May 7, 2012
ONLY a culture amusing itself to death would listen to the Mother’s Day ramblings of an intentionally infertile woman who wonders, at the advanced age of 44, whether to have a child without a husband. Eve Ledermain writes in her anti-motherhood Mother’s Day essay in The New York Times:
I’m afraid of undertaking motherhood alone, in a tiny apartment with a three-flight walk up and little savings. I’m equally scared of the drone of doing so with a husband and a good job in a nice home. And what I fear the most is missing the indescribably deep connection with a child that yields a lifetime of stories.
Paralyzed by uncertainty, I nearly want to flip a coin to end the wrenching lack of knowing. But as T.S. Elliot said, “Things don’t go away. They become you. There is no end, but addition.” So undecided and waiting for my soul to speak, I’ll wait on, for the choice to become me.
Okay, instead of a “wrenching lack of knowing,” Eve, try this. Admit that it’s way too late for you. You’ve wasted your youth. Given your self-centeredness, you’d have made a lousy mother anyway.