Dear Birdy,

I met a man and he is wonderful. We are wonderful together, in a way that is deeply respectful and it feels really good. We have been together for almost a year. I am a childfree woman. I have never wanted children. I work with young people in my career and have two nieces who I adore. It’s all the kid I want and need, ever, in my life. This man has three daughters. Two are older, in college, but entirely financially dependent on him. The youngest is getting ready to enter middle school this fall. We get along well. I would say I love her, even. Assimilating to his life means giving up many things in my own world that I highly value. It means canceling plans when their mom needs (or wants, on a whim) to switch supervision schedules, attending school assemblies and band concerts, maintaining a relationship with their toxic mother, foregoing vacations in lieu of college tuition payments, giving up the freedom to move anywhere, anytime, for any reason, having boring conversations about summer camps and school uniforms with other parents who aren’t my friends but I guess in this world I’m supposed to connect with them because his kid is friendly with their kid. Is that how this works, really? I feel supported and loved by him in a way I haven’t felt before. I also feel like a part of myself has died, and I sometimes get the sensation of watching myself live my life from third person. I don’t know what to do. Will this feeling change? Will it go away? Will I regret staying with this person ten years from now when his oldest daughters could potentially be having children of their own and I am now asked to not only fulfill a stepmother role but also that of grandmother? Where do I go from here?

Signed,

Nobody’s Mother

Dear Nobody’s Mother,

You’re no doubt familiar with the mockingbird, the species who is known for mimicking the sounds of car engines and barking dogs, and dozens of species of birds. We have songs about them. We write poems about them. We are fascinated by these adept shape shifters, and for good reason. They convince us there is a way to be other than who we truly are. You, little bird, can be a car engine! So why shouldn’t I be able to fit my goddess-shaped self into this convention-shaped space in the world?

There’s another, quieter mimic in the bird world. Like mockingbirds, gray catbirds are skilled at mimicking the sounds of other birds. They do a mean western bluebird, and you might even set your binoculars on that chortling red-winged blackbird to discover that he is, in fact, a gray-winged catbird. They've even been recorded mimicking animals like green tree frogs and other similar species. Catbirds are highly skilled at making the world believe they are someone other than who they are. Which is, in fact, quite a lovely little songbird.

But here’s the thing I love about catbirds. They don’t string together phrase after phrase after phrase of these other birds’ songs. In between, they let out that distinctive meow that gives them their name. There’s no mistaking it. They pretend, and then they are real. They pretend, and then they are real. This is the cycle of the mimicking catbird.

So, Nobody’s Mother, I’ll ask you this: are you a mimicking catbird? In those moments you feel as though you are watching yourself move through the motions of a parenting life from third person, are you singing the song of the bluebird? When you attend concerts and have boring conversations with parents you wouldn’t choose as friends, are you performing the tune of the blackbird? When you envision yourself ten years from now, have you turned your song all the way into the low and constant grumble of a toad?

You said it: a part of yourself has died. My love, death is not such a bad thing. You do, after all, get to choose which parts of you live on. Do you want to carry forward the part of you that puts on the fancy feathers that are beautiful and shiny and entirely not yours? Or do you want to settle into your catbirdness, the true part? The part who cannot bear to pretend anymore, takes a pause, and roars?

Love,

Birdy