Old and in the family way

Yet, how could I possibly advocate a return to the old patterns? I would have made a selfish, immature and, in all probability, resentful mother in my 20s. I feel fortunate to be among the first generation of women who were able, en masse, to burst out of the "one size fits all" lifestyle corset that constrained so many of our mothers and grandmothers.

In the 15 years between my college graduation and my first labor, I, along with a cohort of female peers, lived self-supporting and independent lives. If, in retrospect, I now view those as confusing and angst-ridden years, they nonetheless afforded me the chance to slowly and painfully grope my way toward a life of my own creation. This essential exercise would have been impossible to achieve if I'd been simultaneously caring for little ones. And I like to believe that my children are the ultimate beneficiaries of the textured life experiences I amassed before they were born.

Still, I fear at times that I have made a dangerous, and perhaps reckless, gamble. Because my mother was only 27 when I was born, we have had 45 years to work out some of the kinks in a complicated relationship. Her single largest gift to me may be the simple act of hanging around until I became mature enough to empathize with the pressures she was experiencing when I was a child.

Will I be able to offer the same to my children? Quite possibly, yes. Certainly many of us are living longer lives these days. Yet, despite increasing odds that I will survive to a cranky old age, longevity remains a crapshoot and plenty of women of moderate habits die young. If I exit this planet at age 59, as my aunt did, I will not leave behind grown-up children, as she did. I will orphan a son who may still be in college and a daughter not yet out of her teens. That thought alone can bring me to my knees.

In the words of Tony Blair (himself a new father at age 47), there must be a "third way," but I don't see an obvious one rising to the surface. The recently unleashed opportunities for women to pursue interesting careers, achieve financial independence and safely postpone childbearing are going to make it difficult to push the genie back into the bottle. After all, aren't we finally exercising an option that has always been available to men: to sow our wild oats and seek our fortunes before -- rather than in place of -- raising children?

Of course now that I am a parent, my perspective on this issue has shifted dramatically. A selfish part of me hopes that the pendulum swings back in the next generation toward early marriage and parenthood, thus increasing the prospects that I will be spry enough to dance at my children's weddings and cradle my grandbabies.

But, on reflection, that is not necessarily the life I wish for them. I adhere to the view that when we marry and have children, we seal off as many doors as we open. Before my children take this monumental step, I hope they enjoy a period of unbridled selfishness, when they can chase dreams, ideals, passions, ambitions or romantic adventures with a fervor and a single-mindedness that are rarely possible after one acquires significant others.

No, these days, my deepest wish is far more basic, but no less elusive. From my current vantage point, I often feel that I would happily make a bargain with the devil. I will hand him back my self-indulgent 20s in return for a guaranteed seat at the table at both of my kids' 35th birthday parties. Barring that assurance, I can only hope that my imperfectly made bed will sustain me long enough to listen to them and their adult friends complain about their parents' follies and vow to arrange their own lives very differently. I can't wait to be a fly on the wall for those conversations.

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