Study, Work, Marry, Multiply

To my extended in-laws (also Russian), whose boy had never kept a steady girlfriend, the union was a miracle. I was introduced to them for the first time a few months before the wedding at his birthday party?but I was the celebrity. "They love me!" I thought, and was glad I could make so many people happy with so little effort.

More than two years later I remain the only one of my independent, illustrious, talented big-city friends to have tied the knot. So I figure I'm way ahead, right?

"When am I seeing grandchildren?" my mother-in-law asked about four months into the marriage.

"Daniel's in the next room," I answered, referring to her other son's child.

"No, I mean from you."

Turns out a timely?or even premature?marriage counts for little if you're not pregnant within a month. The way my new family sees it, I'm not way ahead, I'm almost two years behind.

At first I thought Mom was just kidding around, so I kidded back: "But I'm only on my first husband." When my husband's grandparents started badgering me for great-grandchildren, I knew it had to be a joke. I mean, they already have five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. Who could ask for any more naches (Yiddish for family pride)?

They could, apparently. As my husband explained it, at this point Grandma and Grandpa are clinging on to life so that they can see his children. They were serious. This called for some serious consideration on my part, and a serious response: "Maybe in seven to 10 years."

Silence. Was she joking?

"You'll be an old woman." "You won't be able to take care of children." "They'll be retarded." "Your eggs will dry up." "Your uterus will fall out." "What do you think people get married for?"

I paused. "Health insurance?" This closed the subject temporarily.

Can you believe it? I choose this lucky family upon whom to bestow my singular, fabulous company, and they're interested in some stranger who hasn't even been born yet. Only a few months and already I wasn't enough for them anymore.

As I'm finding out, the addition that you as an individual make to the family has little meaning if you're not planning on coughing up some kids soon. A pleasant personality and ambition are all very nice, but these are merely a plus. They look at you and they see grandchildren. And great-grandchildren. Don't kid yourself thinking you're the end product; you 're the conduit for it. Without a child on the way, your value decreases tenfold and steadily declines the longer you remain idle.

So get busy. Like Conchita did. That's my husband's brother's Colombian wife. Never mind that she's a self-serving broad who doesn't get along with anyone in the family, which she views as a potential green card for hers. She brought them Daniel. She at least did the minimum that was expected of her.

Think you've got some grand calling on this Earth? That's nice, but no one's interested. If you believe there's something you can do that's bigger than giving life, then you're just an egotist. Sure, you're special: their boy chose you, didn't he? That's what makes you special, so earn it.

Meanwhile, perhaps subconsciously rehearsing for the inevitable, I've managed to gain more than 40 pounds since getting married. The in-laws monitored my steady expansion with anticipation. They were just sure I was pregnant. They've been sure now for two years. At a family function about a year ago, Grandma sidled up to me and whispered, "I see you have a large appetite lately."

"I'm eating for two."

"Congratulations!"

"No, I'm not pregnant. I just eat enough for two people."

My own parents, who are pretty progressive-minded for immigrants, having tolerated my overly mutable career aspirations through the years, left me alone initially. They still regarded me and my older sister as their little girls first, and vehicles for grandchildren second. But a few months ago my sister died in a car accident, leaving my parents feeling empty and craving more close family, which now only I can provide.

"What are you waiting for?" a friend of the family accosted me after my sister's funeral. "Give birth already."

I had just witnessed my parents outlive one of their children, something that's happened before in my family. The woman's take on the situation seemed paradoxical. So I answered, "Why? So we should worry that someone else will drop dead?"

"Stupid girl! That's not how you're supposed to think! Your parents need naches?now."

"I thought I was the naches."

"Don't be an egotist. Hurry and deliver someone!"

But I can't have a kid. I had a plant once. About six months after moving into a new apartment, I realized there'd been a plant somewhere in the old one. I didn't remember taking it with me, but I didn't recall throwing it away, either. In fact, I couldn't say when I'd seen it last. Lately I've been having a recurring dream in which I have a baby but I keep forgetting to water it.

To get through my sister's death, my parents agreed that if they hoped to one day see my children, they had to pull themselves together and somehow go on living. That makes four people I'm currently serving as life support for. Good. They'll be around for a long time.

Still, I can't get used to this demand coming from my parents. Yet another paradox: All your young life your parents are begging you not to have sex. When you're old enough to have it, they're in denial. They don't want to know, they don't want to hear. Then, as soon as you do a little thing like get married, you're of no use to them unless you're having sex. It's all they want to hear, it's all they want to know. "Are you trying? How often? That's not enough. Are you doing it right? Work faster! When will there be children? When already? When?"

Unlike most of my graduating high school class, who are married with children or else discovering something about themselves they hadn't known in high school, I'm not ready to pass the torch to the next generation. From our first day in school, our teachers told us that each one of us was special. They said we were the future. They didn't say anything about the generation after us. Well, I feel I still have something to contribute to the future other than the same contribution everyone else is capable of making. Okay, so it's taking longer than anyone ever imagined it might. My family doesn't understand what I'm holding out for. They have yet to see any real fruits of my years of labor. So at this point they're ready to see fruit from the other kind of labor.

"What did you do today?"

"I wrote."

"Again? You wrote yesterday."

Natasha, a married friend of mine, is 28 years old and, like me, relatively a newlywed. She doesn't have kids yet either, explaining that "I don't have anything to contribute to the world, but I'm not ready to sign my life over yet either." But the operative verbs in immigrant life being "study, work, marry, multiply," my baffled mother-in-law inevitably had to ask, "Why doesn't Natasha have any children?"

"Because she doesn't live in sub-Saharan Africa. There is other stuff to do here, you know."

At least there's my friend Karen. She just gave birth to her first child at 43. So now I have a new motto: Why do today what can be put off until 40?

People have told me they think having a child is the greatest act of faith. But to me it seems like an act of great complacency. I mean, if you bring a child into the world today, you're just assuming that World War III isn't going to break out when Yasir Arafat declares a Palestinian state. Just something to think about.

Others laud the move as an act of selflessness. And while I agree that living a childless life is a more selfish existence, there is something narcissistic about having children. I see how people parade their kids around as if everyone is supposed to go on about how gorgeous they are. I'm familiar with the play-fights over which parent the baby resembles more. It is your seed you're showing off, so when people coo, they indirectly coo over you.

I don't mean to disparage the American family. On the contrary, I support it 100 percent, in its traditional nuclear form: mother, father, child. I'm with Dr. Laura on that one. I just don't know if it's for me.

Although I did detect a glimmer of hope for myself last Thanksgiving. I was being terrorized by two eight-year-old girls. They were chasing me around the house, trying to pinch me, blow in my face and shower me with spit. As I was fighting them off, I started yelling: "That's it, Ma! I'm getting my tubes tied tomorrow! It's all over. No kids for me!"

The girls stopped. No kids? Here was an unfamiliar concept. Was this even an option? Everyone they knew had kids. That's what grownups were for. They seemed to take it personally. Again I called out to my menopausal mother, "I'm comin' to join ya! No more kids for me, boy!"

"But you don't have any kids!" one of my tormentors yelled back.

"That's right?and I don't want any more."

"How come?"

"Too much trouble. Tying the old tubes tomorrow."

"You can't do that."

"Why not!"

"You don't have an appointment!"

I burst out laughing?and I'm the comedian. It was an inspiring moment. I decided to leave the possibilities open (and my tubes untied).