Eleni is generally a happy-go-lucky kid, but sometimes she worries about the future. Some days she’ll ask, “Mom, what happens if I can’t remember my cell phone number when I grow up?” or “What if I forget my ATM number?” Since Eleni’s memory is as sharp as a tack, I assure her that these numbers will be etched in her mind, and that this shouldn’t concern her.
On other days, though, Eleni’s worries run deeper. She’ll be playing her Game Boy when suddenly she’ll sigh, “You know, Mom. I just don’t know if I want to get married when I grow up—or have kids. I just can’t decide.” Since Eleni is barely eight years old, I tell her she has many years to think about it. (After all, I didn’t decide to adopt Eleni until I was 41!) But with a half-serious glint in her eye, she’ll persist, “Mommy, if I don’t have children, that will be the end of the Broadwell line!”
In a way, Eleni is right: I am an only child, and so is she. Yet when I hear Eleni lament the fate of our family’s future, I feel saddened and mystified (why on earth would an eight-year-old fret over such things?), and try to assure her that there’s no pressure to marry or have babies. But it doesn’t stick; soon enough, she’ll start in again, saying, “Oh, no, Mom. I don’t ever want to get married and kiss a boy.”
For now, of course, the subject is academic. On a day-to-day basis, Eleni, a third-grader, is much more concerned about her lunchtime companions and playground pals, and what she’ll be having for dinner. But my daughter is also fiercely loyal and committed to family. In her mind, there is an inner circle of Broadwells, which consists of Eleni, me, and her grandma; a second circle of godparents and their families; and a third circle of close family friends. For good measure, there is also her family in China. (Sometimes when kids ask Eleni, “Do you have a daddy?” she’ll say, “Yeah, but he lives in China, and so does my other mommy.”)
As the daughter of a single parent, Eleni is also possessive of me. She checks out my male friends and acquaintances to see whether they’re simply buddies. And she tells me, with an air of mock indifference, “It’s OK, Mom. You can get married someday if you want to. Why would a little thing like that even bother me?”
At this stage, it’s a leap to think of Eleni’s future—we’re still so steeped in her childhood. But for the moment, my confirmed bachelorette has advised me that her family might consist of dogs, kittens, and horses; and that my “grandchildren” might resemble a cross-section of Noah’s Ark. It’s hard to know what Eleni will ultimately choose, or what forces will shape her decision. But I tell her, no matter what she decides, I’m 100 percent behind her. After all, my path to motherhood was not always straight, conventional, or predictable. So if Eleni wants to amass a collection of furry kids, that’s fine with me—as long as she follows her own heart’s desires.
