Didn't We Just Do This?

I received an invitation in the mail for our niece’s first birthday party, and I was flabbergasted. It’s really the only word. Now, of course a first birthday is a big deal. But this wasn’t just any birthday party:

They rented a hall. And not just any hall; a fancy place that doesn’t say “birthday party” so much as it says “My Super Sweet 16”. They also included hotel information in case we’d like to stay overnight (they’re about a 3 to 4-hour drive away; they reserved a block and it’s NOT at the Super 8). This hall also means they’ve invited enough people to justify renting a hall and reserving a block. My husband’s grandmother was invited, to show how deep they went with this. She is the child’s father’s stepfather’s ex-wife’s mother, not even related AT ALL.

Now, I can understand this if their house wasn’t suited to host a party. But it’s the same size as the houses in the rest of the family. They’re also custom printed invitations; now, I do custom printed invitations all the time, but that’s because I’m a graphic designer and I enjoy showing off. What we’re looking at here looks to be more of an event than the baby shower we had barely a year ago when we all spent a great deal of money to help welcome little Josie into the world. All I could think when I saw this invitation was "I'm sorry, but didn't we just do this?"

I’m all about celebrating birthdays, but I feel like every month we have a little one’s birthday to celebrate. This wouldn't be a big deal, but celebrating with my husband’s step-side of the family includes bringing a very expensive gift (otherwise you look — and feel — cheap). It’s STUPID. These are not wealthy people, but they live as if they are, having extravagant parties and shunning Target and TJ Maxx in favor of Marshall Fields and Von Maur. And we’re expected to keep up with this standard. It’s absurd.

Contrast this to my best friend’s son’s 5th birthday party, a simple pool party for family at their home. Sure, she bakes a funky cake for him, but she loves to do this. And there’s no ridiculous expectation for gifts—sure you bring something because it’s fun to buy things for 5-year-old boys (and hell, Transformers are in the stores now!), but there’s no fear of being seen as cheap because you bought his cool Transformers T-shirt from Target for $8 and not the $30 fancypants one from Lord & Taylor. Her kids’ first birthdays were mellow, and they have continued to follow suit. These parties make sense, but even these are still expensive.

Birthday parties are an expense that I think few consider when adding up the price of raising a kid. No, going to the extremes that my husband’s family is going to is seriously overboard, but even a small party for the family can get extremely expensive. Now add up the parties once the kid gets into school. Inviting 30 kids so no one in class feels left out, competing with the other families. And don’t forget that each of these 30 kids is having a party, so a couple times a month you’ll be buying a present so your kid doesn’t attend the party empty-handed. I can’t believe how much my mom spends on birthday presents for my niece’s friends. I suppose it’s not any more expensive than one of our dinner parties, or bringing a bottle of wine to a friend’s; I guess what’s mostly at issue is that I don’t enjoy myself at the kids’ pool party where I’m playing babysitter/lifeguard. Perhaps this is where “selfish” comes in. But I digress…

My point is that little Josie, their “miracle baby”, is going to be spoiled senseless, just like all the other kids in that family. That’s reason alone to not want to bring kids into that family. I would have to return all the expensive gifts because I wouldn’t be able to stand my kid wearing a $50 outfit or playing with a $100 toy. They deserve nice things, but nice and extravagant are two very different things.

Smug

I’ve been seeing a word battered about lately to describe childfree folk and it’s been frustrating me.

SMUG: contentedly confident of one's ability, superiority, or correctness; complacent.

Are we confident, outspoken? Of course. We have to be. We’re constantly put in a position where we have to be. When you put someone on the defensive, you’re asking them to talk themselves up, to prove their point. I know in my experience if I respond with vagueness, without passion, out of desire to avoid confrontation, that’s when it gets the worst. I’ve learned through experience that my passion needs to match the passion of the person presenting the challenge, and parenting is something that obviously inspires a lot of passion.

Ours is a lifestyle that requires confidence. The moment people find out we intend not to have children, we’re anomalies, topics of discussion. Sometimes it’s respectful interest that motivates people to ask questions, and that I welcome. But I’ve found the people most likely to write us off as smug are those who egg us on, who force us onto the defensive so we have to proclaim “hell yes I made this decision and I’m damn proud because it’s the right one for me!” When we find others that share our views (like in an internet forum), we rejoice, we get excited, we relish the opportunity to share our story in the safety of others.

In the meantime, many of the mothers in my life (my close friends thankfully excluded) are incredibly smug. There are the breastfeeding Nazis who thrive on making even other moms feel inadequate if they don’t want to or aren’t in a position to breastfeed, nevermind the moms who adopt. There’s the pedestal moms, like my sister-in-law, who truly and honestly believe that the act of motherhood is the only way through which one can become a “complete” human being, or the martyr moms whom no one could possibly understand how much they sacrifice for their kids, and that sacrifice clearly makes them better people than the rest of us. These moms throw hypothetical arguments at us, designed to rattle us emotionally, that, when we throw them back, make us rude and smug. Suggest to them that they might regret their decision, or make them justify why they felt the need to go through expensive fertility treatments instead of adopting one of the kids that already exist (I have mixed feelings about this) and it just serves as confirmation that we’re heartless. But yet when we inflect our words with a confidence that says “don’t challenge me on this one” in hopes of avoiding a conflict, we’re being smug and self-righteous.

Am I the only one who sees this double-standard?

Here’s the thing; they’re not better than us. And we’re not better than them. We’re all just folk here, all making choices that suit our lives. We childfree are proud of being self-aware, unrattled (usually) by societal pressure and confident in the choices we make for our lives.

If that constitutes smugness, add smug to the list with selfish, I suppose.

Escape

This weekend I witnessed a moment of poor parenting as a direct result of childfree envy and it made me REALLY, really sad. We attended a party at the home of some friends, and our lone childed friend chose to bring his three kids – 7-year-old twins and a 9-year-old. The rest of us, many of them longtime friends of his, are pushing 30 or comfortably there. Some are childfree by choice, some simply haven’t taken the plunge yet, and others are childless after infertility. Regardless of the circumstances, though, these were the only kids. They’re close with the host couple, though, and as such they were welcome at the party. It was widely known, though, that there would be a great deal of drinking at said party, and this was deemed acceptable around the kids; we were instructed to pretend the kids, who spent most of their time in the pool, weren’t there. This was pretty okay.

Except their dad, also pretended they weren’t there. It’s no secret that his marriage has been strained recently and he’s going through a “what am I doing with my life” crisis. He’s been (more or less publicly) wishing his family away, wishing he could have the do-over at life you don’t get when you start having kids at 24. To be fair, his wife is pretty awful, and he’s spent the last few years trying to please her, which can’t happen until he eliminates all ties with all his friends (we’re all a bad influence and she is ANTI-childfree), even though he’s usually a GREAT dad. Well, I think he snapped on Saturday, when he proceeded to get drunk. But not just a little drunk – we’re talking slurry, sloppy, puking-in-the-bathroom, pass-out-on-the-futon, you-ain’t--23-no-more drunk. It was really sad.

His eldest was REALLY upset at seeing her dad like this, and we all tried to help. I was left to wonder… why did he bring the kids if he intended on drinking like this? Why not leave them with his wife, who didn’t want to come and be forced to socialize with all of us non-moms? And if the kids are there, I’m sorry, but you exercise some restraint. I don’t care HOW much you long to “let loose”; getting that drunk in front of your kids is NEVER acceptable parenting.

So while I can understand why his wife looked to this occurrence as confirmation that we’re all just pushing her husband toward hellfire and brimstone (ironic, because they’re pagan), I wonder at the motivation for leaving the kids at a party with all his awful friends. If she foresaw this (“I knew this would happen!”), why let the kids come in the first place? Seems a really crappy way to make a point.

While I was adamant about following the “forget the kids are even here” instruction, I was keeping an eye. I gladly handed off the Wii to them so they weren’t horsing around by the pool or threatening to knock over the liquor table with errantly thrown water balloons (it happened twice…) I was also well aware when the conversations veered into the unsavory, and was apparently the designated shusher. I resented the fact that their father had made such a mess of himself that the rest of us were picking up his slack. I resented the fact that he brought his kids with no intention of watching them. Their dad is one of the brothers in the group (we’re all family), but my gods I wanted to strangle him. Not as much as his wife did, though.

The bottom line is that it made me incredibly sad that this father wanted so badly to escape his life that he let himself become that way in front of his kids, who mean the world to him. It gave me some insight into the life of my own alcoholic father, and that made my heart hurt. I don’t remember an incident like this with him, but I also don’t doubt that my friend’s eldest daughter will ever forget that night. She was really shaken up, and I saw myself in her eyes.

(my apologies for the rambliness of this post... trying to get posts in when I can, and sometimes that means sacrificing a proper edit)

When Are You Going to Grow Up?

When my mom told me this weekend that she couldn't believe I was turning 30 in a few short months, I read something in her eyes that said something other than "my baby's growing up". I read "when is my baby going to grow up?"

Here's the thing. My brother, 28, lives at home with his 8-year-old daughter. He goes to college (finally, after a really sketchy employment history) and really will be in no position to leave the house anytime soon because of the kid. He is perpetually 18 years old, if that. He doesn't age in my mother's eyes because he doesn't grow up. When people ask how old my brother is, the answer that pops into my head has been -- for years -- 23.

