I want to be a mother — but I’m not yet a wife

I don’t have any children yet. But when I walk into a room, people don’t turn to the woman near them and whisper, “Oy, nebach, she’s the one who doesn’t have kids.” Instead, they’ll tilt her head to the person closest and say, “Oy, nebach, she’s the one who isn’t married.”

I’m not the woman waiting for motherhood. I’m the girl waiting for marriage. But when the sun goes down and the stars come out, I’m both at once.

The night a friend had baby number four, another friend called me in tears. She and her husband just celebrated five quiet years of marriage. Each healthy baby born to a friend is a reminder of what she’s yet to merit.

“It hurts,” she choked out. “It’s so hard to watch other people get what I want most. I know I should be happy. I know that. But right now, I just want to cry.”

What I didn’t tell her was this: Sometimes I choke from the same pain.

My siblings’ kids come to my parents’ house, and I wish my own could join the gaggle. They talk about sheitels, and I have nothing to add. They talk about preschools, and I also have nothing to say.