Not Wanting Kids = A Different Language
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It was a picture perfect Friday afternoon. Out of the movies. My new friend and I strolled the streets of the West Village. We popped in and out of furniture shops looking for the perfect chandelier for my future living room. Vast. White. Luminescent. Glamorous. We looked up and down and around. At beautiful objects, gleaming with history and novelty. I ran my finger along wallpapers, safe and bold. I imagined the future. The future home, a wilderness where we will be silly and civilized, where we will finger paint and host dinner parties. Lost in a sea of gorgeous items someone will someday own, I imagined days ahead.
We didn’t find our chandelier. But we did find a quaint little restaurant. It was the end of the workday, turning to evening and to weekend, and my new friend and I ducked in and took a seat at the white marble bar. The restaurant smelled of grilled ham and cheese. Delicious. We each ordered a glass of good wine – rose for me, red for her – and we talked. About aesthetics and design. About cooking. She told me that she used to be a chef and that she cooks every single night, gathering the perfect ingredients – meats and cheeses and spices – from different places on the way home.
In unison, we each finished our first glass of wine. And we ordered another. And with more wine, came more truth. Forgive me, but I don’t remember how we got there. But we got there. Where is there? Kids. I talked about my girls. I talked about how they are the best things that have ever happened to me, but also the hardest. I talked about how I feel stretched, pulled in many different directions, at the mercy of a sublime and unrelenting chaos. She listened. She nodded. She sipped wine.
And then it was her turn. She shared bits and pieces about her life, her family, her path. She told me about her current boyfriend. She told me about her mother and sister and her late father. She told me about her cat. She told me that she doesn’t want to get married. And I don’t know where I got the gall, but I asked her a question I’m not sure I was supposed to ask.
“But don’t you want kids?”
She shook her head and told me no. And I wish I could have seen my face at that moment because I’m sure it wasn’t pretty. I’m sure it was contorted with utter confusion because I was confused. No kids? Ever? Calmly, she shook her head. Told me that kids weren’t her thing. That she wants to travel, to be free, to go on adventures. And I nodded. These things sound nice. I persevered. Don’t you think you will want kids one day? And she stood her ground. She told me more about all of the things she wants to do, and the places she wants to visit, and the breed of freedom she wants to protect. And I listened. Truth be told, I have a few friends who don’t want kids. But I have had few conversations about this. Now was my chance. I said something to her. Something honest.
“Hearing you talk about how you don’t want kids is fascinating. It’s like you are speaking a different language.”
A different language. How true. Day to day, I am surrounded by people fluent in my dialect. I am surrounded by parents, people beleaguered by young children, pregnant, trying to become pregnant, or planning to become pregnant one day. My language has words like Dora and sippy cup and trimester and bouncy seat. My language has made-up words like “Ruff Ruff” (dog) and “Mo” (more) and “titty” (kitty, calm down). Citizens of my world worry (and deeply) about things like vaccinations and stroller recalls and school separation. In my world, in my language, we talk less about things like travel and adventure and unmarred freedom. A different world. A different language.
But. What amazed me more than the fact that my friend, my new friend, didn’t want kids was the fact that in that moment, in that picturesque movie moment at the scrumptious-smelling cafe, I didn’t leap to judgment. No. I asked. I listened. I imagined. I imagined an untethered life, or a less tethered one, a life where I could float about more freely, pursue my career full-throttle, sleep late on occasion. And I decided that that life sounded lovely, but oh so foreign. I got it. I got why my friend would crave that life, those things. At the same time, I realized that I do not crave that life or those things. At least not now.
The life I crave is also the life I too often curse. The life I have. A life full of exquisite and endless obligation. A life of punctured patience and constant worry. A splintered and scattered and stunning life.
A life of children.
A life of children. That is my life. I do other things – I write, I think, I play, I shop for chandeliers. But all of these things are informed by who I am as a mother. There is no going back. There is no wanting to go back.
Parenthood is my lens. It is my language. It is my life.
