When I turned 36 years old I decided to get married within the year. And I did: a year later I'm married and pregnant.
Until age 32 I was not looking for serious relationship. It was all about having a good time. Then I decided that it was enough, it was fun, and now it's time to think long term: a husband, a family. It was not that I felt mature enough or had it with the singles' scene; it was a proper rational decision that was mostly motivated by the ticking of my biological clock. I decided I must have a normal family: a husband and kids.
When I write "must," I definitely mean that "must." I felt a sense of obligation, not a need or a will. It's not that I felt emptiness in my womb or sentimental at the sight of other people's children. On the contrary, the thought of pregnancy terrified me. Coming home from an exhausting visit with my friends' children or my amazing nephews, I blessed God for not making me a parent, and I'd happily return to my freedom.
Even the thought of sharing my life with a man – as wonderful as he might be – scared me. Delving deeper, I could not understand how it would be possible to find a place in one house for my moods and his. My habits and his. Not to mention the dirty laundry. The idea of giving up my freedom wasn't very appealing: the freedom to go whenever I wanted, with whoever I wanted, for as long as I felt like it. I loved it. I was content. Till I decided it was time for something else. Some things require self-discipline.
It's real easy to condemn this opinion. For me too there was something disappointing in it. Like the other residents of Tel Aviv – the city and the concept – I wasn't able to avoid those theories about spiritualism, freedom, choice, creating my own reality.
Not a feminist
I was also unable to repress all of the modern – sorry, post-modern – concepts about women: About being whole even if single, about self-actualization, sexual freedom. A type of feminism – sorry, post-feminism – that allows us to believe in it without being ugly, lesbian or just embittered. I feel like yelling "Enough!!" as I am writing this but Noam is sleeping (I suddenly realize he's already two-years-old – time flies).
Combine all of the theories and you get a series of exciting evenings in bars (a combination of wit and showing off my intelligence, with a sexy ambiance and – if I feel like it – sex). A series of girls talks analyzing every detail of our lives, feminine comradeship, and coffee-shop wit till we're blue in the face). It felt like I could do it for ever. What do I need a man to come and bore me, and I him when manly glances and smiles are directed at me constantly?
That is why I wrote that there was something disappointing about this decision. The reasons were so practical, so un-spiritual. "Biological clock," "raising a family," "getting married" – so old-fashioned, so conformist, these words still make me see an American housewife of the 70s – giddy with a blue ribbon in her styled hair.
Deciding to be normal
Yet, eventually, I decided to be normal. To plan for a low-risk future and stop investing speculatively in "freedom" and "coolness," and start investing in something less exciting but safer.
Why at 32? I knew I needed time. A period to adjust, search and compromise. I wasn't going to settle for the first guy to cross my path. I still wanted someone smart, amusing, fun, educated, handsome. Someone who'll deserve me. I knew that might take some time.
Why not opt for single parenting? It's a nice idea but not suited for me. Too non-conformist, too difficult. I didn't feel like being wonder-woman.
So I started looking for serious relationship. I went on endless dates, started and ended more relationships than I can count. Suddenly I was 36 and still single. I felt the biological clock was winning. Examining the past four years of searching, I realized I didn't find what I was looking for because I was searching for something unrealistic.
What's love got to do with it?
I looked for a man I'd like. Someone who'll attract me, interest me, amuse me, a good listener and intelligent conversationalist. Someone who'll care about me and I about him. I realized I was searching for love. Many men loved me but it was never mutual. So, why now?
I did not find love and I should not be looking for it anymore. Falling in love? A perfect guy? No more futile treasure hunt. Focus!
I realized my stakes were too high – and I lost. Looking back I realize it was a mistake. Four years gone to waste. Four years in which my exciting life was replaced by a series of boring dates. Yet, it was also a cooling period in preparation for the routine of couplehood and motherhood. I finally got it.
The man I needed didn't have to be witty, funny and assertive and I didn't have to love him. Dull evenings in front of the TV won't kill me. What I really needed was a father for my future children and a good provider. Someone stable who'll adore me. I knew such men were available and easy to find.
Armed with this new insight and the expertise I acquired after years of dating, I was off on my new way.
Two months later I met Yaniv online. A stable, good guy, okay-looking though not really my type. Three months later we were married and I spent most of 2005 pregnant with a huge grin smeared over my face just like in those American commercials. Looking at photos, even I can't tell that smile was fake. I felt content, victorious. Happy? What does happiness have to do with it?
Yaniv loves me. I don't love him. I am not proud of it. Sometimes I envy him for his ability to love. His ability to settle and be content with our small life. I try not to show the absence of my love. When he tells me he loves me, I answer "me too," but I am certain he knows. Well, I'm not sure.
Yet this lie was necessary. I had to get what I needed. It was simply a matter of survival.