Now there's me. Gonna be 30 this year, when all her coworkers' kids are in their 20s and starting families. I just signed on with VF Magazine (the reason for my latest absence from the blogosphere, though I have many handwritten entries that need to be typed up!) as their Art Director and Associate Editor. What does that mean? I am now a professional goth. All kidding aside, though, it's now part of my JOB to dress up, wear funky hairpieces, and go to concerts, listen to music, immerse myself in a culture that's dominated by a much younger demographic. Working for a music magazine is my DREAM JOB, and while my mom shares my enthusiasm (add in a possibly unhealthy dose of fear because it's a risk), I can tell that there's a part of her that sees this as a roadblock to me growing up.

As an aside, when I told my mother-in-law about the magazine this weekend, the distaste emanated from her like a sickly green fog in her aura. She doesn't like me being a career woman anyway, but this was just too much. "When are you kids going to grow up and start having a family?" oozed out her ears. The longer I know her, the more I think that she resents both my husband and me. We're too weird for her, we don't fit her mold, we're not like her kids.

But my mom's always been supportive, even with her occasional slips during situations like "when you have kids you'll understand", or "is that why A doesn't want kids?" Of course there's a part of her that wants to see me with a family, that doesn't see my marriage as a family. That's natural. But it's hard.

Am I imagining the disappointment? I don't know. But "I can't believe you're turning 30" held so much weight, so much more than I think it should have. Moreso than just the fact that it means she has a 30-year-old daughter. She's said as much, when I tell her about my weekends clubbing with friends, my travels to see concerts. I know she hoped that I'd settle down after getting married, and just the opposite has happened. I confuse her, but at least from her I feel that it's okay.

MiL won't be happy until I'm pregnant with my second child and staying at home. Until then, we're still a couple of spoiled children who need someone to teach us how to act our age.

The Comfort of the Closet

It's not like anyone was shocked. We knew before he even started dating a close girlfriend of mine, Patti, in what was easily among the more awkward of relationships any of us had ever seen. She: beautiful beyond words, intelligent, funny, friendly. They made a devastatingly attractive couple. And they had fun together, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something MUST be wrong with her, that she must be unattractive or something (whatever) because he just didn't seem to like her "in that way" throughout the nearly 6 months that they dated. Thankfully, he ended the relationship while they could still be friends. They're both dating people they really care about now, and they're leaving for a previously planned European vacation together as friends. It's the best of circumstances.

But anyway, we knew before all that. Sure, he was meticulously groomed, expensive taste in everything from clothing to his yuppie condo, loved the arts and the opera, favored showtunes and (totally gay) europop to mainstream music... but there was something about him that bypassed metrosexual and nestled comfortably into the archetypal closet case.

People would always just assume he was gay, which he would vehemently deny with increasing frustration over the years that I've known him. When Patti mused about why he wasn't more interested in her, everyone would chime in "because he's gay".

While I can't attest to knowing exactly what he was feeling, his ambivalence about coming out, his desire to fit in, his paranoia about what people might think... I can relate to this. Now that he's come out to his friends, he's crossed the first hurdle and realized that none of us cared in the least. To his chagrin, no one was shocked. It's kind of funny. But those were his friends.

It was easier to tell my friends that I'm not having children. And, like many people have done with our newly out friend over the years, some people, like my mom, have just *known*, instinctively, that a childfree life was the path for me. And while it's something that I've grown more and more comfortable with over the years, I'm still plagued with worries of making people uncomfortable, especially those I care about. The fact is, most people couldn't care less. It's the select few that I let get to me.

So while my friend adjusts to life as a (mostly) out gay man, he too must figure out how to deal the blow to his very traditional Christian family. These people met Patti and were so overjoyed (and likely more than a little relieved) that at 28 he'd finally met a nice girl to settle down with. Like me, he has to deal with the possibility of really disappointing and potentially devastating people that mean so much to him because he has to live the life he's meant to live. Sure, they might already know, they might not care, or they might be, as Patti believes, in complete denial. He has to get them to accept that he will never have the traditional family they want so badly for him. So yeah, I understand a little of what that feels like.

We're taking baby steps to coming out, telling people and hoping word spreads, but I think for the most part people know. Most of them probably won't care all that much. But it's fear of those who do, the people who once cared who decide you're damaged... it's that fear that makes it hard.

Changing the balance

Tonight's dinner was a very unique one. We met with my in-laws to celebrate my husband's grandma's 82nd birthday.

The first thing I noticed was the coldness with which my mother-in-law greeted me. She didn't even rise to give me a hug, even though I'm currently walking with a cane due to a serious knee injury two weeks ago. She didn't look me in the eye; she just seemed cold. I couldn't help but wonder if hubby's step-brother spilled the beans about our childfree-ness, if she was just having a bad day and feeling especially sour, or if she was still mad that we skipped out on the family photo on Easter to visit my family.

Also present were his aunt & uncle (childfree after infertility), and two of his late mother's cousins. Carol, the younger of the two, is a former nun who tired of the misogyny (good for her!) but never married. Susan, the eldest, was a scientist who didn't marry until well past her childbearing years.

It was incredible. We were surrounded by the childless.

I truly believe that Susan & Carol's presence was the only reason the topic wasn't approached for the first time in ages. Still, it was such a pleasant surprise. I also realized, however, that Susan & Carol's lack of offspring made my husband the last of yet another line of family blood. My husband is the end of the line for both his grandmother's mother and father.

It hasn't been talked about, but surely it will be. Until then, I think I'd like to bring Susan & Carol to family dinners more often. They really tip the scales and make it infinitely more comfortable to spend time with that side of the family.

Oh, and I'd like to find out what crawled up my mother-in-law's butt, because at the end of the night I didn't get a hug either. Oh, and we got the implication via a short conversation between hubby and his father, that she was upset with us because we don't call enough and we seem ungrateful. She's a sour woman anyway, but this was excessive.

Gee, could it be because every time we call we're doing something that makes you all unhappy? We're not getting that house in the suburbs yet; I'm not barefoot and pregnant yet (she hates that I'm career oriented); A doesn't make enough money, and hasn't gone back to school yet (even though his application is in). And no, we're not going to her daughter's 40th birthday surprise party. She doesn't like me anyway; she'll be glad we're not there and so will we.

Now I just need to think about what sorts of plans we have for Saturday, May 12...

Here Kitty Kitty

There's a reason why we never got another cat. For almost as long as my husband and I have lived together, we've mused about picking up a new furry beasr. We've visited the Humane Society, even picked one out — twice. The requirements weren't strict: likes other cats, preferable a fat cat breed (hubby wants a big fat lap cat), poops in the box, and is declawed. It hasn't been hard to find a cat that fit the bill.

But we always back out.

Romeo, our current cat whom I've had for 10 years, is awesome. He doesn't gorge on food, deals well with what is all too often a dirty litterbox, is playful and affectionate even to strangers, and was likely reincarnated from a flamboyant old queen who trolled around San Fancisco in the eighties. While he's not without his annoying habits, he's about as perfect as any can be for me. Another Romeo would be beyond awesome. The question that plagues us is this: what if the new cat weren't like Romeo?

The topic came up as I was reading a post a friend made about her teenaged daughter. Robin is the total package kid. Bookish, pretty but not in a slutty way, into, for the most part, the same things mom is into but not in a creepy way, straight A's, literally top of her class. She's a good kid. Whenever I hear stories about Robin, I'm tempted to say "wow, if I could be guaranteed a kid like that, the prospect of parenting isn't quite so scary." Which is true, on some level, but it's also completely nonsensical. Of course there are no guarantees.

Another friend's 16-year-old daughter Devyn reminds me of Robin, at least from the stories. But then there's her son. 17, rebellious, a poor student (and not always for lack of trying; she's devastated that he just doesn't seem to have the smarts for college) with anger management and depression issues. At 17, he's already announced his plans to marry his girlfriend, and my friend's fear that he will knock up said girlfriend is CONSTANT. But these 2 kids, a year apart, raised in the same house, are totally different. One a deam, one a handful on a good day.

It's the same with my brother and me. You just never kno what you're going to get, even if you do everything the same. There are stories everywhere.

There's the friend with the precocious young girl and the older child with Asperger's; my sister-in-law with the good kid who is only a terror when the middle brother (learning- and sensory-disabled) starts acting up. Then there's the woman in my grandma-in-law's building who is still living with her 40-year-old who acts like a poorly behaved boy of 8.

I have doubts that I have the capacity to love such a child. And do I have the heart not to resent them? Does anyone, really? Life is enough of a struggle without the added stress of an ill or troubled child. Unless I'm willing to take a risk of having such a child, that's not even an option.

No thank you.

Just a Shout-Out Full of Thanks

Comments like these, and so many that you all post, are the reson I do this blog. I write to find that I'm not alone, but it's not often I get a comment that is not just so unbelievably supportive and full of great advice (you all do that for me!)... I literally could have written this entire comment. I'm working on a post about the precedence of "changing minds" when it comes to marriage, inspired by Tanya's comments.

Thanks again to all of you. When we support each other, we make it easier for everybody. I know I don't always reaspond to comments because I don't like that it doesn't sent a note to let you know I've responded, but I read them all and am touched often.

------Tanya's comment-------
Join the selfish club. I'm a member too and proud of it.

For many of the same reasons as you, my husband and I do not want kids. Going without a drink for 9 months is not horrible, but why do it if I don't have to?

"You'll change your mind" is getting tossed at me more and more because I always said I would NOT get married and I did. Dang. Changed my mind. If I did it once, I will do it again, right? WRONG! My anti-marriage stance was more "if it never happens, I won't be heartbroken" than "I will NEVER EVER NEVER EVER marry a boy. Ick!" My anti-child stance is definately "NEVER EVER".

At the moment, my husband and I have a "get out of marriage" free deal wherein if one of us gets clucky and wants a baby, the other can leave the marriage scot free. I like my husband a lot. I don't want to be without him. I have a choice...babies or him. I choose him.