But. And this is a big “but,” I am immensely grateful for friends who speak different and lovely languages I don’t pretend to understand. I am grateful for friends, new friends, good friends, who inhabit different worlds I will never live in. I am thankful for the perspective it would be too easy to lose in this shuffle. Above all else, I am thankful for the stolen shards of conversation, on this blog, in this life, with people who are not me and not necessarily even like me, with people who have no interest in being like me. I am thankful for the contrast, for the complexity, for the other.
This no kids thing is a tricky, thorny issue. A 2005 New York Magazine article explored the hazards of revealing you don’t want children. People have strong opinions on this. Visceral ones. Vicious ones. And part of me gets it. Part of me, however little, does not fully comprehend not wanting kids. But the bigger part of me, the growing part of me, thinks that we can never fully comprehend our own situation, our own desires, our own reasons, let alone those of someone else. This bigger part of me, this better part of me, wishes we could all remove the claws and ask questions instead. Honest and earnest and clumsy ones. This better part of me wishes that we could embrace and celebrate that we are not all clones, that we speak different languages and live in different worlds and that this is okay.
A pipe dream? Maybe so. But it’s my pipe dream and you can’t have it.
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Thoughts on this hot-button issue? Do you have kids? Do you want them? Do you not want them? Do you judge people who do not want kids? Do you agree that we do not all inhabit the same world or speak the same language? By writing this post am I somehow passing the very judgment I purport to scorn?
If you have links to good articles or blog posts on this topic, please send them along or post them in the comment box below. I am interested in further exploring this question.
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I’m thrilled that this blog post was featured on Five Star Friday!
A topic that usually gets my feathers ruffled, but you did an excellent job of presenting in a way that did not! I do not want kids. I never have. As your friend put it, kids are not my thing, for many of the same reasons that your friend stated. I don’t mind admitting that not wanting kids is selfish, but I don’t see anything wrong with that. I want my life the way I want it and I certainly believe that making this choice is preferable to bringing a child into the world that I might resent. I think that would be absolutely horrible.
I am judged often because of this decision. If I had a nickel for every time I have heard “you will change your mind”, I could quit my job today. I do not understand what makes someone so bold as to suggest that they know better than I do about such a personal decision. And it is a personal decision and NO ONE should be judged on their choice to have or not to have kids.
A beautiful and thoughtful post. I have three gorgeous, interesting and exhausting children of my own so I inhabit your world. I am utterly content (and frequently thrilled) in a life of carpools and soccer games and cheerleading practices.
This post resonated because I don’t think I’ve been judgmental about those that don’t have children, but my reaction is more bewilderment. It is indeed like looking into a different world inhabited with a different language. Not a better one, or worse one, just different.
Thanks for the peek inside.
BTW – Niki, I am sorry you’re so often judged. I get it too. But usually it’s people who see me with my three girls and say “Just wait till they’re teenagers”. It’s like a slap in the face. Never a fun thing.
Thank you for such a thoughtful, honest piece. I’m a new mommy, have a 7-month-old baby daughter whom I adore beyond measure — she is the most delicious little person in the world! She has already given me some of the highest highs and scariest moments I’ve ever experienced.
But parenthood isn’t for everyone, and I for one don’t think it’s selfish to not want children. It’s a choice, no more or less valid than any other. If you don’t want them, you shouldn’t have them — and you shouldn’t have to explain yourself to anyone. I think people who judge you are just trying to justify their own choices by tearing down yours.
I’ve always suspected that I would only want one child, and like Niki have always heard “you’ll change your mind” and “you HAVE to have more than one, you have the second one for the first one.” Well, now I have one, and I’m completely in love with her, and yet I don’t feel any pull to have another. Maybe that will change, but I suspect not. And just as people who don’t want kids find themselves judged harshly, I’ve found the same thing for only wanting one. I hope articles like yours will help us all have a more constructive dialogue, in which we learn to really listen to one another and not judge, to remove whatever lens we’re looking through and really see clearly.
I have one son now and he is the first of what we hope will be four kids. My husband and I both love him incredibly, cherishing every tiny milestone, and nurturing every bump and bruise.
