Yesterday’s Thanksgiving dinner—or whatever you might call the meal you eat at 3:00 p.m.—surprised me. First, the food was amazing. I had just told someone I’ve grown bored with the never-changing menu year after year, but yesterday’s traditional Thanksgiving spread tasted so good, I forgot all about my vow not to bring home leftovers.
Second, I didn’t feel as out of place as I expected to feel. I thought I would be writing a post today about being outside the motherhood circle. My family is mostly women, and most of the women are also mothers. Two cousins had babies just this month. I can’t talk about pregnancy, labor, breast feeding, formula and diapers by experience, but my family doesn’t talk about any of that anyway. We just hold the babies, which I didn’t do for very long because there are so many of us to pass the babies around to.
I did feel a little conflicted later on when one of my cousins posted a five-generation photo on Facebook. It’s a rare thing to be able to capture a matriarch with her daughter, granddaughters, great-grandaughter and great-great-grandson all in one picture, and it must be a wonderful thing to live long enough to see so many descendents. However, this can’t occur unless at least one mom is a young one, and despite how much I love my family, and how adorable they are, I’m never excited when this is the case. On the other hand, I’m happy that my youngest cousin with a baby won’t be 33, dateless, prospectless, wanting a baby and thinking about the risks of advanced maternal age.