I always assumed I’d have children. Not right away. There were things I wanted to do first. I wanted to get settled in my career. Find the right person. Have enough money.
There was always time.
In my thirties, people started asking me about it more often.
“Do you want kids?”
“Yeah. Eventually.”
I had a couple of serious relationships. One ended because he wanted children sooner than I did.
At the time, I thought that was probably for the best.
A few years ago, my sister’s daughter had a baby. At a family dinner, everyone was passing her around. Eventually my niece handed her to me.
“You’re good at this,” she said.
I laughed.
“I always thought I’d have one of these.”
She looked at me.
“Why didn’t you?”
I started to answer.
Then I realized I didn’t really know.