have children. It doesn't make you a bad person, or mean that you're strange, or dangerous, or queer if you choose not to have them. Some people just don't want kids. That's okay. It's fine, if that's what suits you."
"Haven't you ever wondered if you've done the right thing? Haven't you ever been sorry you didn't have children?" She had to know, she was moving into uncharted waters now, and Marina had been there before her.
"Sure," Marina told her honestly. "Once or twice. Every time one of my sisters or brothers or nieces or nephews puts a baby in my arms, there's a tug at my heart, and I think . . shit, I want one of those! . . . but for me, those feelings are always gone in about ten minutes. I had twenty years of wiping runny noses, changing diapers, cleaning up vomit, doing four or five loads of laundry a day, picking them up at school, taking them to the park, tucking them in at night, helping them make their beds. Christ, I didn't even start college until I was twenty-five, and I didn't get to law school until I was thirty. But at least I made it, and I love all of them, except maybe one or two, but the truth is I love them too. . . I had some wonderful times with them, some incredibly precious moments. But I didn't want to do that again. I wanted time for me, for study, for work, for friends, for men. I would have gotten married eventually if the right man had come along. And the right guy did, once or twice, but I always had some good reason for not getting tied down at that particular moment. I think the truth is that I was happy being single. I loved my work, I loved the kids. But I'm glad now that I never had any of my own. Sure, it would be great to have a daughter or son who would care what happens to me when I get old, but so what, I have you and ten brothers and sisters and their kids." It was as honest as she could be, and Pilar was grateful to her.
"What if it's not enough one day? What if it's not the same?"
Friends and siblings were not the same as one's own children, or were they?
"Then it's my mistake. But I'm not complaining, for the moment." She was sixty-five years old, and going strong. She loved her work on the bench, and she had more friends than anyone Pilar knew. And whenever she could, she seemed to be flying somewhere to see someone, nieces, nephews, sisters, friends. She was a happy, fulfilled woman. And Pilar had felt that she was, too . . . until lately.
"What about you?" Marina turned to look at her, wondering why she seemed so confused and looked so unhappy. "What's eating you, Pilar? Why all these questions about having babies? Are you pregnant? Are you asking me what I think about an abortion?"
"No." Pilar shook her head miserably. "I think I'm asking you what you think about having a baby. And no, I'm not pregnant." She wasn't even sure she wanted to be. But suddenly, for the first time in her life, she had doubts about the path she had chosen.
"I think it would be fine, if that's what you want. What does Brad think?"
"I don't know. I think he'd probably tell me I'm nuts, and he might be right. I was always so sure I didn't want kids. Mostly, because I didn't want to be like my mother."
"You never could be. I hope you at least know that much by now.
You're two entirely different people."
"Thank God."
"Or maybe I should say that one of you is a person, and the other is a little strange." She could never understand the situations Pilar had described to her over the years. All she could do was agree with her young friend that her parents should never have had children. "Is that the only thing that stopped you? Your fear of being like them?"
"It was part of it, but not everything. I just never felt the need for all that. But I never felt the need to be married either, and now I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."
"That kind of regret is a waste of time. Just enjoy it now, don't spoil it by looking back over your shoulder."
"I don't. But I just don't know
"Haven't you ever wondered if you've done the right thing? Haven't you ever been sorry you didn't have children?" She had to know, she was moving into uncharted waters now, and Marina had been there before her.
"Sure," Marina told her honestly. "Once or twice. Every time one of my sisters or brothers or nieces or nephews puts a baby in my arms, there's a tug at my heart, and I think . . shit, I want one of those! . . . but for me, those feelings are always gone in about ten minutes. I had twenty years of wiping runny noses, changing diapers, cleaning up vomit, doing four or five loads of laundry a day, picking them up at school, taking them to the park, tucking them in at night, helping them make their beds. Christ, I didn't even start college until I was twenty-five, and I didn't get to law school until I was thirty. But at least I made it, and I love all of them, except maybe one or two, but the truth is I love them too. . . I had some wonderful times with them, some incredibly precious moments. But I didn't want to do that again. I wanted time for me, for study, for work, for friends, for men. I would have gotten married eventually if the right man had come along. And the right guy did, once or twice, but I always had some good reason for not getting tied down at that particular moment. I think the truth is that I was happy being single. I loved my work, I loved the kids. But I'm glad now that I never had any of my own. Sure, it would be great to have a daughter or son who would care what happens to me when I get old, but so what, I have you and ten brothers and sisters and their kids." It was as honest as she could be, and Pilar was grateful to her.
"What if it's not enough one day? What if it's not the same?"
Friends and siblings were not the same as one's own children, or were they?
"Then it's my mistake. But I'm not complaining, for the moment." She was sixty-five years old, and going strong. She loved her work on the bench, and she had more friends than anyone Pilar knew. And whenever she could, she seemed to be flying somewhere to see someone, nieces, nephews, sisters, friends. She was a happy, fulfilled woman. And Pilar had felt that she was, too . . . until lately.
"What about you?" Marina turned to look at her, wondering why she seemed so confused and looked so unhappy. "What's eating you, Pilar? Why all these questions about having babies? Are you pregnant? Are you asking me what I think about an abortion?"
"No." Pilar shook her head miserably. "I think I'm asking you what you think about having a baby. And no, I'm not pregnant." She wasn't even sure she wanted to be. But suddenly, for the first time in her life, she had doubts about the path she had chosen.
"I think it would be fine, if that's what you want. What does Brad think?"
"I don't know. I think he'd probably tell me I'm nuts, and he might be right. I was always so sure I didn't want kids. Mostly, because I didn't want to be like my mother."
"You never could be. I hope you at least know that much by now.
You're two entirely different people."
"Thank God."
"Or maybe I should say that one of you is a person, and the other is a little strange." She could never understand the situations Pilar had described to her over the years. All she could do was agree with her young friend that her parents should never have had children. "Is that the only thing that stopped you? Your fear of being like them?"
"It was part of it, but not everything. I just never felt the need for all that. But I never felt the need to be married either, and now I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."
"That kind of regret is a waste of time. Just enjoy it now, don't spoil it by looking back over your shoulder."
"I don't. But I just don't know
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