I had the feeling as soon as I picked them up that they were not my style. Still, I wanted to give it a try since millions of women rave about them, so I took them to the fitting room. After much tugging and tucking, some wiggling and wrestling, and more bouncing and breath-holding I came to the expected conclusion. No matter how I might try to force it those mom genes simply did not fit.
It turns out that I am one of those women for whom motherhood is just not in the cards. Throughout my adult life I have had moments of wonder, but after brief reflection came to the correct conclusion that though something may have been missing, this was not it. While I do have a care-taking, nurturing instinct, I have no maternal instinct. I do not feel the pull, or the calling, or any other thing that is natural in those who want children. The idea of breastfeeding, changing diapers, and late night crying leaves me more than a bit freaked out. Even the vision of giggling playtime, sweet baby smell, and unconditional love is not enough to wedge me into my mom genes.
Moms, please do not misinterpret me here. I love your kids, honestly I do. I just also happen to love the fact that they are not my kids. This does not mean that I do not want to spend time with you and your pack. I love it when you invite me in as an adopted member of your tribe. You see, while I cannot get into mom genes I can slide easily into my “cool aunt” genes. I look quite good in them, and it is a role that I cherish.
I have been known, on more than one occasion, to burst into tears at the mere sight of one of your wee ones. I can converse fluently with your four-year-old, though I admit to needing your interpreting skills for the gibberish dialect that comes from your two- and three-year-olds. I can hold your toddler in my arms while you finish your meal in a restaurant. I can teach your son the basic rules of football and baseball. I can immerse myself in whatever imaginary world your kids are playing in on a given day. Not only can I do these things, I enjoy doing these things. I also enjoy leaving at the end of the visit to return to the childless sanctuary that I call home.
The truth is I love watching my mom friends slide comfortably into their mom genes. I am in awe of all you mommies out there every day rocking your mom genes, strutting your stuff to and from school, dance class, football practice, and doctor appointments. The same goes for you daddies in your dad genes (although maybe we should opt for some dad khakis instead because the mental picture of bad mom jeans is made that much worse when it is one of bad dad jeans). What you do is nothing short of incredible, this shaping of the future. I am thankful for you and for the mom and dad genes you wear so well.
I realized that my path, my purpose, did not include the wearing of mom genes. So it was that I took one last backward glance at them as I exited the fitting room. It was not a wistful, melancholy glance, but rather one accompanied by a small smile. I was secure in knowing they were not meant for me. Instead, I knew that those genes would be carefully folded and returned to the display to await their perfect fit.
(All photo credits to http://www.pixabay.com)