However, there are times that we think back on our newlywed days and how easy an simple everything was pre-house, pre-dogs, pre-kid. We traveled several times each year. We could leave any time and go anywhere. And we did. I wouldn’t ever trade parenthood for that freedom now. But I remember it, and fondly.
And so I understand the choice not to have children. For me, I think it would have ultimately felt rather empty. But for many people it is the right decision. And honestly, I think those people should be commended for making a difficult decision for which they will almost certainly face ridicule (as Niki so eloquently expressed). I believe that a satisfied, carefree, childless adult is better than a grudging, resentful parent who feels trapped by his/her children.
And the above comments are part of why I continue to read this blog. What a mature, smart and eloquent group of readers you have Aidan!
I will also say this, in addition to being judged based on an extremely personal choice, it makes dating incredibly difficult. The men who, as boys, never appeared to want anything to do with children now desperately also want to have children which, of course, is their decision to make just as it is mine not to. I am very upfront and honest about my decision with potential significant others because at 29, almost 30, I realize that others my age who want children but do not yet have them, are seeking someone who shares the same desire and I am not her. It is unfair for me keep this information from someone who is evaluating me as a life partner and who should have the same wants that I do. It has immediately ended relationships that otherwise had the potential to be lovely. Such is life!
This one really resonates. I always thought I would want to have children. Because that’s just what you do. You get to that point in your life and that point is children time.
I’m there. I’m statistically at that point. And I don’t feel that thing. I can imagine it, sort of, but the lens is really fogged up. I can’t say I don’t want kids, but neither can I say that I do.
I remember the NY Magazine article from a couple of years ago that basically said studies show the more time you spend away from your kids, the happier you are (i.e. send them to boarding school, sleepaway camp, etc.) and that gave me a lot of pause.
But I get the questions all the time and if you express doubt about your desires to procreate you are, most often, met with disbelief at best and hostility at worst.
But I guess I’m a huge hypocrite because I quietly judge people who have bunches of kids. I will try to do that less frequently and hope people will stop expecting me to go out and start making babies because they think I should.
This is something I struggle with as often as I allow myself to linger long enough to think about it. Growing up, having kids was a given because it’s what you’re “supposed” to do. It wasn’t until I hit 25 that I had a light bulb moment and realized I didn’t HAVE to have kids if I didn’t want to. Of course, I’ve listened to nothing but disbelief and derision from everyone who knows me for the last seven years, as they smugly inform me that “Oh, [I'll] have kids someday,” like they know something about me that I don’t.
I’m sure that if I had a baby, I would love him or her to pieces – I don’t doubt for a second that I would be a good mom. But the more time that passes, the more uncertain I am that I *want* to do it. I know I could parent a baby/toddler/young child just fine: the thought of being the mother of a 12-year old scares the daylights out of me. I also have a partner who leans more towards no than yes (that being said, I’m relatively certain that if I woke up tomorrow desperate to have kids, he’d very likely accommodate me).
When the light went on over my head at 25, I told my mother that if I haven’t had kids by the time I’m 35, I won’t: I have zero desire to chase after diaper-clad babies in my 40’s. She was appalled that I would make such a statement, cautioning that I didn’t know what my future held (in the interest of honesty and to be entirely fair, my statement was born out of frustration with being single/not finding quality men/worrying I’d be alone for the rest of my life).
I’m creeping up on 32, meaning I have 3 years left in my self-imposed “expiration date.” At this point in time, I’m completely ambivalent either way – I don’t desperately want children, but I can’t say unequivocally that I don’t want them, either: I just don’t know. And yes, most people that ask DO get judgemental when I answer. But it’s not their life and they won’t be getting up for the 3am feedings or pacing the floor during missed curfews or paying for college.
Sorry for the novel. *blush*
I am, effectively, a solo parent. I purposely chose not to be a solo parent in my early 30s, when I was single, a professional woman, uninvolved romantically, and some of my (single women) friends were looking into sperm donors, etc.