What do you say…

What do you say to a friend who's facing the decision of becoming a single mother? To someone you love who's dealing with a disrespectful husband whose only good quality left is that, when he's around, he's a really good dad to their kids? (But really, all he does is play good cop to her bad cop and call mommy a poopyhead for giving them a strict punishment for not following the rules.) What do you say when he's stopped realizing that being a good husband is not an optional, but essential part of being a good father, a good person? What do you say when time and time again he's proven he doesn't care enough to change, that he's dismissed her reasonable requests as "impossible to please" and has long since stopped giving the slightest effort?

What do you say when her marriage is over, when she wouldn't have stayed if not for the kids; when maybe if she just had her oldest, just one kid, it would be easier to leave. But now there's two, and they're so little.

What do you say to someone who is so heartbroken, hurting so badly, wishing she could leave but tethered by the children, who are the only good thing she feels she has left?

The kids didn't doom them to this fate. They'd never have lasted this long without them. He's selfish and she needs more than he wants to give her. But she already knows that, has already said that having children with him was probably a mistake, that marrying him was a mistake. The most devoted mom I know, and she's saying these things, feeling this things.

Seriously, I just don't know what to say.

So… How did it Go?

I'm touched that you've noticed my absence. I'll explain the goings on of the last couple weeks in another post.

So you want to know how the big family weekend at the waterpark hotel was? In a word: Claustrophobic. 16 of us in a hotel suite designed for a maximum of 15 people. And let's not forget the nephew's birthday party, when we stuffed over 20 in only one of the rooms. Yeah, big giant fun.

I will say this: the waterpark itself was a lot more fun than we anticipated. Free from the ball and chain that is a child who wants to stay in the kiddie pool and cannot go on the really fun rides, we were able to explore, to go in the deep end of the wave pool without a child tethered to us, if only by our eyes. We could go down the big giant waterslides, the scary ones, and hide in the blessed "Adults Only" whirlpool. That part was great.

The kidcenticity of the room itself was really more awful than I would have imagined. It was all anyone talked about. Oh, unless they were talking about puppies. Kids and puppies, kids and puppies, while my husband and I sat awkwardly quiet, except for reiterating that a dog just wouldn't fit our lifestyle.

Most of the comments about "when you have your own" fell on the usual awkward giggles. I took the advice of a few lovely commenters on the last post and just let the silence lag, and it said more than we could have said with words. By the end of the weekend, the tone had changed.

The most notable change was when commentary was made about the gift we got for nephew Hayden, the gift that enthralled the boys much more than the blippy buzzy toys, even more than the Nintendo DS games:

GIANT KICKBALL.

That's right, folks, 2-feet wide of big, bouncy blue ball.

I thought the boys' parents were going to kill us. It was AWESOME.

But after a day and a half of awkward silence, their father said "don't worry, you'll have your turn…" and then he paused. "At least we hope you'll have your turn."

This was a big turning point, as minor as it sounds. The addition of an "if"-type statement is a big deal, acknowledging the possiblity that we might not have kids.

The "coming clean" did happen, however, in the form of an awkward conversation with the newest of my sisters-in-law, recently married into the brood. She and I were in the room we shared with each other and our husbands, and an Egyptology documentary was on. We both expressed a wish to visit the Pyramids someday, and she said she wanted to visit the Great Wall of China before she starts a family, but her husband wanted to get started pumping out kids right away. I mentioned a group trip some friends are planning to China in 2009.

"Are you guys going to wait to have kids until after that?" she asked, and I paused. I told her the standard "kids aren't really on the map right now" answer, but added, "and I don't think at this point they will be." I have decided not to rule out the possibility entirely with the family, but it was out there. And then it got weird. And I kept talking. I don't know why.

She said she understood, but "at least you're not one of those couples who like discussed this before you got married and totally are against having children." I couldn't bring myself to say "actually, that's what I just said. And that is what we are." We talked some more, though, and I explained that it was an uncomfortable topic with the rest of the family and she again said she understood.

I don't know how I feel about it, to be honest, but I do feel like I crossed a crucial step. She will no doubt tell her husband, who will tell his siblings. It will get around, and that's a start.

Because I finally came to the realization that the most mommy-centric of the bunch will always consider herself a better person than I am because she's a mom (she's THAT kind of mom), and she'll always treat me like I have no clue about anything because being a mom imbues you with a level of world knowledge unattainable by any other means. She will continue to passively insult me by saying the things I'll never understand until I have children. It's who she is, and I'll always dislike her for it. I'll never be truly accepted by that family, and neither will my husband, and that's okay.

I'd rather be myself than keep pretending. This will get around, and we'll see what happens with it. The seed is planted. I think that's the way this had to happen. I feel lighter.

Coming Clean?

So again I enter a family gathering with the in-laws where I’m dreading the confrontation. As I mentioned in a recent post, the family is being brought together at an indoor waterpark for a bit of a reunion. Far flung siblings and their spouses are traveling, some flying in. This is a big deal. And it’s going to be a disaster.

It won’t be a disaster for the families with kids. I’m confused, though, because more than half of the siblings have no children, and this is a place that is SO childcentric, I honestly wonder how anyone is expected to have any grown-up fun.

Surrounded by so many kids, doting non-stop on the nephews and the new baby (now about 9 months old), with all of the siblings now married or engaged, it’s sure to come up. We’ve decided to answer honestly, instead of putting people off with phrases like “oh, kids? The farthest thing from our minds right now ‘til A finishes school!”

This is a huge step forward for us, it really is. And who knows if it will happen, really, but we've decided it's time to come clean.

I do know I need to talk to my husband and tell him to let me handle it. I worry that he will be overdefensive, never giving anyone the opportunity to discuss the issue like adults. People aren’t going to understand, and that’s okay, but we have to give them a chance to open a dialogue, to learn about the childfree choice.

It’s easy to jump to the defensive, to respond with that witty comment.
"Why don’t you want kids?” they will ask. Must resist the urge to snap back,
“Why do you want kids?”

I will admit, I need to practice my responses in my head. So often I end up overexplaining myself, overjustifying myself, and end up damaging my own credibility, giving people too many opportunities to attack. I run it over and over in my head in an attempt to prepare:

Father-in-Law, while cooing at baby Josephine: “I can’t wait ‘til you have kids.”

*Nervous chuckle followed by awkward silence* (we’ve decided not to be the ones to bring it up... usually it ends here, but soon I know the conversation will evolve.)

FiL: “So really, when are you guys making me a grandpa?”

“Actually, Dad, we don’t plan to have any children.”

…

Okay, see, this is the problem. No matter how many times I roleplay this conversation with my husband, or go over it on my own in my head to try and predict how to manage it that will inevitably happen someday, to prepare how I might keep the conversation rational, this is where I lose it.

This is because my father-in-law is not a rational human being. He is an emotional, deeply selfish man who sees every situation in relation to how it affects him. Will he react with anger? Will he dismiss us? Will he cry? He'll probably cry, and that’s a situation I don’t know how to manage.

I wish like nothing else that I could expect a response like “oh, that’s disappointing. Why don’t you want kids?” Something that could continue the conversation without putting us immediately on the defensive, either out of embarrassment for making my father-in-law so upset, or out of frustration over a selfish, stupid or irrational response—I hate to say it, but all of these are far more likely than any reaction that is not a conversation-ender.

Am I not giving the man enough credit? Obviously this is an emotionally charged issue, especially for someone who’s never been shy about expressing his desire for grandkids of his own (his other grandkids are his stepchildren’s kids), and I would be silly to expect a completely deadpan reaction. He’s all about over-the-top reactions (my husband gets his drama genes from somewhere), and I just see us consoling him, plying him with explanations, justifications, promises that it’s not his fault for being a terrible or absent father, unable to say what I really want to say:

“We’re not having kids because we don’t want to be parents. We love our marriage the way it is, and we haven’t come close to finishing living the life we want to live, traveling, and moving up in our careers. Between my niece, our friends’ kids, the boys, we have plenty of kids in our lives and are really happy that way.”

The conversation needs to be framed not as “we would love to have kids, but…”; we need to frame it as “we don’t want kids. Period.” And that’s the biggest challenge, and the easiest trap to fall into when overexplaining the childfree choice. We have to fend off arguments like “you can still work” and “you can still travel” before they get a chance to be presented.

We’ll never have a good enough explanation for some people. But it’s time to stop hiding and at least give it a shot, even if it means upsetting people we care about. We have to give them all a chance to prove us wrong, to prove us melodramatic, to show us we freaked out over nothing.

Sure, it could happen. I’m not taking bets on us being wrong, though.

Pick Any Two

We have a saying in the graphic design business that is echoed throughout many industries: Good, Fast, or Cheap—Pick Any Two. It's just a way of telling clients that they can't have everything they want. If they want it Fast, it's either going to cost them plenty or the quality will suffer. If they want it Cheap, they'll need to be willing to wait behind priority projects if they want the best product.

The "Pick Any Two" part of the policy is something my husband and I subscribe to when it comes to the idea of childrearing. Raising a child is about sacrifice, and no one has ever claimed otherwise – sacrificing a good part of your life to have this new good thing.

For those of us who would love our careers and would not intend to leave the workforce after having a child, I break down the major parts of life into three elements: Career, Personal Relationships (including the marriage/partnership), and Childrearing. Reigning over all three of these is Health and Personal Well-Being, because it affects all three equally. Stay-at-home and single parents have an entirely different set of issues, but let's focus on families with two working parents.

