I had intended to write about not being suited to the at-home mom lifestyle. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t find the words to properly express how I feel about that. I’ve known pretty much my whole life that I don’t intend to pursue the traditional marriage-carriage-lunch box route for a long time, if ever.
That’s the routine in the South, though most girls spend at least a few years in college before they collect their “Mrs.” At 23, I’ve watched many of those whom I graduated with marry and settle down—almost always somewhere in the county. Most of them have at least one baby by now. My facebook feed is full of “He just said mama!!” and “Thanx for all the baby goodies, y’all!” and photo albums full of weird baby faces. I click through them all, just because there are faces that positively cry out for a LOLcats caption.
I don’t regret missing out on that, but I do feel like the odd girl out sometimes. It’s kind of hard to make conversation with a former classmate when she’s got thirty million pictures to show off and I’m full of plans for my thesis. We tend to do a lot of smiling and nodding whenever we randomly meet in town.
Deep down, I’ve got nothing but respect for women (and men) who can stand to do that everyday, and even more for those who truly enjoy it. They might shudder at my plans to pursue an MA and PhD in History and teach while setting home and family to the side (of course, watch me have to bring those to the fore, having opened my big mouth). At least my family will support me in whatever I choose to do. Mom frequently tells me that even if I never marry, even if my greatest non-academic contribution to society is adopting the legal limit of rescue animals, she’ll be happy for me as long as I’m satisfied. I can’t thank her enough for that when another former classmate eyes my bare ring finger with a vaguely smug expression.
To each her own, loves.