“The right time”

Couples have married straight out of high school, had kids right away (though the parents were essentially kids themselves) and somehow, even though they had no experience, had done no planning, and had rushed every stage, they have become beautiful families with loving marriages and strong parent-child relationships.

Other couples have been more intentional, putting careful thought and planning into growing a family. They’ve done procreation budgets and accounted for every financial need the family might encounter. They bought all the equipment, got the right toys, raised children who never knew financial lack, and despite it all, eventually the family unit ended up fractured beyond any of their ability to repair; a broken marriage with kids that don’t talk to either parent.

These are not the only two options, of course. Sorry if this is confusing. I’ve been struggling with the concept of “the right time.”

For example, when is the “right time” to start trying for kids? Is there such a thing?

I should tell you: your mother and I didn’t wait this long on purpose. I’m glad we had to, though. Hopefully, time has forged me into a better father for you. Over the last twenty years I’ve grown through four distinct personalities. You’ll get to meet me as my favorite me so far.

Your mother and I tried to get pregnant for a long time. I’m 45 now, as I write this. 46 in three months. I have wanted kids all my life, though I went through a dark patch where I wasn’t sure about that. “Life’s Perfect Plan According to Marcus” said there should be children before age 40. That ship sailed, leaving a wistful past-me at the docks of reality with no kids in his arms.

(Yes, that’s sad. Feel free to come give me a hug.)

I started questioning my life’s goals, re-examining old patterns of thinking. Old hopes, old dreams. Were they still mine?

One of the big questions was did I still want kids? I felt a deep certainty which I believe was direction from the Holy Spirit: doubting was fine, but I was to never speak those doubts aloud. Specifically, I was to avoid voicing any doubts I had regarding my hope and desire for children.

There’s something powerful about the spoken word. After all, the whole of creation burst into existence at God’s “Let There Be.”

There were times I came very close to telling your mother about my doubts. Every time I opened my mouth to do so, that deep certainty thrummed through me like a spirit gong.

“What?” she would say, seeing my face hanging open.

I hesitated, clicked my mouth shut, and shrugged. “Nothing,” I smiled.

In a few years, the doubts faded. During that time, I never spoke of them.

One of the main contributors to my “Kids Before 40” obsession was a particular shred of well-meant advice. Perhaps the advice stuck so tightly because I fell in love with the family who gave it. I’ll set the scene.

I was about 26. I had hair, and no piercing. If memory serves, my hair was dyed light blond and styled in a mohawk, a fashion I helped pioneer in those times. True story. Anyway, I had just moved in with a wonderful family that had recently welcomed their third child to the world. On move-in day, that child was six days old and smaller than most bread loaves.

The next day was a workday. My downstairs room had an en-suite and for some reason the shower was elevated; I had to take two steps up to enter it, at which point the ceiling was maybe six inches from my head. I bumped my arms many times. Eventually I was ready for the day, and went upstairs to get breakfast and make lunch.

The kitchen bench speared out from the right-hand wall, serving the double-function of meal prep space and kids breakfast table. Indeed, the 3-year-old eldest child and his 1 ½ year old sister were already at the counter, he on a stool with cornflakes and she in her high chair, chasing fruit with her fingers. I had met the 3-year-old a few times, but not the sister. She was too young to remember much, I thought. So it startled me when she studied the assemblage of my peanut butter sandwich, and said, “Mahkiss.”

I didn’t think she knew her own name, let alone mine.

“Good morning,” I said, blinking. “How are you?”

“Ahng ahg, ahh oo?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” I said. We had this cute little baby conversation.

The eldest, watching this, realized drastic action would be required if he wanted to be the center of attention.

“TA-DAAA!” he said. I looked up.

He was wearing his cornflakes bowl, arms spread like a proud magician while milk dripped down through his hair.

I did an involuntary snort-laugh and thought, “Oooh, I’m going to like it here.”

And I did. Across the next year and a bit, the youngest hollowed out a special place in my heart as she grew to think of me as an older brother or favorite uncle or something. I watched her take her first steps, and glimpsed how excited I would be to watch my own kids do the same one day.

So that’s the scene. These people had inroads to my heart. I wanted what they had.

One day I asked the father, who was 45 at the time, how old he’d been when he started having kids.

“Forty,” he said. And then, “Don’t wait. When you get married, have kids as soon as you can.”

The words became ticks, burrowing down and taking root in my thinking. Thereafter, the idea hung around me like a shroud for the better part of the next fifteen years. It’s not his fault. The thought matched my desires, so I adopted it as gospel.

I was 32 when I married your mother. You’ll be our firstborn and like I said, I’m 45 now, so obviously I didn’t follow that father’s advice, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Your mummy and I didn’t start trying, or even start ‘risking it,’ for a few years after marriage. That doesn’t mean a few shots never made it past the goalie before then, but it’s hard to say; even if sperm escaped all the time and were routinely meeting up with your mother’s eggs, well, obviously no kids ever came out of it, did they?

Let’s say the first time we ‘risked it’ was the start of trying. From then, we tried to get pregnant for about 9 years. No kids. Our prayer has always been, “God, You are the source of life. You are the people-maker. Bring us our children in Your timing.”

As a free tip, don’t pray that prayer unless you’re prepared to wait. This may sound blisteringly obvious, but God’s patience is inhuman. Meantime, when I prayed that prayer, I was remembering my friend’s advice and silently adding, “…as long as it’s before I’m 40.” I needed to let go of that.