Implanting Embryos Versus Implanting Knowledge

I am the oldest of my two sisters and thirteen cousins. I grew up in a close family where my cousins were like siblings. As a result, there were always babies in my life. For as far back as I can remember I have been changing diapers, burping babies, putting babies to sleep, giving babies their bottles, bathing babies, and dressing babies. I adored every baby in my family, but most of all my sisters. They were "my babies" and this is how I introduced them to people. I loved nothing more than helping my mom take care of them. Luckily, they have no permanent damage from a three year old carrying them around the house or putting them in a doll carriage. When I was 13 I job shadowed a doctor and watched a birth because I wanted to become an obstetrician (I gave that up once I learned that obstetricians are also gynecologists!). I have been crocheting baby booties since I was 15.

Call it a biological clock, or societal conditioning, or a result of my upbringing, or a combination of all three. Whatever it is, babies turn me to mush. Bring a baby in the room and all of my cynical, jaded wit is transformed into something I don't recognize. I become one of those strange people who wants to see the tiny little baby toes and who changes her voice to sound like a cheerleader who just inhaled helium. It's pathetic but the babies seem entertained.

As much as I love babies thinking of having my own someday brings up all kinds of questions and concerns. When I turned 23, the age my mother was when she had me, I thanked her for not killing me. Hell, I can barely keep a plant alive let alone a tiny human that can't talk and is dependent upon you for EVERYTHING. A part of me worries that I will miss my chance to have kids. I worry about finding someone to have one with (though these days that's not crucial). I worry that between school and a career there just won't be a good time to have a baby. I also worry that I'm just not cut out to be a mom. I fear that I will be one of those workaholic parents who is scarce. How does one find the energy and patience to work all day and then come home exhausted to juice boxes and Barney?

Then I consider the joy of being around those little minds. Sure, my childhood wasn't all roses and puppy dogs. But looking back, I realize I had it good. My mother was exceptional at letting me explore the world and learn by doing things. When I was two we were living in Germany and our back porch was filled with planter boxes. My mom designated one of the boxes as "Christina's garden" and let me have the whole thing to myself. I collected rocks and pinecones for my garden and with the help of my mom planted flowers and watched them grow. She let me catch bugs and bring them in the house. We even kept a caterpillar and watched as it went into a cocoon and hatched as a butterfly. We made our own playdough. She let me spend hours reading books in trees. She didn't complain when I did science experiments in the kitchen. She even bought me a microscope for Christmas one year. She never once yelled at me for painting myself with mud or mixing together strange concoctions of leaves, twigs and rainwater in the backyard.

I think I owe it to my mom, to society, and to myself, to foster a love for learning among those little minds. Perhaps I won't get the chance to pass on my genetics but I know first-hand that genes aren't everything. I like to believe that crossing over did not occur when I was being created and that I am a product of only my mother's gametes. If that isn't true than the only thing I got from the XY DNA is a lack of serotonin and the eyesight of an 80 year old who has presbyopia, myopia, and multiple cataracts.

Passing on your genes is one thing, but passing on your knowledge is what really makes you immortal.