I'm raising a glass to singlehood
I'm raising a glass to singlehood
By Angela Rozas
Copyright © 2006, Chicago Tribune
Published October 29, 2006
My sister is having a baby.
So I'm having a Hawaii.
It goes like this. She's pregnant with her second child, adding yet another baby to the 14 under-4-footers in my extended Southern family. My six siblings, all married, all bearing fruit.
And then there's me: the 29-year-old single woman with no children.
My unattached status is a fact I have often worried about. But no more.
I'm crossing a new threshold in my singledom. No longer will I feel bad about the life choices I have made, or the choices life has made for me.
I'm going to embrace my single life. Celebrate it.
So, I've booked myself a last-minute ticket to Hawaii next month, where I will sip pina coladas, kayak and maybe sleep all day at the beach. Because that's what single people do.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-marriage. I like the idea of a legal commitment to forever. And I love babies and someday wish I could have five children. But after a series of meaningful, but not permanent, relationships, I've found myself not married and--gasp!--happy.
And apparently a majority of households out there just might feel the same way. The U.S. Census Bureau, in a recently released report called the American Community Survey, determined that about 50.3 percent of U.S. households in 2005 were made up of unmarried people, single or otherwise. That's up from five years ago, when 48 percent of households were made up of unmarried folks.
That number should be tempered by the fact that many people live together--and have children together or are single parents--without getting married.
But the point still stands: We unmarrieds, as my dad refers to my single status, are no longer in the minority. But for me, it often doesn't feel that way.
In some places, such as Louisiana, where I'm from, a woman my age is practically an old maid. The average age for first-marriage for women in Louisiana is 25.2, slightly lower than the average for the whole U.S. (25.4) and less than for Illinois (25.9), according to a 2004 Census Bureau estimate.
Add to that the average age when a woman in this country has her first child (25), and I don't think I'm insane for feeling as if everybody's jumped on the family track but me.
Take the hipster neighborhoods in Chicago: Bucktown, Wicker Park, Andersonville. In each of these neighborhoods, as well as my own Roscoe Village, any sullen, Converse-wearing Puppie (what a dear friend coined Punk-Yuppies) will tell you there's been an influx of stroller-pushing moms.
That influx has sometimes led to clashes between babied and non-babied families, such as a silly incident at an Andersonville cafe that asked customers to make sure their children behave in the restaurant.
Some clashes are more subtle, such as the backhanded sales pitches I recently got from a maternity store clerk that I interpreted as missives. I was looking for a baby gift for a friend, and as I thumbed through the clothing racks and admired the cleverly un-babylike oversize bags, the store clerk piped up:
"That dress is really cute, and you don't have to be pregnant to wear it!"
And "That bag is just fabulous, and you could use it for a beach bag, you know, if you're not pregnant!"
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but in my head all I heard was, "Don't forget! You're not pregnant!"
I thanked her and quickly headed for the door, embarrassed and insulted, probably unbeknown to her.
I'm not saying I think mothers shouldn't move to or shop in hip neighborhoods. But it's almost as if other people want to apologize for the fact that I'm not married and don't have children--or expect me to apologize. That's just ridiculous. At a time when half the country's marriages end in divorce, and women are delaying childbearing longer each year, I don't think single women need to apologize for any path we take.
So I'm not going to. I'm just going to take advantage of my single status for now. Take last-minute trips, stay up late and work long hours. Because I think no matter what you hope your life will be like in the future, it's important to be happy with where you are right now.
Recently several colleagues of mine have gotten pregnant or had children. I'm happy for them. But when one person in our office, at the birth of a colleague's baby, suggested that we have a day to bring in all of our children, to swaddle, pat, pinch cheeks and generally drool over, I decided I won't be there.
On that day, I'm calling in single.
----------
arozas@tribune.com
By Angela Rozas
Copyright © 2006, Chicago Tribune
Published October 29, 2006
My sister is having a baby.
So I'm having a Hawaii.
It goes like this. She's pregnant with her second child, adding yet another baby to the 14 under-4-footers in my extended Southern family. My six siblings, all married, all bearing fruit.
And then there's me: the 29-year-old single woman with no children.
My unattached status is a fact I have often worried about. But no more.
I'm crossing a new threshold in my singledom. No longer will I feel bad about the life choices I have made, or the choices life has made for me.
I'm going to embrace my single life. Celebrate it.
So, I've booked myself a last-minute ticket to Hawaii next month, where I will sip pina coladas, kayak and maybe sleep all day at the beach. Because that's what single people do.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-marriage. I like the idea of a legal commitment to forever. And I love babies and someday wish I could have five children. But after a series of meaningful, but not permanent, relationships, I've found myself not married and--gasp!--happy.
And apparently a majority of households out there just might feel the same way. The U.S. Census Bureau, in a recently released report called the American Community Survey, determined that about 50.3 percent of U.S. households in 2005 were made up of unmarried people, single or otherwise. That's up from five years ago, when 48 percent of households were made up of unmarried folks.
That number should be tempered by the fact that many people live together--and have children together or are single parents--without getting married.
But the point still stands: We unmarrieds, as my dad refers to my single status, are no longer in the minority. But for me, it often doesn't feel that way.
In some places, such as Louisiana, where I'm from, a woman my age is practically an old maid. The average age for first-marriage for women in Louisiana is 25.2, slightly lower than the average for the whole U.S. (25.4) and less than for Illinois (25.9), according to a 2004 Census Bureau estimate.
Add to that the average age when a woman in this country has her first child (25), and I don't think I'm insane for feeling as if everybody's jumped on the family track but me.
Take the hipster neighborhoods in Chicago: Bucktown, Wicker Park, Andersonville. In each of these neighborhoods, as well as my own Roscoe Village, any sullen, Converse-wearing Puppie (what a dear friend coined Punk-Yuppies) will tell you there's been an influx of stroller-pushing moms.
That influx has sometimes led to clashes between babied and non-babied families, such as a silly incident at an Andersonville cafe that asked customers to make sure their children behave in the restaurant.
Some clashes are more subtle, such as the backhanded sales pitches I recently got from a maternity store clerk that I interpreted as missives. I was looking for a baby gift for a friend, and as I thumbed through the clothing racks and admired the cleverly un-babylike oversize bags, the store clerk piped up:
"That dress is really cute, and you don't have to be pregnant to wear it!"
And "That bag is just fabulous, and you could use it for a beach bag, you know, if you're not pregnant!"
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but in my head all I heard was, "Don't forget! You're not pregnant!"
I thanked her and quickly headed for the door, embarrassed and insulted, probably unbeknown to her.
I'm not saying I think mothers shouldn't move to or shop in hip neighborhoods. But it's almost as if other people want to apologize for the fact that I'm not married and don't have children--or expect me to apologize. That's just ridiculous. At a time when half the country's marriages end in divorce, and women are delaying childbearing longer each year, I don't think single women need to apologize for any path we take.
So I'm not going to. I'm just going to take advantage of my single status for now. Take last-minute trips, stay up late and work long hours. Because I think no matter what you hope your life will be like in the future, it's important to be happy with where you are right now.
Recently several colleagues of mine have gotten pregnant or had children. I'm happy for them. But when one person in our office, at the birth of a colleague's baby, suggested that we have a day to bring in all of our children, to swaddle, pat, pinch cheeks and generally drool over, I decided I won't be there.
On that day, I'm calling in single.
----------
arozas@tribune.com
posted by Carlos T Mock @ 1:28 PM
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