Break your day into 16 waking hours—after all, 8 hours of sleep is recommended to maintain overall health and well-being. On a typical weekday, consider that a full-time career averages about 11 hours. This includes getting ready for work in the morning and door-to-door commuting time each day. That leaves 5 hours. Figure an hour (conservatively!) for healthy dinner preparation and clean-up, and at least half-an-hour to eat at the dinner table or at the very least together in front of the TV—let's work those personal relationships. That leaves 3.5 hours 'til bedtime. What are we doing with that? A trip to the gym or a nice solid workout at home? Connecting with friends and family in person, via phone or internet? Personal entertainment? Hobbies? Romantic activities? 3.5 hours can fly by. We've covered Career and Personal Relationships. Where on earth is there time for children, especially a young child who needs us to be at our best?

The answer?
SACRIFICE!

There's that word again. But how do you decide what suffers? Do you try to do all these things and let your health—the one thing that matters most overall—suffer by getting too little sleep, relying too heavily on fast and convenience foods, and skipping the physical activity? Do you decide to live a less tidy lifestyle and put off cleaning to the weekends (but wait—there's soccer games and birthday parties and trips to grandma's house and the grocery store and oh my gods when are we going to do the laundry?!), leading inevitably to fights over cleaning and frustration that you can't have company over because the house is a disaster.

"Phooey," some will say, "my husband and I both have careers and we are raising our child just fine." To them I ask, when was the last time you complained to someone that you wished you had the money to take a vacation, or to leave the workforce entirely and stay at home with your children? That you wished your husband would help out more with the baby or with the household chores? That you're living in a 'pig sty' because there aren't enough hours in the day? That you missed going out on dates, or sharing the intimacy you used to have when you first got married? That your boss is not sympathetic to your needs as a mother and 'made' you miss your baby's firsts or your child's mid-afternoon school play? That you panicked about your credit rating, or your soaring credit card balances? These are valid complaints, and they are real; I hear them constantly from even the happiest parents that I know. We childfree aren't without our own problems, but I like to believe we lead a life free of much of this pressure because we have picked two elements on which to focus. Try to do all three and something must suffer.

And what do you do when the child suffers? A show of hands now: How many of you wished one or both of your parents worked less and had more time for you as a child? How many cried because a parent missed a school or competitive event due to work? How many skipped on college or went into debt that haunted you the rest of your life because your parents weren't prepared? How many remember their parents fighting about work, about chores, about money? How many would swear not to screw up your own kids as badly as your parents damaged you through neglect or disinterest? How many wish their parents had focused more on their marriage?

And where does money fall in this equation? GOOD QUESTION. It's no secret that the thing married couples fight most about is money, so I lump that into Personal Relationships.

Money, some will argue, is also the one factor that can change it all. But can it really, and where does it come from? How many jobs pay exceptionally well—enough to pay all the bills comfortably, save for college and retirement, and prepare for emergencies (these are not optional)—while allowing the flexibility to give the children the time, attention and affection they deserve? Where are these high-paying jobs that not only offer flex-time but feature a work environment where people who choose to use the flex option are not chastised as lazy or undedicated? They do not exist. Achieving the zen of balancing Career, Personal Relationships, and Childrearing is nearly implausible without the wealth that most of us will never, ever see. For the rest of us, pick any two.

It's not that childfree couples don't have relationship issues, or marital problems, or arguments over who's doing their fair share of housework. I'm not implying that we always get a full 8 hours of sleep and we never choose pizza or Chinese takeout over a homecooked meal. But, at least in my household, our lives are balanced. After careful evaluation, we believe adding a child to the mix would upset this balance and make us unhappy in our marriage and our lives.

These are all issues that I would argue most parents never even consider when making the decision to have a child while intending to maintain a career. It's no secret that I have no great desire to be a parent, and the knowledge of these facts is a big part of that. I'm not focusing on the joys of raising a child because that's not the point. Of course there are good times, but so many times I hear about the good times "making it all worth it." It frightens me to consider what "it all" means: the sacrifices, the loss of connection with a spouse or partner, marital troubles, the suffering. Parenting is a noble choice for someone who has the desire and is prepared for this sacrifice. I feel blessed to live in a culture that is finally realizing that to make such a sacrifice is a choice.

(c)2007 TLA & Childfree Me, may not be republished without express written permission

Changes of Heart… a touchy subject

It seems to be all around, people who never wanted kids getting clucky all over the place. The phrase "I used to be childfree" makes me squirm.

"Oh, you'll change your mind" is a favorite amongst the critics of my choice not to procreate… that or "what if you change your mind?" It makes my blood boil, but at the same time it's a somewhat valid point. The fact is, biology makes us that way. It makes people change their minds.

I suspect it's probably similar to the thing inside us that makes us hate boys when we're kids, that makes us think sex sounds apalling. Some argue that the fact that I am indifferent to babies and I find toddlers mostly just irritating (save for a handful of token really adorable moments) is just a phase that I'll get over "when the time is right."

They said it would happen when I met "the one". Nope. Didn't happen with my first husband when I was 21, and it's certainly not happening with this one. "Wait 'til you've been married a year." Nope — we're more adamantly childfree than ever.

And yet the phrase "I used to be childfree" haunts me. Mothers I know say it. Friends and family say it. Strangers say it. "I used to hate kids, but…" BUT.

I wonder sometimes if I will change my mind. While I get the occasional twinge now and again, I attribute it to hormones because I simply do not want a child, nevermind everything a child involves. Do these "formerly childfree" folks want a baby, or do they want to raise a child? I think that's the difference between us and them — them being the clucky ladies who want nothing more than babies babies babies without ever considering what that really means.

I've been asking myself again lately if I would terminate an unwanted pregnancy. The IUD makes that an easy decision, given the risk of birth defects and my complete disinterest in taking any sort of risks. I realized just recently that yes, I probably would, and for a number of reasons, ranging from the occasional cocktail I enjoy to the fact that we don't want our lives to change. It was a sobering realization, because I've long thought that I wouldn't be able to do it because I'm old enough, financially secure enough, and really have no excuse, but it really came down to three main things:

1. I don't believe life begins at conception. Perhaps it happens sometime between conception and birth, but I don't believe it's in the first trimester. Argue with me if you must, but I've researched it myself and we'll just have to agree to disagree. This is something I've thought long and hard about and I'm comfortable with my beliefs. I believe if I were in this situation I would be terminating a pregnancy, which is not the same, in my mind, as killing a child. You may believe differently and that's okay. (Note: I will not be engaging debate on this topic. Let's just agree to disagree.)

2. Every child should be a wanted child. I don't want to raise a child and have long insisted that an accidental child would be reared primarily by my husband, while I would be a secondary caregiver. But I don't want to have an "accident". This is the 21st century and I am an enlightened woman who knows what I want from my life. There is no reason I should have to go reluctantly into such a life-altering situation with no do-overs.

3. I am completely unwilling to deal with a child that is not the best case scenario. This sounds ridiculous, I know, but there are so many things — physical things, behavioral and emotional things — that can go wrong with a child. I would be utterly devastated if my own child was disabled in some way. Call me heartless, that's fine, but I'm being honest with myself. If I am not willing to potentially give up my career and my own life to care for a child, it is not worth the risk.

But primarily, it's this: We're adults. We don't need an excuse. It is our lives, our consciences and our gods we have to answer to; no one else can make the decision for us and it is no one else's business. Just because my infertile friends would be devastated if they knew I did such a thing, why would they have to know? It has nothing to do with anyone but my husband and me.

I do not want a child. I do not foresee myself ever wanting a child. Will that change? Who can say. There's precedent enough to say 'maybe'. But that's something to deal with if it comes up. Otherwise I live my life for me.

Do it; call me selfish.

The Perfect Weekend and the Tyranny of Fun

The perfect irony, really. I was preparing to post on my primary journal about my wonderful weekend, a perfect weekend, really, when I read my best friend's post entitled, strangely enough, "A Perfect Weekend". I was thrilled to see this — she deserves a perfect weekend, and it's a joy to read that she's happy and things are going well. Her post did underscore the vast differences between what she and I believe constitutes perfection.

My perfect weekend involved spending some quality snuggle-time with the husband, taking care of each other after dual dentist appointments on Saturday morning. Saturday evening I went to a friend's house to enjoy a buffet of Thai food, followed by Girls' Night Out, featuring dancing and delicious martinis at a gay bar in the city. After the club, the boyfriends met us at a nearby diner for coffee and snacks, packed 7 of us in one Chevy Impala, and drove home. The morning paper sat on my doorstep as I walked in sometime around 4:30am. Today, Sunday, was spent sharing chores and making real progress on the house and laundry, ending with some yummy pizza and a 24 Marathon before I went to work on some freelancing projects. It wasn't without its flaws (the dentist, for instance), but after the last few weeks, this weekend was a real breath of fresh air.

My best friend's weekend involved family time with the extended family at a scouting fundraiser, where she and her boys toured a farm and learned how maple syrup is made. Later, more extended family came to her house to prune her lilac bushes and install a family firepit in the backyard. Then the family took a trip to Door County, Wisconsin (where she was disappointed that the shops she loves to much aren't kid-friendly, so she had to pass on them), and they picked out a new puppy. I am not dissing her weekend — it sounds perfect for her. It's just so not what I consider the perfect weekend.

I think it's fantastic she gets along with her extended family so well, and I'm envious of that in a way, though I know we'll never be doing the thing that will forever endear us to the judgmental ones on my husband's side.

As a Christmas gift, my in-laws bought everyone tickets to a waterpark lodge in Wisconsin Dells, and I can't think of a worse place to spend an entire weekend. "We can all go swimming!" my father-in-law squealed. No, the kids can go swimming. We can babysit. These places aren't designed with grown-ups in mind AT ALL. I'm sure the kids will have a blast, but after chaperoning a birthday party for my niece at a place like this, I can say with near certainty that it will be loud, annoying, and most important, No Fun At All.

