As a little girl, my favourite doll was Betsy Wetsy, a 1950’s “drink and wet” toy that resembled an infant. I fed her water through a baby bottle, and moments later, she wet her diaper, the water dripping down her plastic, chubby legs.
“Oops! She has to be changed,” I shouted to my mother.
Taking care of Betsy made me feel like a mom, and like so many girls on my Brooklyn block, I dreamed of becoming one in the future. But that was not meant to be.
I was married to Steve, the love of my life, for 45 years, but we did not have children.
My mother pressured me to have a baby throughout my life. “You’re selfish,” she said. “You care more about your lifestyle and work than you do about having children.”
My cousin Susan, a Southern Baptist and mother of two, came at me from a different angle. “It’s against the Lord’s will. You must have a child,“ she said.
My mother’s second husband asked, “Why did you ever get married if you had no intention of having children?”
When I was nearing the end of my childbearing years, my mother told me, “When you’re older, you’ll be sorry, just like my Aunt Laura. She’s alone. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
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English (US)