Trudging to Walsh in the whistling wind and biting cold, I fantasized about the wonders spring would bring: blooming trees, afternoons studying on Copley Lawn and my parents’ incessant nagging to find a man and have a baby, already.
What’s that? Your parents don’t continually hint that they want grandchildren? Well, I don’t know if it’s because they’ve reached a certain age or just because they’re insufferably crazy, but my parents have a lethal case of baby fever and they are dying to pass it on to me.
It started out innocently enough. At the age of 27, my married brother announced that he and his wife were expecting a child. My parents were ecstatic at the prospect of being grandparents, buying toys, clothes and books like it was their job. I dutifully played the role of proud aunt-to-be and looked forward to spoiling the newest Reeves spawn. Since I was in high school at the time, I could barely stomach the idea of leaving home, let alone starting a family of my own.
After Jacob was born, my parents and I traveled to Portland for his baptism. My dad was never without a camera to document each second of Jacob’s life, and my mom couldn’t stop commenting on how he was going to grow up big and strong like my brother. It was then that I noticed a slightly rabid look in their eyes, like hungry dogs. They couldn’t stop at one grandchild; no, they wanted more.
The fever died down as my parents basked in the glory of being grandparents, seemingly content to wait until my sister or I decided to procreate. My sister was finishing up her last year in dental school, and though married, it appeared that she would wait at least a few years before considering children. I thought she would give me a buffer zone to pacify my parents before they started after me in their quest for grandbabies.
I was wrong.
This Valentine’s Day, my sister announced that she and her husband were expecting their first children in late summer. Children? Oh yes, she’s having twins. Not only has my sister once again beaten me to the punch, but she’s doubled her output. However, that’s not the only thing that’s doubled in our family.
My parents are back in frantic mode, except this time, they’re buying for two. Now, everything must come in duplicate: bottles, bibs, high chairs, strollers, playpens. Little Sophia and Amelia will not want for tiny, personalized socks at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, that’s for sure.
Shortly after the announcement, my mother’s slightly timid inquiries into my love life crumbled into thinly veiled desperation.
“So … are there any … prospects in your life?” she coyly asked a few weeks ago. I replied that I had given up men for Lent, as a cleansing ritual from the desiring—connecting—rejection cycle in which I’ve found myself. After my explanation, she was silent for a few moments. “Why can’t you just give up chocolate like a normal person?” she finally demanded.
“But Mom,” I said, “don’t you want me to wait and find someone that really deserves me? That’s what you’ve always said.”
Again, a long pause. “Well, it’s just that you’re not getting any younger.”
I had no response. My sister’s overwhelming fertility had finally pushed my mother over the edge. She wants grandchildren. And she wants them now.
At first, I attributed this odd behavior to where I’m from. I don’t mean to paint the picture of my family and me barefoot on our porch playing Dueling Banjos, but the small town life is more accepting of young mothers. We had seven pregnant girls in my graduating class, and one fellow graduate was expecting her second child. No one encouraged this behavior, of course, but, in the words of a good hometown friend, “What else are you going to do after 11:00?”
I realized that I’m not alone in this predicament. My roommate, Caroline, told me her mother had announced over spring break that she, too, wanted grandchildren. She made this statement at a large dinner party with my roommate’s good friend and her parents. Caroline said it was awkward, and I have a feeling that that is a vast understatement.
So, is it just girls’ mothers who are behaving so bizarrely? I asked my friend, Alex how his parents felt about him having kids. He said, “Soon? No, I’ve never, ever had any pressure from my … what is this for?” I never did tell him why I was suddenly inquiring into his procreation plans, so I hope he doesn’t assume anything, although that would be the perfect solution in my parents’ eyes.
My parents have caught baby fever. They’ve forgotten that my brother and sister are in different places in their lives than I, with spouses, degrees,and viable earning potential. Though I haven’t been infected with the sickness, I am thrilled to watch baby Sophia and Amelia grow up. When the time comes, I’ll sit them down and tell them that they can or cannot have their own babies whenever they want.
