the conversation with an older male close friend:
Me: “I’m not giving up, I’m just accepting that plan A doesn’t seem to be working for me, for whatever reason. It’s time for something new. Here’s the plan B: I finish my dissertation, make a little money in the real world, move to India for a year, and adopt. I commit myself to my 3+ nephews in NJ and be a good auntie. I live the bold and beautiful life I set out to live in my twenties – and try to take my nurturing mothering side to all beings. I use the clergy as my role models, and find love everywhere. I devote myself to god.
My plan A was such a little part of me – find a man, have a baby, fill the uterus and satiate the hormonal urges. But this plan B is big and exciting and scary and will require much more forgiveness of myself and others.”
I’ve been hiding my plan B from this blog for a week and half now. Ever since I formulated plan B (including pushing up my exam dates for the PhD, and booking a new ticket to see my nephews; seriously engaging in building my business up, etc.), I’ve been nervous to type it out, tell the world, commit to a real alternative to the child-of-my-own existence. But after a year of blogging, I am finding and planning my plan B. I am ready to be happy and content no matter what.
Him: “My college sweetheart wife and I got pregnant at 40 unexpectedly. There is something special about having your own.”
Well, thanks, but no thanks, my friend, for your backhanded support of my new Plan B. Like I don’t grieve my “own” child? But why have my own on my own when there is a whole world full of lonely people out there to care for?
I expect his is the response many people will offer – the you-have-time, look-i-did-it, you-are-missing-out-on-life response. And good luck to them.
For me, it is time to move on, and go down the road less traveled.