I married in my mid-30s and had my first child right away, and a second, very soon after.
I have two teen sons now. (I know, you’re doing the math… shit…)
Parenting is about the toughest job there is. Since I was single for a long time, I knew what it was to be completely independent. I traveled in Europe (behind the Iron Curtain as well), lived in Europe a few times, took on new jobs and challenges where ever they took me, had lovers now and then, fell in love a few times. My life was my own. Through all of it – my women friends, many from college days and also single were my family. And we were happy, though we wanted someone to love, and to love us back. Children were secondary considerations, until we were (still single) in our 30s.
If parenting is the toughest job there is (and it is), solo parenting without family or assistance, and trying to sustain a living is even more so. You sacrifice parts of yourself bit by bit, knowing full well that you are doing so, and not without regret. Nonetheless, for me, the job of parenting my boys has been the greatest privilege I’ve ever experienced. I’m pretty worn out, financially ruined, and not quite done. And you know what? I’ll say it again: parenting those boys has been the greatest privilege I’ve ever experienced.
I speak many languages. (Ho ho.) And I fully understand the language of the untethered life. No one should feel pressured to parent unless they choose to parent. I was fortunate in that I had lived so much life before I became a mother that it is easier to let go of the things I’ll never do. Well, somewhat easier. As mine pull away from me and grow more independent (one flew the nest in August, to college), theoretically I could reclaim more of my life, but even with one teen, that’s not a given. “Mom” duty still takes priority over everything, and there’s still plenty of mom duty to be had.
But for those who toss out a flippant “Just wait until they’re teenagers” – to those of you with younger children and babies – know this. Some of it is luck; I have known great parents who have problems with their kids. Some of it is the quality of your parenting – its constant evolution as your children, as individuals, evolve. Parenting teens carries different worries with huge impacts, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be as sweet (perhaps bittersweet) as the years that come before.
I’ve had the usual teen issues, but pretty minor. I love nothing more than to have my tiny home filled with the noise and chaos of my sons and usually a half a dozen or more friends who tend to just stay here night and day for extended periods – on the floor, the couch, the storage closet-turned-guestroom. Parenting my teens has meant the same pleasure, pride, fascination, surprise, worry, and joy that all the other stages encompassed.
Take your vitamins, and stop worrying about the teen years. You’ll be just fine.
By the way – in spite of everything – I also wanted four, even though I started late. But my ex wanted no more. I would happily have parented more, despite the exhaustion, the financial situation, the career hits. But that’s me. Every woman has a right to make her choice. You are – effectively – pouring 20 years or more into the lives of others; you become peripheral to yourself, and at the same time, so much more full.
Chibi,
Thank you. I agree with everything you said, though I suspect my partner leans more towards yes than no, but just because he thinks he should. Your second paragraph sums up how I feel pretty much all the time: I don’t doubt I COULD, I doubt that I WANT TO.
Great post and great comments. Hot topic for sure. I love reading all types of perspectives and opinions in the well-written comments.
I have two kids. I wanted them but we were married 9 years before our first was born. That was on purpose. I’d seen my friends and their babies and I knew it was going to be quite the change and lots of work. We wanted to be prepared (as possible) for that.
Being a mother has been the most wonderful yet heart-breaking experience ever and it’s far from over. Even the most typical of baby/toddler/child/teen will cause a parent unheard of amounts of love and stress but one of my children has an autism spectrum diagnosis. Talk about “speaking a different language.” With parenting you just never know what you’ll get and you never know what you’re up for and what will crush you. I am not crushed. I am stronger than ever but there are parents who got the unexpected in many ways and struggle to deal. I wanted these children, I want these children and I cannot imagine living without my small wonders.
I commend anyone who has considered having children and decided it’s not for them, for whatever reason. It is not a judgement against ME because I have children, it’s that person’s decision. Sometimes we weigh everyone else’s choices against our own when we should simply focus on our lives, not theirs. Frankly, we’ve all heard of parents who shouldn’t have had children so why would we critize someone who responsibily said, “no thanks, not for me.”
