to my own carefree life.  And while there was the occasional baby that I thought was cute and would beg for a chance to hold, as soon as I found that baby in my arms, I would immediately realize that I had NO idea what to do with him and quickly give him back to his mother (or pass him off to another girl clamoring for the chance).  If I did hold on to the baby for more than a minute, I would be so bored.

So I was not exactly born with a thriving maternal instinct.

Having kids was not something I was overly concerned with.  Most people had kids, and I assumed I probably would, too... ? Some day...?  If I ever got married...?  But I was much more focused on my own bucket list of things I wanted to do before I bothered with children, which was why I went on a mission, did two study abroad trips, spent the requisite month backpacking around Europe, and went to grad school.  These were the things I was interested in!

When Craig and I decided we wanted to get married, we talked about having kids, and I told him I wanted to wait a few years.  "We'll need time to travel and play and do whatever we want, first!" I gushed.  And I fully believed that.  Once we were done having fun, we could have the five kids I figured we'd have (mostly because that was how many kids there are in my family, and I always thought that worked well), spaced out with two years between each one.

Craig was the poor guy who did the math and pointed out to me that according to this schedule, I'd be having my last kid when I was forty.  He was very nice about it-- actually, I think he was afraid of offending me-- when he said, "I don't want you to miss out on anything you feel you need to do to feel fulfilled.  But...  maybe we should only wait a year to have kids?"

I was a bit shocked.  Was it possible that I could age so quickly?  Just because I wasn't getting married until I was 26, did that really mean I'd forfeited my chance for an extended, 2-years-with-no-kids honeymoon?  But I also wasn't thrilled with the idea of having a baby at age 40**.  Craig's fears over how I would react to this revelation turned out to be unnecessary.  I laughed and admitted that my time table wasn't going to work very well.  Maybe just a year would do.

Then we got married, and suddenly I wondered why we were waiting at all.  And Bentley was born the September after our 1st anniversary.  I'll admit that I was terrified of having a baby.  Excited. But also very scared.  Sitting at the hospital in labor was awful, and not just because of the pain.  I think the fear-- of the pain that was yet to come AND of literally having a baby to take care of-- was probably a bigger problem than any of the pain I actually felt.  And I spent those first few months of Bentley's life scared every time he started crying that he just might never stop.

But gradually that all changed.  I knew what I was doing and I loved having a sweet little baby to take care of.  And I couldn't wait to have another.  And another.  And another.  And I felt like shouting, "Why didn't somebody tell me how great this would be???  No one ever told me how fun little babies are!!!"

Which is why I am now acknowledging now that they did.  Or they tried.  I think.  I just wasn't paying any attention. 

But I'm thankful that Craig persuaded me not to wait so long.  And I'm thankful for a religion that taught me-- very subtly, apparently-- that this was something that mattered in my life, something that shouldn't be put off for too long.  Because without these two influences, there's no telling how long I would have waited to have that first child.  It might have been too late to have them all.  I might have let myself run out of time.




*I've heard other girls talk about endless lessons on how to be good wives and mothers, and I wonder how we managed to have such different experiences.  But I can only tell you what I went through, which in my memory seems to be filled with putting on plays and learning to cook (because I asked, not so I could "be a good mother") and going on hikes and stuff...

**No offense to those who have or will-- and I no longer have such strong feelings about that number anyway.  I'm just saying that 26-year-old me didn't like the idea.