I have crazy whims. And they must be managed so that I don’t ruin my life. The latest one is in regards to whether or not I want to have children. One minute I declare to Mr. C: “That’s it! I’m having kids between the ages of 32 and 34, and if you don’t want kids, just go ahead and leave me now, because that’s the plan—and I’m sticking to it!” And then he gets all serious and says, “Well, then we should really talk about this. Is that really what you want?” And then I’m like, “What are you getting all serious for? I could have kids. I could not have them. Whatever, you know?”

Mr. C is still trying to understand that this latest interest in debating with myself and with him about whether I want kids or not is part of what I like to call my whimsical nature. I feel one way one minute; and then I can change my mind a few minutes later. It’s not like my children-to-be are around the corner, waiting expectantly for me in a bundle hanging from a benevolent and dutiful stork’s mouth. They are safely nestled in my woman parts—protected from anything that might turn them from tiny eggs into something with a heartbeat. In fact, could someone please tell me if there is a way I can simultaneously use three different forms of contraception? I would love that.

There are some things that I am sure of without a doubt. In 2006, I was absolutely sure (and still am) that I belonged at Harvard for graduate school. In 2007, I was absolutely sure that I was supposed to be living in Ghana eating things like fufu and jollof rice with this girl.

Then, there are those other things that I’m not sure about—like whether I want to have kids, or whether I want to be crazy-out-of-this-world famous. The only way those two things are similar is that once you’ve crossed the line, there’s no going back. You’re famous forever—even if it’s just for not having gotten famous enough when you had your shot. Yes, I see being a super-celebrity as probable an option for me as having kids. I have a lot of self-confidence and a very active imagination.

I’m starting to exercise more self-restraint with my crazy whims, because I realize that they are having increasingly more “real” consequences. I always thought that crazy whims were just fine because I didn’t have to actually act on them. I could just talk about it, and construct elaborate plans and alternate realities in my mind. Now, my whims have the potential to become real live decisions with long-term consequences.

If I decide—on a whim—that kids just aren’t for me, I could end up marrying someone who doesn’t want kids, find myself 35 and childless, and regret it. Adoption notwithstanding, will I feel like I blew my chance? Or the other way around! I could end up preggers and in a state of complete shock, confusion, and dismay about having kids. And I could end up with a child that I am not ready for, not excited for, and too traumatized by the babies section of the Bodies Exhibit to do anything but have it! (I thought about putting a video link to that, but it was just not going to uplift your day, so why do it?)

Another crazy whim that is much more pressing is whether I want to apply to “traditional” jobs or whether I just want to say “Forget it! It’s me charting out my own path all on my own!” This girl says, “Watch out, crazy entrepreneur-to-be. You might regret it.” She’s a smart woman, an MBA like me. Heck, she even did the same summer internship that I did. But I feel compelled—a feeling stronger than a whim and less than a completed decision—to do just what she warns against: start something all my own during the recession.

I don’t think I’ll change my mind about this, but I still can, which still makes this a crazy whim. Who’s coming along for the ride?

Related posts:

1. Here's to the Crazy Ones
2. My Latest Obsession
3. Crazy Girls and the People Who Love Us

Tagged as: children, entrepeneuership, indecision, marriage, motherhood, whims, whimsical