Aidan did an excellent job presenting this sticky topic, especially since the question of “don’t you want children?” could fall into the catagory of taboo questions, depending on whom you ask. Nice job!
I confess that as a college student and newly married I did not see the need for kids in my life. I would remain untethered. I would travel and see amazing things. Little did I know that I would actually need to have children a few years later. It was a tough choice that day. But they have shown me that being connected is one of the greatest gifts. And they amaze me with the worlds their brains can conjure up. And I am never short of pride at their many accomplishments.
I know now what it feels like to be the odd duck in a group of people…I belong to a Mastermind group. I am the only one with children. I feel uncomfortable at times because their language is so very different from my own. But I never feel that I can’t share. They have their prejudices against those who choose to have children, but I don’t have any toward their choice not to. I just want them to understand that the world is not as black and white as they seem to see it and that it is just a few that spoil it for the rest. My kids are far from perfect, and I am definitely not as a parent. But there isn’t anything more rewarding than those kids, Tiny Dancer and Sport-O.
Thanks for sharing your ideas on this sensitive topic. Enjoy the day! Erin
“Part of me, however little, does not fully comprehend not wanting kids.” That’s because you’ve never had teenagers. Just wait, my friend.
It’s a different language because it’s a whole different life. It’s like visiting another continent, with different climates and traditions and natives (or more accurately, a lack of natives).
I don’t think it is selfish at all to choose not to have children. I think it’s more selfish to have them knowing you don’t have your whole heart set on it. It’s WAY too hard to parent children thoughtfully and purposefully. Doing it if you really didn’t want to in the first place? No thank you.
I wish we would all just have enough confidence in our own choices that we didn’t have to tear others down. I also wish people would stop trying to scare me about teenagers. Every single part of parenting is hard in its own way. I don’t need people telling me I’m staring down the path of an oncoming train. I’m just trying to make it through the day here, you know?
Mama,
I’ll say this again… parenting teens is not the horror that everyone loves to make it out to be. So just ignore those remarks, and enjoy each stage. Tweens and teens are a challenge, as much as anything because the changes can take place so quickly we don’t realize it’s time to shift to a different gear. It’s different parenting, not horrible-times parenting. In fact, a lot of it is funny as hell and a blast. So there!
And one more bonus: They fix your computers, teach you urban slang, bring fascinating friends around the house, and they’re great for reaching everything that you can’t (especially at my height). Just feed them. A lot. And often.
I think plenty of men have always lacked the interest in being a parent, but it’s only more recently that many women have been able to feel this way and express it. I know a lot of people whose fathers took a very backseat role to parenting, or as someone mentioned earlier, had an interest when the kids were little but couldn’t really handle being an engaged parent to teens. Lots of younger men co-parent these days, but it just isn’t for everyone and that’s accepted; when it’s a mother there’s less lee-way.
How can choosing not to have kids possibly be selfish though? By definition being selfish means that someone as negatively affected by your behavior, if you have no kids nobody is affected.
Personally I can see wanting freedom and independence during my 20s and 30s, but thinking of being 40, 50 and beyond and not having a family feels a little empty to me, so I may wait a while but I think eventually I’ll come around.
I have to agree with Beth, in terms of the scrutiny of saying one child might be enough. I almost dare say it’s an easier situation to say no kids – there, kind of said and done. Somehow, though, by having one and saying maybe one will be the only one tends to create a mystery for those around you to solve – but why one? you obviously wanted kids (always assumed plural, right?) what went wrong? People really find the need for an answer, it turns out.
My own experience is that I have my one right now, meaning I would like another. I’m not the only one involved in the decision, however; my husband has his own experience and his own feelings about another, the if, the timing – does that mean that things are bad between us? Absolutely not. It means that we’re making decisions as we experience our lives, not according to the plan we came up with prior to actually becoming parents.
“But all of these things are informed by who I am as a mother. There is no going back. There is no wanting to go back.”
