on loneliness

When I was 19 and my peers started having children on purpose, it felt to me like hearing a classmate say a bad word in front of a teacher. My eyes would widen in astonishment as I considered the possibility that I would have a kid one day, probably not too far in the future. Of all the ways I’ve grown in the last 6 years, that apprehension has remained steadfast. Children are fragile and expensive. If my car broke down, I couldn’t afford to get a new one. How could I possibly afford to support a human being? To factor another mouth into the budget, two more mouths even, and one fewer paycheck. The math doesn’t work out. These are the considerations that come to mind first when I envision reproducing—the tangible and apparent limitations on my ability to be the kind of mother I’d want to be. That is what outlines and reinforces my choice to be childless. But something new has started to happen, in my daydreams. Sometimes there will be a child in them, and I am explaining to her how money works. I am talking to her about her father, dotingly, about the days before she came along. I do this in the kitchen while I sautée mushrooms, while our dog naps on the floor hoping that I drop a piece of bacon. Often they are visions of two individuals—me and her—and I have to remember to add the father in. In my unconscious imagination’s conception of motherhood, there is no father. If you want something done right, you do it yourself. I see my future offspring hazily, without too much detail, except she has brown hair and green eyes. The path to this life is unclear, like a vacation to Europe: one day, someday, when I have the money. To think of embarking on such a journey before then seems completely foolhardy and irresponsible, even though I know neither would kill me. These questions usually stay tucked away, surfacing mostly in the shower, or while driving, those daily activities that leave one briefly alone with few distractions from one’s own thoughts. They are laconic, a snapshot, yet they leave behind a strange loneliness. I stand naked under the faucet missing someone I’ve never met and hope not to meet for several years. I am filled with dread.