Our saving grace was going to be the ability to retreat to one of the posh hotel rooms at the lodge. Recently, however, I found out that sanctuary will not exist.

My husband's step-mother (the control freak), in a step to encourage togetherness, has booked a cabin. That's right folk, all 15 of us, including a handful of poorly behaved nephews and one baby, crammed into a single cabin. KILL ME NOW.

That's not all of it, of course. We're celebrating one of the nephew's birthdays, which means we have to bring gifts for all the boys so the others don't feel left out (a stupid, STUPID tradition — teach the boys that when it's not their birthday they don't get presents… but we don't say no to these boys). There's also the family photo, for which we've been assigned particular colors to wear, and a whole host of meticulously planned activities.

I really wish I was looking forward to this. I'm fine playing with the boys, but not in a waterpark setting surrounded by no fewer than a couple hundred screaming kids. The fact that they're not used to hearing "no" or being scolded for anything makes me reluctant to be around them because I constantly feel the need to discipline them and teach them some manners. We're going into the Midwest's Disneyland for the weekend, in a resort filled with little centers of the universe. I have no desire for this, and it does not sound like a good time.

Our distaste for the situation will surely bring our childfreeness to the forefront. It sounds like a miserable time all 'round. But it was our Christmas present. It would be rude not to go. *sigh*

The Almighty Dollar

I am very intrigued by the life of a particular friend of mine. A mother of two, she’s always been prolific in her blogging and seemingly very honest about her experience as a housewife and stay-at-home mom, the mostly good stories tempered by the occasional crazy or bad one. She’s pregnant again with their “trying for a boy” baby (in my experience parents only have three children when their first two are of the same sex; then they have the “trying for a [blank] baby”.)

Perhaps I’m oddball in my obsessive budgeting of savings, considering it an integral part of our family budget, but I’ve noticed a disregard—or at the very least, apathy—in the families I know with children. I know my friend and her husband may not be struggling with her staying at home, but they’ve been concerned about money for sure, recently purchasing a house and now a new mini-van for their growing brood. I often wonder how they intend to send their three children to college, how they plan for an emergency, if they’re prepared if her husband takes ill again and cannot work for an extended period of time.

Of course I can’t claim to know what’s best for their family, and to be honest I’m not even sure what her husband does for a living or how much he makes. I’m mostly looking at them as an average young family making the decision to add another baby, and I honestly can’t imagine raising a family of three on a single salary.

But having a family is about sacrifice! You sacrifice for your children! But what if it’s stability you’re sacrificing? At what point are you endangering your future or that of your children? When you have three kids and no money for a college fund? When Daddy has a recurring illness that can occasionally become severe and potentially job-threatening, nevermind the potential for jobs to be lost at any moment due to economic or other reasons beyond anyone’s control? When all the groceries and the mortgage are tossed onto credit cards — just this month, ‘til we’re back on our feet.

Selfishness. We childfree folk all know the word well. It’s the word to describe our desire to see our retirement account fat and healthy, our savings comfortable enough to float us for a month or more should one of the partners in the relationship be out of work for one reason or another. The desire to carry no balances on high-interest credit cards, to pay in cash when possible and to have enough lying around to pick up a new pair of glasses in an emergency, or a new suit for that big interview.

Childfree couples certainly aren’t all wealthy. My husband and I do okay, but we live what I consider a modest lifestyle. Even so, we D.I.N.K.s (Dual-Income No Kids) take a lot of flack for “hoarding” cash or being big spenders. But aren’t we doing what we’re SUPPOSED to be doing? Preparing for our futures? I’m not talking about extravagant vacations, expensive luxury items or impractical but beautiful cars and homes. I’m talking about what I’ve come to consider basic needs.

When did saving become optional? We’re living in a world where savings is the first thing that suffers and credit is looked upon as cash-on-hand.

Although my husband and I make a comfortable living, I do not believe we can afford a child; this is unrelated to our lack of desire to have children. When I consider the expense of a child, from the endless needs of an infant that go above and beyond basic childcare and diapers, to the birthday parties and holiday gifts, to the school supplies, clothing, medical care, braces. And that doesn’t count the food or allowances when the kids get older.

And what of schooling? In the areas where we can afford to live comfortably, the schools are sub-par. Do you pay for private schooling or spend the money moving to a more upscale neighborhood? Or perhaps you hire a private tutor? If you do all that, where does the college savings come from?

Am I being alarmist? Dramatic? I don’t think so. And that’s why I get concerned when I hear my friend is adding another child to her family. Is it sacrifice, or is it irresponsible? That’s a decision between she and her husband and based upon the lifestyle they want to live. I honestly cannot understand how or why they do it. It’s not a reflection upon them— she certainly doesn’t understand my lack of desire for children either. We’ve just made very different choices in our lives.

Mourning

The last few months has been tense. I’ve dealt with my grandfather’s serious illness, my father’s depression and trips to Oregon to see him, I traveled to Portland as well, where I saw him on his deathbed and spoke with his wife. We learned how heartbroken he was that his two other children, the ones he spent his life doting on most, did not travel and were only concerned about his estate, while his middle son, the one neglected—(because he did alright for himself), and his neglected children (because we had the benefit of parents with our heads on straight)—were the ones there for him on his last days. His other sons? They never even called, then chastised my father for “not keeping them informed”, as if leaving messages that said “you have to call me” was not sufficient.

So yes, it’s been a hard couple months. My Gramp-Pa passed last week, a month before his 85th birthday, and things are finally leveling out. My apologies to my dedicated readers for the delay in posting; I’ve got a lot to talk about, so expect a bit of a deluge in the coming weeks.

Best Friends and Deception

The guilt is starting to become overwhelming. I’m speaking of the guilt about keeping this blog a secret from my best friend, especially since she and her family are mentioned anonymously on occasion. However, as this blog seems to be gaining more readers every day (for which I’m very touched), it’s inevitable that she or someone who knows us will stumble upon it.

She and I have had many disagreements on this issue before, over perceived or actual misunderstanding, but we have both come a long way. She’s struggled to understand the things she says that make me feel small or like she doesn’t understand or support me, and I’ve given her a lot more credit than I have in the past. She comes to me for the brutal truth about potentially touchy comments to childfree friends and asks me to honestly point out anything she says that may come across as condescending or unsupportive. We’ve come to an understanding, but I still don’t feel I can share this blog with her.

There are a few reasons for this. For one, although I leave her anonymous I don’t exactly have a common name. Anyone who knows me will put 2+2 together easily and know both who I am an who she is. I am terrified that she will think she’s the reason I don’t want children (a concern she’s voiced in the past, of being afraid that any negative thing she might say about the parenting experience might convince a fence-sitter not to have children). And in this context, she might justifiably take these writings as a breach of confidence. There are still things she says – the occasional blanket statement about the childfree, the loaded (though unintentionally so) statement of how much richer, fuller, more fulfilling her life is now that she’s a mom – that still get under my skin. We’ve talked about it a bit, but I prefer this topic to be the elephant in the room than the catalyst for an argument. I have said it before: We have a fundamental difference in how we think and perceive the world around us, and that’s okay. If something bothers me enough to make it worth talking about, I’ll bring it to her. Overall I know much of it is me being overly sensitive so I prefer not to take issue with every single thing that might bug me but soon will pass.

I’m also concerned that she’ll think I don’t trust her. I’m still trying to figure this one out, quite frankly, because while I do trust her she is highly sensitive like me. I don’t want her to interpret this blog or the secrecy surrounding it as some sort of statement against her. I do trust her, but I also know that I say things in here that will hurt her feelings. There are older posts from a time when we didn’t understand each other as well as we do now that I worry will reopen wounds. I fear she’ll take things personally, because I realize I *do* have a double-standard for moms I know and care about, just as I have a double-standard for babies and kids I care about. And, lastly, I worry that she will see herself in some of my rants (whether real or perceived) and I will lose her because of it.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve been approached to write and be interviewed in articles for magazines that my friends surely read. I had an editorial for what I thought was an unknown magazine spotted by a friend. I want to take this blog to the next level, but I’m afraid. I don’t want to edit her out of my posts because she is an important window into parenting for me, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings either, and I know she’s going to find this site one of these days.

On Working

Something broke my heart a little last night. My boss darted into my elevator at the end of the normal workday with me. Because this is so odd, him leaving at 5:30 when the rest of the office clears, I made a note of it. “Wow, leaving at a decent hour today! Good for you!” I said to him. He looked at me with a half smile, then said in a defeated, deflated voice, “yeah, it’s my son’s birthday and I’ve got to be home early." He spoke as if his son’s birthday was this horrible inconvenience, keeping him from his work. This wasn’t the first time he spoke of his family like this. He came in late one day last week because his daughter fell ill at school and it was “his turn” to pick her up, and he grumped about the mess it had made his day all day long.

My last boss was like this as well. They both took vacation weeks not during the week their kids and schoolteacher wives were home on winter break, but the week before or after. They complained about family tasks, preferring to stay at work for all hours. I often thought that if one of the lobby sofas were a convertible that my old boss would choose to sleep at the office rather than at home with his wife. Both men hung drawings from and photos of their kids in a manner that smacked more of obligation than love. I was shocked to find out my current boss’s son turned 14 yesterday; the photo in his office is of a little-league playing boy of 9 years, tops.

And then I compare this to the problems a friend is having with her workaholic husband, distant and disinterested in the family, working 70-hour workweeks because he feels obligated. And, granted, he’s in the process of building his own business, but even when he IS at home he’s checked out and picks fights, never appreciating a thing his stay-at-home wife does, sometimes coming home so late he’ll go days without seeing his two young boys. He doesn’t spend time with his family; he does time with his family and it breaks my heart to see what she goes through.