I have a wicked migraine right now, but Sarah said, “Read Aidan’s post.” And I did. And thank you. It’s so perfectly said.
No, Yelena, thank YOU – thank you for letting me know I’m not alone. I’ve already started to experience the disassociation and pulling away of friends because I’m not in the Mommy Club (seriously: even though we’re in our 30s, this would feel SO much like high school). That coupled with everyone’s smug, sanctimonious assurances that I *will* have children someday (like it’s out of my hands and I’m powerless against it), really make me question my decision (or lack thereof). But I’ll be damned if I have kids simply to fit in – it’s not like buying a new pair of shoes, for crying out loud.
It’s nice to know that I’m not alone and that I’m not *that* strange.
My brain is too full and too scattered to leave a really meaningful comment on this. Please know that I really really wish I could right now. Because this post? Is Great! And the comments so far? Even greater.
And yes, parenthood is my lens. Tinting everything. Helping me focus, and remain out of focus. All of it. In every moment.
Sigh. I’m hungry. It’s time for lunch. And wine. (Maybe my boss won’t notice?)
Thank you all for these incredibly thoughtful and insightful comments. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that there is a back-and-forth, an actual CONVERSATION going on in this comments section. This is why I am doing this. To talk about things that affect us all, that matter, and deeply, to who we are and who we are becoming… all of us. So, thank you.
And keep talking!
Funny, I blogged about something similar last night!
I suppose we all view life through our own lens. I once read something somewhere that said if we could walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, we’d wonder what planet they were from!
We all have different perceptions based on our past, our upbringing, our experience, our choices… so another’s perception does seem like a different language.
Personally, I wanted kids and then I didn’t want kids. Then I had kids and I can’t imagine my life without them.
And this bit: The life I crave is also the life I too often curse.
That is true for everyone.
Great post.
aidan- you continue to amaze me with your insight and vulnerability… so willing to put yourself out there and initiate discussions like this one. the post itself is absolutely fantastic… probably my favorite of what you’re blogged thus far.
I have a kid, and I happen to be married.
I mention that because it seems that you segued from her saying “I don’t want to get married” to your asking “Don’t you want kids?”. I don’t think they’re related. I wanted to have a child, but I had no interest in getting married. Eventually, my (now) husband wore me down, and I’m not sorry that we did get married, but it wasn’t a given.
I found you, and this post, via five star friday, and I am really glad to have stopped in.
I always wanted kids, but now I am not so sure. I am really interested in this topic, and the discussion that has ensued. I am 30, and have been with my partner for 8 years. he is not at all interested in having kids. I go back and forth. I love him, and don’t want him to feel pressured and I also really like the freedom to travel, and the disposable income, and the ability to go out without thinking through needing a baby sitter and other considerations. But on other days I see many of my friends with babies, and I think i want to be a mom too.
I am having a hard time truly deciding *what* I want. Am I settling for not having kids because of my partner? Am I being pressured by my friends that all have babies/toddlers and I want to be a mom to “fit in” and speak their language?
I can’t even tell you how many people have asked if I have kids. When I say no, the conversation usually goes like this;
“Don’t you want kids?”
“I’m not sure”
“how old are you?”
“30″
“well, you had better decide soon”
I think that urgency that seems to be placed upon me by others is making this topic even more unclear.
Thanks again for opening the dialogue, and to those that left comments for providing their experiences and opinions in such a respectful way.
I found this post thru Schmtzies’ Five Star and wow is it ever.
As a woman who knows she does not want children I have been subjected to so many invasive and condescending remarks regarding my decision. “Oh you’ll change your mind.” “You can’t possibly mean that.” “Well you better change your mind before it’s too late.”
Thank you for explaining that incredulous looks mother’s give me when I say I am (happily) not procreating. Now that I know they are confused rather than condescending. (I will tell myself this from now on)
Now if I can get my mother-in-law to read this.
Wonderful that you were able to step so willingly outside of what you know. Would that more people could do that.
