Soul speak - A short story

I am at a wedding draped in my best yellow kancheepuram sari feeling like a queen. An acquaintance walks up to me along with her baby for a causal chat. As her young son wriggled out of her embrace, she places her hand on my belly, just above my navel. She's touching my tummy with her cold hand and asking me, in a colder- made to sound -concerned voice, "Why aren't you pregnant yet?" I try hard to smile, break free from her touch, and head to the food table to fill … my empty plate.

Yeah I love children and definitely plan on having them. Maternal instinct is oozing out of my pores: I've infantilized my pets; I've got down on my hands and knees at the park with babies I barely know. My marriage is wonderful and solid, and we are both blessed with good health. I've been a nanny, a teacher, a youth-group leader. I've read umpteen books on childhood-development solely for the purpose of someday raising happy, balanced children. I have always looked forward to becoming a mother.

So why don't I have kids or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical mothers of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. If you want me to join your ‘ranks’—and you've made it clear with your cold, clammy hands on my stomach that recruiting my uterus is of paramount importance to you—I need to set some ground rules.

First, please stop asking me when I'm going to get pregnant. For all you know, I cannot have kids. For all I know, I cannot have kids, as I have not yet tried. But imagine how painful this line of interrogation would be if I had submitted to all kinds of procedures, only to come up empty-wombed. It would be emotionally devastating. Yet ever since the day after my wedding, I have fielded this question from the eye doctor, the dental assistant, my yoga teacher, the lady at the grocery store. All of them feel entitled to ask. Don't. It's none of your business.

Next, don't completely abandon your own life and passions. You're setting a bad example for aspiring mothers-to-be like me. I recently expressed my happiness over an achievement I had at work to a mother-friend of mine. She said, dripping with condescension, "Well, you don't know happiness until you’ve delivered a baby.”That's very possible, but don't rain on my parade. I happen to love my job. It fulfills me in ways no other person—even a child—could. I learned through my own mother's example that the best lesson you can teach your kids is to pursue their passions. It's not selfish to have your own life. In fact, it's selfish not to.

Becoming a parent was your decision, and I am thrilled for you. All I'm asking is that you let me make that choice in my own time. And keep your hands off my belly.