And then there’s the flip-side to this. In my decade of professional experience, I’ve never had a superior who has put their family first. Family folk seem to come in two extremes: either work or family is viewed as a necessary evil. Those who appear to view family as an unfortunate obligation (usually men) make their way up the ranks while those who work to pay the bills and have little other motivation never seem to get ahead.

I will be the first person to label myself as a workaholic. I think my addictive tendencies inherited from my father manifested in my work instead of drink. But while I’ll be the first to volunteer to stay late when there’s a big deadline looming, I also strive to work as few hours as possible to get my work done. Since my career is a major factor in my decision to remain childfree, I often wonder what I would do in a similar situation to my current and former supervisors.

It's no secret that my husband wanted kids when we met, and during those conversations when I was inclined to consent, figuring by the time it came up in our lives I might be okay with it, I told him that if I had kids with him that he would be the primary caregiver. (Eventually, obviously, I came clean with him and told him how I really felt.) I've always known, since before the day almost 8 years ago when my mom said "you're more of a career girl, aren't you?", that if I didn't want to reevaluate my career goals a kid would make things incredibly difficult.

I knew before I had spent much time at all in the type of office where I'd spend my career, before I saw the coldness of the successful parents or the stunted careers of the good parents. Even aside from my lack of maternal desire, I've known that a career and a child wouldn't mix. As Oprah has said, she didn't feel that she could do both as well as she'd feel comfortable with. That sums up my thoughts pretty accurately.

Little Sister

It seems to be quite bizarre that my group of friends are entering our thirties without children. It's something that has made my life, up to this point, easier. I knew the tide was approaching, but I didn't expect the tides to change quite so rapidly.

While I still have a handful of childfree friends, they do seem to be dropping like flies. My childfree sista, the girl who gave me a word for what I was, the one who started a controvery with a mutual mom friend by joining a community that was labeled a "hate group"... she's dating a man with kids, something she swore she didn't want to ever do. But you can't help who you fall in love with, I guess. But that's not even that big a deal.

The bigger deal is Lori, who just announced her pregnancy. All of my other parent friends are people I've known only as adults. My best friend was a newlywed when we became friends. But Lori… I've known her since we were 5 years old, she's my not-my-sister, my lifelong friend. The fact that she's going to be a mom… It's just especially weird.

I am ecstatic for her, but there's something about this pregnancy that's affecting me more than most, making me feel more out of the loop than most.

It reminds me of high school… wanting to be popular, but having no desire to do the things that were required to be popular. Shallow, vapid, slutty… words that I used to describe the "cool" kids at school. I never wanted anyone to use those words to describe me, and yet there was something about the acceptance that I always wanted.

All of my other friends with kids — or friends who are trying to have kids — are people I've known only as adults. But Lori is different. She's like my sister. Knowing that she's going to have a baby is like a reality check that I really am growing up.

I'm okay with that. Relationships change when kids come into the picture, and I see the end of my relationship with Lori as I know it. Hanging out with Lori is drinking and dancing and getting crazy. It's an excuse to deal with Wrigleyville bullshit. It's high-end martinis, the expensive restaurants that her husband works at, it's partying but in a different way than my other friends party. It's watching her kick ass at roller derby and impress boys with her muscles, talking like a sailor, sharing Army stories and shooting the shit with her union buddies (she's an electrician).

And she's going to be an amazing mom. But this is necessarily going to change a big part of who she is. She plans to stay at home, and I anticipate Lori's rough edges that make her Lori softening. I miss her already, and she only announced that she was pregnant this afternoon.

And I see this world that she's approaching, the world other friends are in or dying to be in, and I wish there was a way to join the club without joining it. I think about Lori & Jer's baby and how I want to be a part of its life, but at the same time babies make me so uncomfortable. This child will be my niece, if not by blood, and it's taking me back to when my oldest niece C was born, my first husband and I looking at the child terrified, knowing that we loved her but saying my god, who would do this on purpose when no one could get her to stop crying or she threw up all over the backseat of the car and started choking and I had no idea what to do and I was screaming at my mom to pull over NOW because I can't handle this. It's things like this that force me to admit it: I don't like babies. I may love the child, but I don't like babies.

Why do I feel this horrific rush of guilt by saying that? I already feel inhuman enough when people at the office bring in new babies. The women hear the words "baby in the office" and they coo and giggle and rush off to wherever the baby might be for the chance to hold it, to smell it, to nuzzle and cuddle with it, and I can't get far enough away. I don't see a new baby, even my newest niece Josephine and say "gee, I want one of those." Family looks at me strange when I say I don't want to hold her. And while I loved touching my best friend's newborn's soft little head, as soon as he started crying all I could think is "get it away from me". And it's not the child's fault. I'm just not maternal, not wired that way.

I feel like accepting this as fact, that I'm just different, makes me a freak. I'm back in high school and I'm the freak in the flannel shirt and the heavy metal t-shirt and the combat boots beside the girls with their cute hair, expensive shoes and Guess? jeans. I'm the smart kid who finds high school boys annoying and immature, and the girls too for that matter. I'm the yearbook geek.

But I took some pride in that identity. In this identity, this childfree woman who doesn't like babies and is creeped out by the idea of touching your pregnant belly and feeling the alien baby kick… in this identity, when I'm surrounded by these thoughts as my little sister begins softening and becoming "Mommy"… I feel only shame. A fleeting moment, to be sure, but still...

Bright Lights, Big City

It’s hard to say when I became enamored with the city. Was it as a child, on rare outings with my parents when we’d go shopping in Chicago? More likely it was in high school when having fun meant a 45-90 minute drive to either Milwaukee or Chicago and out out out of my hometown of Kenosha. 45 minutes past farmland (which has now largely turned into condos) and subdivisions; out of hell and into a place where I felt I could be myself. If it was your average night out, we’d go to Fuel Cafe; if we were skipping a day of classes, it was down to Belmont & Clark in Chicago. Surrounded by punks and hipsters, goths and art freaks… that was where I fit in. Even though I’m not any of these things (I flirt with them all on any given day), I felt welcomed, no longer too lame to hang with the “cool” kids in school, who I cared little about anyway. It was nice.

But the bright lights big city, I’m not sure where that love affair began. I’ve always loved the architecture, the sounds, all of it. Now that I work in a high-profile high-rise downtown, a part of me feels like I’ve arrived. I live only minutes away by train, close enough to see the Sears Tower down the train track straightaway on a good day, far enough away from the city’s heart to pay a reasonable rent and acceptable parking fees. This is where I want to be.

When we mentioned to my in-laws that we wanted to buy a house in our little neighborhood (I just can’t call it a suburb), they extolled the virtues of the schools, then wondered why we wouldn’t want a bigger house in a “nicer” (read: newer) neighborhood where the schools were even better. We just left it as “we like it here”.

It’s a very real thing to us, though. At our current income level, we simply can’t afford anything in our area yet, where the home values put a $350,000 sticker on a crappy 2-bedroom ranch. Sure, we could afford it, technically, but then say goodbye to our retirement savings, our lifestyle as we know it as we scrimp and scrounge. We refuse to buy a condo just to say we own property (especially when condo values are stagnant), so we’re stuck.

Unless we move to the ‘burbs.

I’ve never been one to dream of the white picket fence, the 2.4 children scampering around the neatly groomed backyard with a golden retriever puppy. My dream has been the city house, perhaps a smaller yard, but a yard nonetheless. No neighborhood covenants for me, nosiree; if I want to paint the trim on my house plum purple, I will. Want to restore that old Victorian to playhouse colors? It’s my prerogative, it’s my property! Of course I wouldn’t have a house that looked ridiculous, but knowing that I *could*… it’s part of the charm. But the most important part of my dream house? Proximity. Location location location, but not in the way our families think about it.

We could buy a good-sized, cookie-cutter house an hour outside the city for a price easily within our budget. We could take the advice of our families and set up roots near the good schools filled with perfectly coiffed and pressed all-American white kids instead of the dirty Polish immigrants and the Mexicans. To us, this sounds like living in hell, yet it is probably where we’d end up if we chose to raise a family. The fact is, the schools *are* better in the ‘burbs, and if we had kids, that would have to be a major consideration. Additionally, with kids to raise the cost of city living would become even more cost-prohibitive (the great irony – much of the most expensive housing is in some of the worst school districts in the state).

Location, location, location means city living. Minutes away from any ethnic restaurant we can imagine, a cheap cab ride to the arts centres or shopping districts, and a short train ride into work. It’s one of our favorite freedoms in our childfree life. We don’t have to seek out the sterile neighborhoods of Naperville and Wheeling. The Polish deli, the Mexican grocery, the Indian-Pakistani buffet… all of these things are at home in our ideal neighborhood. We’re hoping housing prices start going down soon so we can lay down more permanent roots here, in a neighborhood with a crappy school district (that we will gleefully help along with our tax dollars, even though we will send no child to school there) and a hell of a lot of character.

When even a dog is too much…

My husband and I were confronted with the prospect of getting a dog this weekend. On the way home from our New Years Eve party, our designated driver nearly hit an adorable pekingese puppy. He collected the dog, who approached him immediately and was quick to snuggle, and brought him into the car. Like most pekingese, he had silky, long fur that had clearly been recently groomed; the pads of his little feet were bloody, likely from walking on the concrete. We weren't okay with leaving the puppy on the street, and the cops would have taken him to a kill shelter (and, quite frankly, we didn't trust their follow-up skills). Figuring this was a puppy who snuck out the door at a NYE bash or simply got out some other way and would be missed quickly, our friend took the dog home after after my husband took one for the team and brought the puppy into the shower with him -- puppy was unfortunately covered in stink and feces in the back, a common problem with long-haired animals.

