I've asked Noah this a number of times along the way of this journey, and I did so again last night. Could we let go of the idea of having kids? Many people do. Could we have a great life, with just the two of us? We could travel the world and buy new cars. We could get a dog or two and maybe I’d learn to play an instrument. Noah could start doing long distance bike racing, like he’s always dreamed of, and I could afford to become a pastry chef on the side, just for fun. When there is a world of unknown and a list of invasive and expensive procedures in front of you, it doesn't seem like a bad idea to just say, "let's forget this!" But as hard as I try to convince myself that not having kids would be okay, the less I believe it. Strangely, Noah feels the same way.
“Not having kids is not an option,” he said last night, matter-of-factly. “Neither of us would be happy,” he added.
I know a lot of women who had trouble having children and ended up childless for various reasons. Many of them have raw sensitivity to my current predicament, but few express regret. They found a way to come to terms and to move forward. They travel the world and have nice cars and are the best aunties to their nieces and nephews.
For a long time Noah and I felt fine just the two of us. It has been just the two of us for over 13 years. When I first met Noah, I can’t say that I knew I wanted him to be the father of my children.
We met my sophomore, his junior year, of college. We had two classes together, the history of German cinema and the history of Buddhism in America. He thought I was two different girls because I wore glasses in the Buddhism class. He liked the girl with the glasses better, and had I known he was that confused by a pair of glasses I may have been able to save myself years of trying to figure him out.
Our first date consisted of me accompanying him to a beach in Marin County so he could take photographs for a film project.
For our second date he brought over a six-pack of Pyramid Pumpkin Ale and the movie Bottle Rocket, which we watched on my futon until I passed out.
For our third date we moved in together.
That’s not entirely true. I just can’t remember ever going out on a “real” date with him. We just kind of became friends and eventually more than friends. Noah was painfully shy, so moving forward with any kind of relationship scared him. I was (perhaps still am) intense and somewhat demanding. The combination was lethal, so we spent the better part of a year torturing each other and by the end of the school year decided it made perfect sense to move in together. Not just the two of us, but with five other people.
My best friend Gabe and I found this seventies shag-pad pirate ship-looking house in the hills of Montclair, about a 10-minute drive from the Berkeley campus. It had carpeted walls in the bedrooms and multiple nooks and crannies that may or may not have once hid dead prostitutes. We had four roommates confirmed and needed three more people to fill the seven bedrooms, and Noah just happened to need a place to live with two of his friends. The math was easy, the living arrangement was hard. Lesson number one learned that year was never make a relationship decision based on a tight real estate market. We all moved into this house and it turned out to be complete chaos. Noah and I had our own rooms and neither of us ever understood what our relationship was.
One day I walked into the kitchen where one of our roommates had accidentally put dishwashing soap into the dishwasher, which caused a huge overflow of soap bubbles and water all over the kitchen floor. Noah was standing in the middle of the mess, chewing.
“What the hell happened here!?” I yelled, panicked.
“Ian put dish soap in the dishwasher,” Noah casually responded between bites, bubbles snaking up the calves of his pant legs.
“Why’d he do that?” I asked.
“He’s an idiot,” Noah said nonchalantly.
“What are you eating,” I said, accusatory. I often ask questions the way a woodpecker drills into a tree. He had some thick pieces of bread in his hand and was having a hard time swallowing each bite. He looked at me blankly and shrugged.
“Bread sandwich.”
That’s the moment I knew I wanted him to be the father of my children. Not consciously, but in the core of my being I had a sense that he would be the voice of calm and ease to anchor my spinning anxious mind. He would make me smile and laugh when it seemed like the house was being flooded, or when it was actually flooding. He would take whatever life presented him in stride and wouldn’t worry about things unnecessarily.
“Bread sandwich?” I said, probably rolling my eyes, maybe smiling just a little.
He pulled apart the two slices of bread he had slabbed together with nothing in between and smiled, both dimples puckering, and confirmed it was indeed a bread sandwich.
We walked away from the mess deciding it was best for Ian to deal with it, as good roommates do. He gave me a bite of his bread sandwich and I promptly made dinner for the both of us. This is how we learned to take care of each other. This was when we started learning the balance that we each needed. This is when I learned that Noah calls things exactly as they are, and he’s often right.
Thirteen plus years later we are still doing the delicate act of balancing each other, which we’ve almost come to perfect. Thirteen plus years later my mind and emotions still spin at times, and he’s still there to be the calm and definitive sense of reason.
Not having kids is not an option. Period. It something we both want, so it’s something we’ll have to figure out.
Plain and simple as a bread sandwich.
Thanks! It doesn't matter where you live, this nightmare is the same for all of us! Good luck on your first cycle. Now that I feel like an old pro (ugh!) I can honestly say I do remember how scary and anxiety provoking it is. Hopefully you'll have success!
Posted by: Don't Count Your Eggs | May 28, 2013 at 11:52 AM
You are still my favorite blog! Even though I live in Texas I do believe you can read my mind. Starting my first IVF cycle next week. I emailed out your blog to my family so it can help them understand. They do not live by me so it is hard to communicate everything to them. Thank you again!
Posted by: Jen | May 22, 2013 at 09:50 AM