I came to terms with not having my own kids. Now, I'm finally at peace with not being a grandmother.
It took me a while to accept that I wouldn't have my own kids.
I finally realized I liked having my own time; I could dote on my friends' kids and then come home.
Now, as my friends have grandchildren, I'm accepting I won't be a grandmother.
A few weeks ago, I attended a baby shower my friend held for her daughter. After we ate, someone passed cards around, asking the guests to share parenting advice. I stared at the card blankly. What advice did I have to give? I'd never had children. I had thoughts but no real experience. I jotted down a few one-word responses.
Later, after we answered trivia questions on the various milestones in babies' first year, I listened as newly minted mothers and grandmothers shouted out answers. I didn't know a single answer. Twenty-five years earlier, I might have left that party in tears, saddened by the fact that I'd never been a mom and would now never be a grandmother.
Eventually, I realized I could be happy without becoming a parent
I clearly remember the day I came to terms with not realizing my long-held dream of having children. I was 44 and had just returned from a day in Central Park with one of my best friends and her 2-year-old son. The little boy had tired me out, and I truly felt happy to come home, lie on the couch, snuggle with my dog, and have the rest of the day to myself.
I already had loving relationships with my other best friend's two kids, so knowing that I would have the privilege of watching the three kids grow up and being part of their lives was enough for me. I could love them and attend their recitals, concerts, and graduations, yet still have the time and freedom to travel the world and thrive in a career that involved late nights and weekly business trips.
A few months after one of those kids got married, she handed me a picture of a sonogram and told me her baby girl was due in six months. Of course, I cried with joy. But, in the ensuing weeks, I started to wonder what role I would get to play in that little girl's life. I knew I was important to her mother. I had, after all, just been given an honorary role at her wedding. But the baby already had two grandmothers, and I knew my best friend would be an especially devoted one. Would I be described as her aunt in air quotes when she tried to explain me to her friends?
No, I won't be a grandmother, but that's OK
I knew this was just the start of a new era in my life. I worried I would feel the stabs of pain and regret every time someone announced their daughter, daughter-in-law, or stepdaughter was pregnant — the same pangs I felt when my friends shared their own news of impending motherhood. Would it hurt each time my phone dinged with a newly texted photo or addition to a shared album, the way it did when my friends encouraged me to flip through the pages of their "brag books"?
I needn't have worried. I easily found a place in the little girl's life. Her mother, just like her grandmother, believed the more people that loved this child, the better. If I wanted to shower her baby with love, she was willing to let me do so. Not having the same work and travel obligations I had when my friends were raising their kids, I could spend even more time with this baby.
I made sure to visit weekly to get my baby fix and let this child know I would always be a part of her life. Soon we were having dance parties in the park, brunch and dinner dates around Manhattan, and messy bake-offs in her grandmother's kitchen. If you ask her who I am to her, I am just her Ilene. I'm fine with that.
It's a win-win for everyone. I get the joy of spending time with her and now her 1-year-old brother; they both have one more person to love them. My friend gets a break from grandparent duties, and my friend's daughter has one more person in the village to help raise her kids.
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