The next day, when we still had no word back from the police about anyone seeking a missing dog, we wondered what we'd do with the pup, whom we affectionately named Stinky Butt (because OH MY GOD). Stinky wasn't getting on so well with our friends' dog and couldn't be left alone, and they had an engagement they needed to attend. It fell on us to take care of Stinky.

We panicked. We looked at the house -- we can't have a rambunctious little dog in here. What about my art glass? Our nice furniture? Good gods, what if it PEES somewhere... or worse?! Nevermind that our landlord could potentially freak out. It was one thing having their dog visit -- Lily is mellow, quiet and, well, doesn't have stinky gas issues. Plus, her owners are always there with us. This was potentially us, mano a mano, with an adorable, stinky puppy.

"If we're watching the dog today," said my husband, "that's what we're doing this afternoon, period. Forget our plans." I knew he was right. We intially had plans to celebrate New Year's Day with some other friends, but that couldn't happen if we had to monitor Stinky Butt.

We searched for a no-kill shelter who would take the dog until we could find the owners. We prepared to put signs out. And then we got a call from the cops. Stinky's owner had called them. We were ECSTATIC. Stinky was suddenly no longer our problem. As an added bonus, as we walked to the car to go pick up the dog we saw a sad looking girl taping a flyer to the lamppost -- IT WAS STINKY BUTT! We gleefully told her we had her puppy and went to go collect him.

We fell in love with Stinky as soon as we picked him up. He ran excitedly behind our friend and Lily as she was about to take them out for a walk when we arrived. Stinky hopped into the carrier with little trouble and was just remarkably well-behaved. Our friend declared Stinky a diva who followed her around constantly, wimpering at the slightest hint of being ignored. Because of this, and because Stinky is incredibly cute and cuddly, my husband insisted that Stinky, who no longer appeared to be stinky, sit on his lap for the short drive home.

Stinky snuggled into my husband's lap and rested his soft little head in my hand as we drove. It was so sweet, and I found myself saying "maybe a dog wouldn't be so bad", although I knew that with our work and commuting schedule, gone from 8-6:30 on a good day, it wasn't something we could manage, especially with something as high-maintenance as a pekingese. But as the dog nuzzled into my hand, I felt a warmth that made me happy…

…and then Stinky reminded us why we dubbed him Stinky in the first place. Luckily it was just gas (my husband was wearing his "good pants" and got very, very panicked), but OH MY GOD again. The warm fuzzies immediately dissipated (unfortunately the odor lingered, even with the windows wide open on a brisk winter day) and I could not drive quickly enough. We left the windows rolled down as we took Stinky in to his owner's condo. The smell left the car by then, but we would later find out that it would take nearly two days, a goodly amount of Lysol Disinfectant and open common-hall windows to clear Stinky's stench from our common foyer, where we had the dog until we decided he must be bathed before getting into my friend's car the night before.

I laughed at how quickly our demeanors changed when Stinky went from being cute cuddly puppy to stenchmaster, and it reminded me how ill-equipped we are, temperament-wise, as a couple, to handle a child. "But you guys would make great parents!" people tell us, and all I can think of it the fights about handing off the stinky baby to one person or the other. I picture us playing monkey in the middle with a small child, me with my superhuman sense of smell causing me to gag at the slightest odor, him getting irritated with me because he's always the one who does it because smell and gross doesn't bother him as much. Hell, why do you think he ended up being the one to take Stinky into the shower the night before! I can just see it, and it's not a pretty sight.

A situation like that would make me fear for my marriage. We couldn't handle a stinky puppy for a 20-minute drive home. The idea of something running around and terrorizing our comfortable, adorable home was completely unacceptable to us both, and the thought of giving up an entire afternoon to care for a clingy, stinky diva of a puppy made us angry.

Thoughts like this bring up the question of whether we are selfish because we enjoy the conveniences of our life. I still maintain it's a difference in lifestyle; to say one is selfish is to imply the other is selfless, or at the very least NOT selfish. Many who have children do so because that's what they want for their lives. This is what we want for our lives. It is no different.

We prefer a life where godawful stench and clingy codependence play as small a role as possible. Is that really all that selfish?

When "No" Means Something Else

It's a well-known fact that the earth, the universe and everything revolves around my nephews. And while I find it admirable that their parents are instilling them with a fine sense of self-worth (low self-esteem certainly won't be among their issues), I find it incredibly stupid that the word "no", in addition to having been completely erased from their mother's own vocabulary, has simply never sunk into the heads of these three boys.

On Christmas Eve my husband and I visited with his stepsister who was in town with her beau from Vegas while the other aunts and uncles entertained the boys. My tolerance for the boys is very low, mostly because I get tired of orbiting them with the rest of the world and once in awhile would like to focus on something else. The boys spent the evening telling people to be quiet so they could tell their stories or sing their songs (which was fine once in awhile, but everyone was expected to stop midsentence; if you didn't, you were reprimanded by Mom). Once, when the oldest landed at our table and was offended that the grown-up conversation didn't come to a complete halt, I let him know that Uncles A and D were in the middle of something, and when they finished their thoughts we could listen to him. I told him it wasn't polite to interrupt and got glared at. When the middle child walked, without knocking, into the bathroom while I was in there (thankfully on my way out), I nicely told him he should knock before opening a closed bathroom door. Another glare from Mom.

I'm going to interject with something here: I know that it is a complete faux pas to discipline someone else's child. I gave them no consequences. I didn't make them apologize. I didn't tell them to go away. I didn't yell. I simply stated the facts: It's not polite to interrupt when someone's speaking, and it's not polite to open the bathroom door (that had no lock) without knocking. The problem, if you haven't gotten it yet, is that I told these boys that something they did was unacceptable. In essence, I told them "no", and we don't do that with these boys. Nosiree...

So as the evening goes on, I see more evidence that these boys OWN their mother, their aunts & uncles, their grandparents. "Can I have some cake [even though I just had four cookies and Uncle Brett snuck me a piece of cake already?]" Suuuuuure! "Can I play with this? [read: can we open and assemble the Mouse Trap game, punching out all the little pieces and spending a half-hour building it even though we have to leave soon and it would make much more sense to open it at home and besides, there are two dozen OTHER toys already open and strewn about.]" Of course! Anything for you kids! Sometimes a good healthy "no" is all you have to say. They probably would have accepted it after a moment and moved on to something else, but we don't tell these kids "no". Nosiree.

They wouldn't have immediately accepted the "no", though. Because "no" doesn't mean "no"; "no" means a couple different things. It means "go ask someone else... maybe Uncle Brett because he's a pushover, or maybe Daddy because he can't handle even the mildest temper tantrum". It means "these people are boring and they don't love me because they won't give me everything I want". It means "how dare you defy me! I control the universe and I *always* get what I want... MOMMYYYYYYYY!"

So many parents teach their kids that they are infallable, that the world revolves around them and anyone who tells them differently couldn't possibly love them.

This isn't so much a rant about children -- they only know what they are taught -- but about parents. I can appreciate that sometimes it's just easier, especially in a very social situation, to say "yes" to everything in order to placate the children. It simply made me ill to see how the adults around let the children control the entire evening so completely, how they looked at anyone who dared tell them otherwise like we were horrible, because "it's Christmas!"

I really, really hope that their mother doesn't allow them to control their house like that at home. Somehow, I doubt that anything is different in their own home.

What I Am is What I Am

It was asked recently of a contributor to a blog I frequent called Purple Women whether she considered "being childless" as being something that defined who she was. I found it a fascinating question, and one that I've wondered about often.

I find it intriguing that if a mother was asked to define herself, no one would question if "I'm a mom" came early on in the description, or even it was the beginning, middle and end of the description. Certainly, if you ask someone to tell you about themselves many parents will start in telling you about their family. If a mother were to omit the word "mom" from her description, she might be ridiculed or at least looked at with concern. I would reckon a fair number of mothers would say "yes, being a mother is something that defines who I am."

Conversely, if I say that being childless (or childfree, as I prefer) is something that defines who I am, I get a very different reaction. It has been implied more than once that my identification with "the childfree community" (as opposed to the parenting community?) was a symptom of a greater "problem". Why couldn't I just be childfree; why did I feel the need to belong to some elitist society? Clearly I must be overcompensating for something.

To even ask such a question is to imply that there's something wrong with it. Do I define myself by my childlessness?

No. Of course not.

However, it is a huge part of who I am, in part because so many people my age and older define themselves by their parenting status. "Jenny, mother of two" you'll see as a caption in a magazine. "Carrie, a single mom..." "Bryan, a single dad..." Look at the descriptions people write about themselves in journals, on MySpace. Parenting status has become a sort of status symbol, perhaps not in that parents are revered more than childless folk (though they often are), but my point is that if one finds out I have no children, the question of "why" always lingers, either as the elephant in the room or with a direct question. I'm not sure I've ever had this fact simply accepted and dropped.

But unlike parents, I don't announce my status immediately. If I get to know someone, a coworker for instance, and they seem like they'll be open to the idea, I will enter a dialogue about it -- because it's never as simple as saying "I'm childfree by choice." If it comes up naturally, that's great. When I'm asked directly, I will answer truthfully, but it inevitably opens a can of worms.

