Whose life is it anyway?

Growing up is a phenomenal experience. I had friend recently write about what he expected when he got older. For him the idea age was 30 for he never felt like he fitted in with children his age and he thoroughly believed that by the age of 30 women would no longer care about things like the trendiest of threads and that he would have a solid passion for what ever job he had.

In many ways, I can relate. I can't tell you how many days of my youth were spent alone in my tiny bedroom dreaming about what the future had in store for me. And at some point I had my life mapped out. I believed I would be a writer who traveled extensively and wouldn't have children until my goal was achieved.

Turns out not so many people were enthused by my navigating. You see there are certain points in a person's life where people expect one to be.



When I turned 18, a feeling of overwhelming freedom rained over me. I finally had the ability to make decisions that would ultimately set me on my independent life path. My parents, my older siblings, teachers, nor coaches could tell me where I needed to be...or so I thought.

It wasn't rules to obey as much as it was nudgings of things I should be doing. I had dated my boyfriend for 3 years and was content in doing so. I loved him dearly and as far as I was concerned he loved me as well.

Then came a nudging, "When is he going to put a ring on your finger?" Good question i would meander, I knew I wanted to marry him, but I didn't know this was a concern to people outside of my relationship. But it helped spur the discussions and around year later we got engaged.

I threw myself more into my college studies while my fiancee rolled up his sleeves at work and life rolled on. Then came more chattering, "When are you going to get married? Have you even discussed a wedding date?" We knew what was right for us and pushed it aside, but the nudging increased in its frenzy, forcing us to have more discussions about setting a date.

And the momentus day came and we relished in its glow. We were husband and wife and all was right with the world. Amen. We lived in our bohemian apartment, celebrating our victories in the "real world," nailing down an awesome internship (yee haw!), graduating from college (Aww yeah!), promotions at the work place (whoo hoo).

But it didn't take long for others to make their case about our living arrangements. "When are you going to buy a piece of land that you can call your own?" Again, we discussed and realized maybe we had had enough of the bohemian lifestyle. Although we really dug our very cozy 800 sq. apartment we didn't enjoy having our cars broken into or the serial killer as our next door neighbor or the cracked out girl barging in on our neighbor on the other side of us who then proceeded to hump a potted plant (more of that to come later).

So we would start the home-buying process and were and still grateful for all the support we received from our family. We got a nice chunk of land and bowed to its serenity and safe keeping.

But here's when the nudgings became a full out assault, hailing like bolts of lightening out of the sky. Not just from friends or family, but from almost perfect strangers.

I remember when I first met my neighbors. My husband and I were the first ones to move into the neighborhood. For months it felt like we were on our own deserted island, an island covered in plywood and inhabited by bulldozers and dump trucks. After work we would wander the streets and scope out the cars that drove by wondering what our neighbors would be like. Then one day we noticed that the "For Sale" sign that braved the wind, rain and ice of the previous few months was soon replaced by a "Sold" sign.

And then one day, when I was driving home from work, I saw them. They didn't seem like serial killers. In fact, they looked normal. The woman with a child gleefully watched the strands of a daffodil blow into the wind. As I eased my car into the drive, she looked up, caught my eye and waved. I smiled.

"Hi!" She called.

"Hi," I answered.

"I'm Chelsea,and this is Michael," she declared as she scooped the toddler into her arms and gently patted his back.

"Tracee," I answered again. Usually I much more talkative, but I was trying to figure this woman out. She looked young, but not that young and I wasn't sure if this was her child or her mother's. (Sometimes it's best not to assume.)

"We just moved in next door. My husband Travis should be out soon," she said motioning toward the house and then plopping the little boy back down on the grass.

"That's great, it's nice to finally have some neighbors."

We both laugh nervously.

"So what do you do Tracee?" she asks as she hunkers down by the little boy.

"I write for a political communications firm. What do you do?" I ask turning the questions to her. For minutes we go tit for tat, searching for things we have in common.

We're about the same age. YES!
She's a Republican. UH-OH.
We went to the same college. SCORE!

"So it's just you and your husband in that house?" she asks as she peers over my shoulder, examining my humble abode. I smile and nod.

"That's a lot of space for just the two of you? Are ya'll planning on having a baby soon?"

Ok, ok, ok! That's where I draw the line. Women and men I find this question very inappropriate. Here's why:

1. You are asking a woman when she is going to get sexed by her husband and then pop out a baby out of her vagina.

2. You don't know a couple's history, for all you know the woman or man can't produce children. And one thing I have learned is that the mere mention of the word "baby" can set a woman on fire or engulf her in a pool of tears.

3. Unless you are planning to come over and babysit its really none of your business.

It amazes me how many times I am asked this question. My sister asks me, my friends ask me, my in-laws ask me and the woman at work asks me. And every time i tell them I just want a little more time. Their excuse is that I'm not getting younger and my eggs will shrivel up and die.

But here's the thing, I still got that map in my head that I penned when I was 17. And the 17-year-old me says it's not too late and the adult me agrees adamantly. Here's the thing most people don't know or understand about me. I already felt like a parent.

All of my siblings had children at a young age and because of the age gap I first became an aunt at the tender age of 7. But for me being an aunt, wasn't the type I had. The one that sent a birthday card once a year. No, I was hands on. I was watching my nieces and nephews sometimes 4-5 days a week. I've already have the expertise of changing a diaper with one hand, the do's and dont's of giving a baby bath and how to wrap a baby up into a blanket like a cocoon. By the time I was 17, I had 11 nieces and nephews. I've spent late nights feeding, changing and calming a colicky baby.



Now that doesn't mean I know all the ins and outs of being a parent. I often wonder how it would be, if I get so lucky, to create a small being. But one thing I do know is that I'm enjoying these few years of being an adult on a mission, without having to carry a diaper bag. And for the first time, in a long time, I feel really free.