My Road to Suburban Motherhood

And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? —Once in a Lifetime, Talking Heads, 1981

As a little girl growing up in a small town, I dreamed of a life of adventure. I was going to be a marine biologist. I was going to study dolphins, and I was going to spend most of my time on a boat in the middle of the ocean, traveling the world and Doing Science. I wasn't going to get married, and I would never, ever, not in a million years, have children.

Then I went off to college and discovered that the boat thing wasn't going to work out. After a whale-watching trip spent retching into Puget Sound, I decided marine biology wasn't for me. I fell in love with the world of molecular evolution, and the dolphins were replaced by single-celled organisms with exotic names like Euglena. I was still going to Do Science and travel the world, presenting my research at international conferences and rubbing elbows with Nobel laureates. I still wouldn't marry; I'd be far too busy for a husband, and besides, I didn't believe in marriage. And I would never, ever, not in a million years, have children.

Then I met James. He wasn't part of the plan, but the heart wants what it wants and all that. I fell in love with him, we moved to Colorado and shacked up, then decided to get married. "We'll save on car insurance," we said, because we're romantics like that. My other plans were still on track: I enrolled in graduate school, which worked out nicely because James was going to medical school. I would become a molecular biologist, James would be a physician scientist, and we would attend those international conferences together. And still: I would never, ever, not in a million years, have children.

Then I found out that I didn't particularly enjoy Doing Science. Oh, I still loved science, but actual bench research? Not so much. So I left my graduate program and we moved to San Francisco, where James had been accepted into a medical residency. And after a short stint as a technical and marketing writer for a biotechnology company, I became a freelance science writer. Instead of Doing Science, I was Writing About Science, which suited me perfectly. James and I lived in a tiny studio apartment overlooking Golden Gate Park, and even though I didn't love the big city as much as I'd thought I would, I was happy.

Then I realized I wasn't. Happy, I mean. Oh, I was still madly in love with James, and I loved working as a science writer, but…something was missing. Two things, it turned out. 

And so the very last of my Big Plans went out the window. We had a baby, our son A.J., and we moved here to Pacifica. Then we had our daughter Sasha, and I discovered that everything I'd thought I'd wanted wasn't what I wanted at all. Somewhere along the way, that girl who would never, ever, not in a million years, have children had grown into a woman who wanted nothing more than to stay home with her two kids. So that is what I decided to do.

But what of my dreams of a life of adventure? They came true, of course. Instead of traveling the world, I'm schlepping kids in the suburbs. Instead of rubbing elbows with Nobel laureates, I'm hanging out with kindergartners and third graders. Instead of swimming with dolphins, I'm packing lunches and volunteering at school and reading bedtime stories and kissing boo-boos and arranging playdates. It's the opposite of glamorous and exciting—it's messy and surprising and sometimes deeply fulfilling and sometimes painfully boring—but every day is an adventure.

Turns out this is my beautiful life, after all. I look forward to sharing it with you.