I have two children, and I always wanted to have two children. I’ve met several people recently who tell me they don’t want to have children, and I always tell them I understand their choice. Even going into it wanting children, parenting is hard. Hard, hard, hard. Joyful and wonderful and fulfilling, but also hard. So if someone tells me they don’t want to do it, I say more power to them, because the last thing the world needs is more children whose parents are irritated by or resentful of their very existence.
More and more are going the childfree path, and by all accounts, it’s the right thing to do. There are far too many children starving and without homes—the last thing the world needs is more of them. I understand the societal pressure to conform to the ‘American Dream’ (i.e. a husband who’s a doctor or a lawyer, two kids, a dog, a decent house with a white picket fence in the suburbs, etc.), but the ones who resist this pressure seem to be much better off.
I’m a 32-year-old woman. I have no children, and I shall have none. I’ve already made peace with the “you’ll change your mind!” crowd; the “but you’ll regret it one day!” crowd, and the “you must’ve had a bad childhood!” crowd.
I enjoy this life.
I’m cruising the archives, new to this fascinating site and I just had to add in:
Been there and done all that being 40 and childless. I must be keeping up well because most people keep assuming I’m safe-childbearing age and are surprised when I give my age in a “you’ll change your mind” conversation. But what usually stops them is this:
I heard a long time ago that a way to judge how good a parent you will be is to get a cat and houseplant….and if anyone has seen (and usually someone in the crowd has) my mangy cats and scraggly houseplants, they would understand why the universe had not given me the desire for children. Usually the in-the-know person drops an appropriate comment and we all change the subject in a gale of laughter.
I’d rather raise no crop (or a different crop–I’m better at other things) than a poor crop. Young stepkids during the summers and one bottle fed kitten (if a feeding every 4 hours for three weeks nearly killed me, what would an infant human do?) ended that inner discussion a long time ago. Nope, not me; glad ya’ll are perpetuating the species because it wouldn’t forward the species any for me to handle the job.
Cheers!
I am childfree, but my answer re: why I don’t want kids is different from your friend’s. “She told me more about all of the things she wants to do, and the places she wants to visit, and the breed of freedom she wants to protect.”
I see those things as the positive side effects I get to enjoy b/c I decided not to have kids. I don’t want kids b/c I don’t really enjoy being around children, and I don’t feel any desire to have them. Yes, since I’m not having kids I get to visit different places and sleep late, etc., but I can’t imagine how someone who really wanted kids would decide against it so she could travel more.
I read through every single comment. I’m constantly on the search for an opinion that will make things clear for me. I always thought I wanted children, and my Husband doesn’t seem to care either way at the moment. But life goals have changed my views. Not to mention my fear of the state of the world and not messing said child up. At this point I’m just thrilled to have a choice (despite pressure from future grandparents)! Thank you for your insightful post.
I am judgmental about women who don’t want children. I see them as selfish children themselves. And I feel sorry for them because I can’t really imaging how empty their lives must be. Especially when they get old. Nothing sadder than an old childless woman with cats.
Dora, that is such a narrow (and dare I say bitter?) point of view. It’s shocking.
I suppose there will always be people who think like you. Such is life.
I’m female and 57-years-old, never married. While it would have been nice to have someone to spend my life with, I have never had an interest in having children. There aren’t any negative feelings in me about children, or mothers, but I just don’t have maternal instincts.
I do care a great deal about helping other people, so my nurturing instincts are present. I just don’t have baby genes.
I have been looking for a discussion like this for some time, as I feel uncomfortable bringing up a topic like this with people I know who I worry will judge me.
I am 30, married, and always assumed that I would have children because it is what is expected and what I thought I wanted. However, the older I get and the more friends I have with children, the less I want them.
The problem? My husband and I married under the assumption that we would have a family one day. Now, he is much more interested in starting a family than I am. I don’t feel like it is fair for me to change the game plan this late in the game. It is not fair to him; it seems like I have tricked him or been dishonest, but it’s simply that my feelings have changed.
Every day, I wonder if I should go along with starting a family to preserve our marriage and the agreement we made. There seem to be no good choices.