In a conversation that feels like a lifetime ago, I told my Dad that my spouse and I were planning on having kids “sometime soon.” One of the things he mentioned at the time was that “there is never a right time to start a family.” It’s a version of the oft-repeated advice that we will never feel truly ready to become parents - we just do it anyway. In that conversation, I think he was responding to my frustration over being treated like I'm too young to be making this decision, but the idea of the “right time” is one I’ve returned to frequently since then. The idea that there is simply no such thing can be a comfort, especially in what can feel like particularly dark days.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I wrote about the trap of over-planning. The false idea that if only you lay your plan carefully enough, meticulously enough, everything will work out exactly as you hoped. We planned our first embryo transfer cycle to the finest detail - and it was cancelled by a pandemic. More broadly, we were pretty specific about when we chose to add a child to our family. We checked a lot of boxes in a very traditional order - We got married, then bought a home; I found a job that would support us long-term, and waited until I had been there several years. All of the information we had at our disposal said that now was the best time (and it didn’t hurt that my body desperately, urgently agreed).
And then there was the pandemic. And then I was pregnant and the pandemic wasn’t going away like our doctors thought it would. And then there was news of riots and secret police kidnapping citizens off the streets. And then it was wildfire season, an annual reminder that climate change is only getting worse. And then a whistleblower revealed that immigrants in detention centers were being forcibly sterilized. And then Ruth Bader Ginsburg died.
And the air went out of the room.
The news of the death of the Honorable Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg hit me like something as cliche as a ton of bricks. My body went numb. I was stunned. Not that I had any good reason to be surprised by the passing of an ill, elderly woman, but… she has been such a larger-than-life figure for almost my entire life, so it seemed almost reasonable to believe that if anyone could outlive the bastards it was her. She represented hope, and progress, and resiliency in the face of injustice. A conservative replacement taking her seat represents a very real threat to the security of my family's future, and that of the many vulnerable people in this country. I barely skimmed the article on my phone's screen before bursting into tears. Huge, silent sobs wracked my entire body - enhanced, I can only assume, by the cocktail of pregnancy hormones currently in my system. It felt like I had lost a parent, or a limb, or the last tenuously held connection to my home and my country.
My mind raced with questions. What do we do? What about our marriage? What about our baby? Do I contact our lawyer? Is it too soon? What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?
I clasped my hands over my barely-swelling 15-week belly, as if I could protect my still-forming child from the horror I felt.
I’ve wanted this pregnancy, this child, more than anything - for years. I still do. It’s also nothing like I ever imagined, because honestly - who pictures the start of their family coinciding with a deadly virus and rampant forest fires, set against a backdrop of rising fascism? It would take a pretty twisted mind to come up with all that. Justice Ginsburg’s death should not be the death knell of our country, nor is it necessarily the most horrifying news to break this week. Even so, I am terrified. Being pregnant right now is terrifying. There is so much fear wrapped up in every decision that I make. I wear 2 masks on smoky days (an N95 ventilator and a cloth mask, or as I joke “one for me and one for you”). The number of people I’ve seen in person other than my spouse or healthcare providers since April can be counted on both hands. We sit outside, 6 feet apart, unable to fully relax into conversation. I never imagined any of this - but here we are.
I often ask myself: if the world is so scary, how can I trust that now is a good time to bring another person into it? I wonder if there was ever truly a good time to be born. Historians say that the worst time to be alive likely began in 536 AD, when extreme weather caused widespread darkness, low temperatures in Europe and China, and crop failures and famine for roughly 18 months. I don’t say that to make it sound as if what we are living through right now isn’t actually all that bad. Rather, humanity persevered then, and has continued to persevere for millennia since - so we must continue to persevere now. I'll keep wearing my double masks. I'll vote, and I'll harangue everyone I know about the importance of voting. I'll make an emergency plan with our lawyer. I'll do everything I can to make a positive difference on this deeply disturbed country, and try to keep myself and my own safe at the same time. And when Sami and I become parents this spring, we'll endeavor to raise a decent person in a fulfilling life, knowing that the timing is as good (and as bad) as it's ever going to get.
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