Children

Babies...Offspring...Children...Little Ones...Kids...The concept of having one is so daunting that I want to scream. I fell more in love with my husband the day he said, "If you don't want children, I'm fine with that. I'd rather have you and no children rather than kids and a wife who wasn't you." My reply to him, "Of course I want children!"Back then, I thought that it was the least I could do. After all, didn't my parents want grandchildren? Didn't I want children?

Though I'm thirty years old, I still look at the concept of "having children" as a grown-up thing...something that is not necessarily I would do because, quite frankly, I don't necessarily see myself as an adult; except in moments of clarity in which I realize that I am, and there is no turning back (like the day my husband and I went to go get our marriage license). My time as a student keep me sheltered from daily life: the 9 to 5 job, and more importantly, the concept or social convention that after being married and at my age, I should have children.

By social standards, I should have children. My husband and I are in a good place, we've been married for a year, and I'm "not getting any younger," so my "biological clock" is ticking down (though I don't believe in such a clock, except the one that ticks the tedious hours towards menopause). Reason stands, we should be trying to have children. However, my aforementioned status as a student definitely keeps me shielded in a separate place. For example, with some women Koreans, the "standard" conversation with fellow women Koreans they don't know well goes something like this:
1. They ask if you are married.
     *If married, they ask you if you have children. If no children, they ask when you will have children.
2. If you are not married, they ask if you have a boyfriend.
     *If you do have a boyfriend, you are asked when you will get married.
     *If you don't have a boyfriend, they ask (my personal favorite question): "Why not?" then proceed to try to find someone for you.
All this to explain the reason why, during a visit to the Oriental Market, the owner asks me, "Do you have children?" When I told her, "No," I also interjected "I'm still in school." After this explanation, I was given the social "pass," as she said, "Oh. I see. Yes, a student is very busy. You'll have children when you're done?" To which I said, "Yes." It was such a simple answer to such a loaded question.

I can only imagine looking at a tiny bundle of a human being with the shocking realization that I am responsible for this life. The closest I've ever come to that is owning a dog, which may not be the same at all*. People with children keep trying to tell me that it's such a wonderful, amazing gift. That children are such a joy and make your bad days go away with a sweet smile and hug. Is it cynical of me to think that they want me to join the "Mommy club" so that I too can talk diaper changing, late-night feedings, and whiny, never-ceasing crying and  the like? Not that I don't not trust them when they say their children are a joy, and that it's different when the kids are yours. I've seen babies, cooed at them, and thought them the most adorable things on the planet. Children continue to amaze me with the things they say and do. However, if you know me, you know that I am terrified of commitment. It took almost a year before I would admit my husband and I were dating! A baby is 18 years of commitment; especially to something you don't know a whole lot about. With my husband, I knew his likes, dislikes; what would soothe him when he got stressed. I know nothing about this potential living being. Sure, I'll learn what she will like, but what if I don't? What if I don't like her?

By now, I have a feeling you as the reader are thinking or yelling, "But you will be okay with them! You will love that baby more than yourself!" Then there's the unspoken: "You're adopted. You have abandonment issues." Yes, I'm adopted. Sure, I probably do have some abandonment issues. Doesn't everyone? But that's not the issue at hand.

During the KAAN Conference, I was able to connect with a lot of adoptees. Though I had reservations, these were quickly swept away as I spoke with many people who had similar experiences. The comfort of not having to "explain" myself was wonderful! It was during this time I was again reminded I am an adult. The younger adoptees and I had barely anything in common, the older adoptees and I got along famously. The subject of motherhood kept finding its way into conversation. There were a number of adoptees who decided to have their own children rather than adopt. This wasn't because they had something against adoption. Instead, the women kept repeating what the previous woman had said: "I wanted to look at someone and see myself in them." I don't think I have ever heard this explanation before then...not even after all the documentaries, essays, and articles; not one mentions this revelation.

Personally, I had never thought of it. I never gave thought that in order to see someone who looked like me, I would have to give birth to the individual. Instead, I just thought if I could see other Koreans, I would see parts of myself in watching them. This chance came when I went to Korea for the first time. I watched the children with great interest...watching to see if any of them looked how I did. For the first time in my life, I had an abundance of people to mirror. I realized I wasn't ethnically odd: there were paler complexioned Koreans out there, Koreans who had my hair texture, eye color, face shape... I saw myself everywhere. So I was surprised when the general consensus of Korean Adoptees who are mothers wanted to a biological child to see themselves. I'm sure a study could be made of this (if it hasn't already); Freud could be used to explain the adoptee psyche and sense of self. Today, I'd rather not look into that...personally, I think this is something very private and not to be discussed. So why am I? Because I cannot get this out of my head. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get this particular reason out of my head.

"I wanted a baby because I wanted to have someone who looked like me." I mentioned this reason and my fears of motherhood to someone. I told her that I couldn't be a parent right now because I was too selfish. She told me that I felt society's pressure, but that I could do things on my own time. Luckily for me, I have an excuse. As a student, I am in special limbo, but I can't keep from thinking about all the people my age who have kids or expecting kids, and looking at my own life. I can't stand crying, whining, or even loud speech in public places. What kind of mother would I be? I mean, I already know I can't duct tape my child's mouth shut when he's in Target, nor can I simply leave her in a kennel as I can my dog. My reactions to children have varied from the shocked and jolts that end in throwing things, to the heart-melting "oohs" and "ahs." One of my reactions resulted in people warning me before the next time the kids came over to their place of business: as in they owned the business, their kids were coming over, and I was warned as well as asked if it was okay...and I'm the employee!

But I digress. After hearing my fellow adoptees, I realized something. What if I looked at that little bundle, and for some reason didn't like what I saw? Or worse, what if I saw that small, tiny human, and fell in love, spending the rest of my life so caught up in him that I lost myself? Motherhood, changes you. I don't want to dislike myself, nor do I want to lose myself. I've seen women give their entire lives to their children. This isn't to say that motherhood isn't noble... I have great respect for good mothers. But I've seen what "good" mothering takes, the sacrifices it asks of you, and quite frankly, I don't know if in society's eyes, my family's eyes, if I would be a "good" mother. I am not a martyr, nor am I a saint. I don't know if I can make the necessary sacrifice to be the "Mother" I believe society wants.

*I don't know, I've never been a parent. The closest I've become to being a parent are my pets.