My childfree-ness is a fact of life. Just as a mother might look at a toddler in a store and have a reaction, I do as well. Either I look at a cute kid and say to myself "I'm not going to have one of those and that's okay", or I look at something the child is doing -- sometimes simply the omnipresence of a child, other times a particular action -- and think "my god, that would drive me nuts." While many women flock to a pregnant belly and beg to touch it, I get squeamish. Same with tiny little babies. Like mothers and wannabe mothers, I react when I see children; I just react differently. It's normal. I am reminded of my choice constantly, and that's okay.

There's nothing wrong with our childfree-ness being part of what defines who we are. There is one thing I think we all have in common though: while it is a part of who we are, we will always remain our own person. When you ask me who I am, I will never have a one-word answer. I will never ever be, as I've seen so many women refer to themselves, "just a mom."

I am creative.
I am a graphic artist.
I am a wife.
I am a spiritual being.
I am childfree.
I am many things.
...being childfree is merely one of them.

Inequity: The root of our discontent

I was reading an advice column in Pink, a magazine for businesswomen, and it's made me very upset. There was a time when I had the opportunity to be interviewed for an article on childfree women in the workplace, but because I and the writer were never able to connect, it never happened. This turned out to be a good thing, because after reading the article she wrote, I got the impression that I'd have been painted as petty and mean and completely lacking understanding of the plight of the working mother; the focus of the article was changed to yet another rehashing of the whole "opt-out revolution". Whatever.

So in this advice column, a writer says, "I am offering flex-time to female employees, but I'm afraid that the men are being adversely affected." The woman giving advice states that she assumes that she's giving the flex-time to working mothers, in which case the writer should also give the same to fathers who are primary caregivers. If the employees without small children have an issue with it, the writer is advised to meet with them to "find out the root cause of their discontent." This really, really bothered me. The insinuation is that the discontent couldn't possibly be because parents are given a flexibility they're not. No no no no no, there must be some other underlying problem. Because I already had a letter to the editor printed in the magazine this month, I have chosen not to write to the editor again, but I'm hoping someone else will.

One reason I'm so frustrated with this is that I've seen this happen recently with my mother. She has worked with her firm for nearly a decade, managing a number of clients who have flat-out refused to work with anyone other than her and have pledged to take their business elsewhere when she leaves. She is an invaluable "cog in the machine", as it were, for the company. For the last three years, she has been pleading to go to a four-day workweek. She's there at least 10 hours a day anyway and spends entirely too much time working from home as well; she feels that she has earned this. Time and again they have said no. Recently, a new employee has made the same request, and her bosses have honored it. Why? Because she adopted a new baby and "needs extra time to bond".

Nevermind that my mother may as well be singlehandedly raising my niece and has been doing so for nearly 8 years; that doesn't matter. Because this new woman has a baby, she gets the right to the flex-time. It's completely unfair.

Rules like this should be universal; either you have them for everyone, or no one gets the rights. Too many times I've been the one who picks up the slack for the mothers and fathers who leave early for the events of parenthood; school functions, parents' day, and I'm often the only one who's productive on "bring your child to work day". Yet when I have an event that requires leaving early it's either a request that's granted reluctantly or not at all, which means I end up being forced to lie (embellish the situation -- it's not just a day off, I'm in a friend's wedding! -- or call in sick when I'm not) or face missing an event I consider every bit as important as little Jaime's parent-teacher conference.

I'm tired of the inequity, of parents getting preferrential treatment. So often I see the parents being allowed to work from home when staying with a sick child, when I know that I couldn't work from home instead of calling in sick myself on a day when I'm too ill to be braving the train and the walk to work but could probably make it through my design work and my phone meetings just fine. They leave work early, they come in late because of children's illnesses, late schoolbuses, school injuries, or snow days. But if the childless and childfree are late, it's unacceptable.

"The root of our discontent" should be obvious, and to imply that it must be something other than being treated differently that our parenting counterparts is insulting.

'Tis the Season

I’ve noticed throughout my years of journaling that I tend to fall into the same rut; when I’m stressed, need to vent or some other outlet for pain, aggression, frustration, I journal. When I’m content or – gods forbid – happy, I don’t find the need to journal as much. That is the rut I’m afraid to fall into with Childfree Me. I’ve decided to invest some time to talk about the good times, why I love my childfree marriage. While I’m touched that Childfree Me has touched a cord with people (for that I’m endlessly flattered; it keeps me going) because I deal with the more emotional side of this decision, I feel the need to should it out how proud and happy I am for the life I am living.

$75. $25 for each nephew. In most situations, I would have no problem spending this money, and in the past I never have. This year, like any other, I was sent a Christmas list for our nephews, but this year it had a twist: assigned gifts. That’s right, folks, Mom picked out what each aunt/uncle combo should buy for her boys. Way to take the creativity – the thing I find fun about gift giving – and dump it down the drain. What did my husband and I get? Bathrobes (not fleece) – seriously, where do they make non-fleece robes for kids, and what fun is that? Way to give us the gift that they toss aside saying “Auntie T & Uncle A are BO-RING”. Oh, and slippers. WHATEVER.

So instead, I got each kid a $25 Toys ‘R’ Us gift card, with which they can buy whatever they want. But I know what’s going to happen: Mom’s going to keep the cards, maybe buy a small gift for each kid, then keep the rest around for friends’ birthday gifts, etc. As someone who takes great pride in the gifts I choose, this regimented approach sickens me and takes the joy out of the whole situation. Mom’s a control freak for sure – always has been – but this was over the top and I can’t decide if I should confront her about it in addition to my civil disobedience.

Enter my niece, who had the most adorable list ever. She is nearly eight years old and thought very hard about her list. New pencils (cool ones), pink erasers (they work the best), construction paper, crafty things, dangly earrings and – the big gift – moon sand, some sort of crafty clay. This was her list, and she was so proud of her list, and then my 12-year-old cousin got hold of her. “Don’t you want this Bratz DVD? What about a new Barbie house? The Hanna Montana CD? New games for your Nintendo DS (that Daddy plays with more than she does)” She listed all these things (peer pressure!), but nothing makes my niece happier than sitting at a table with some paper, glue, markers and scissors; well, except maybe a pencil to write and her imagination. It kills me to see everyone (her daddy included – he likes buying her things he can play with when she gets bored) pressuring her to ask for bigger and more expensive things when all she really wants to do is craft and draw and write. Oh, and she wants to learn to knit.

What stinks about this is that I’m going to get her some earrings I bought in a lot on Ebay, some cool pencils and pink erasers, and my brother, her Daddy, will treat me like I skimped on her gift, when in reality I got her what she really wanted.

I can’t imagine managing this for my own kids, nevermind the worry over the potential appearance of favoring one child over another. Too much stress.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying buying little things for all our friends, for my husband, and for honorary nephews (with parents who don’t get crazy)… The holidays are about family. It’s ironic that I find my “second family” – the large group of friends with which I’m blessed – much more enjoyable this time of year.

For the Kids

Relationships fail. What seemed a good idea at one time can later feel like a huge mistake; it’s a fact of life.

In recent months I’ve seen several long-term relationships break up; one an engagement that, in hindsight we say “thank god the wedding never happened” to a match that wasn’t as wonderful as we all thought; the other a 10-year marriage stressed by years of law school and living a state away from each other. In the case of the engagement, I was devastated for them, but after she was blindsided with the break-up, I learned things about the relationship that made me glad it never got to that point. In the case of the marriage, I never really understood their relationship. Even before our friend’s wife went away to law school, they never seemed very close, very in love, and my husband, who stood up in the wedding, said the same. They didn’t seem to have what he and I have. And while it’s a hurtful thing to watch friends go through, in both cases I feel it’s for the better. Like my own first marriage, neither relationship bore any children, so the break-ups, while of course painful, were largely uncomplicated.

Enter another relationship in crisis: married for 7 years, two children, both people wholly unhappy. Husband owns and runs a videogame studio startup that’s gaining success. A textbook workaholic, he’s spent the last 7 years building his reputation in the industry through long, long hours, finishing his master’s degree, and being married to his job.

The thought was this: when our son is born, he’ll be home more. No? Okay, maybe we’ll transfer to the other side of the country to another game studio where they’ll promise him shorter hours. “But how can I leave when everyone else is staying?” Okay, let’s try this: let’s move back to Wisconsin where he can get a high-level professorship teaching videogame programming; the hours are better and besides, we have another child on the way. But he found he hated teaching; blame the marriage trouble on this. He then found, quite by accident, a technology grant that helped him start his dream business. And now, after all this juggling, we’re back where we started: husband/dad is checked out when he’s home, which is almost never, obsessed with work work work; Wife/mom stays at home with the boys and is lonely. Things are not getting better. She doesn’t want to be with him anymore.

“But the kids will be destroyed if we divorce.” Forget the arguments about whether or not divorce is a good idea when kids are involved. My point is this: when we are unhappy, we take steps to make ourselves happy. Sometimes that involves ending relationships, ending marriages. The only reason my friends have stayed together so long is “for the kids”. He wants to live his rockstar lifestyle, traveling and speaking at schools around the country, schmoozing with Stephen Spielberg at game launches in Hollywood, and not have to worry about the wife and kids at home missing him (in which case, having kids was not the best idea, but another story). She wants a husband who comes home at 6:00 and plays with the kids; right now she’s essentially a single mom, the kids seeing Daddy on weekends only, and getting no romance, no love, no appreciation, and this is how it’s been for years. She just keeps getting more and more unhappy, far past the point where any non-parent would have stayed where they’re at.

An anonymous commenter on this blog made the argument that childfree marriages are less happy than ones with children because the divorce rate is slightly higher for childless couples. But I have to wonder, especially seeing what my friends are going through: how many of those marriages with kids are horrifically unhappy, but the parents are staying together “for the kids”? I know that was the case with my parents; my mom would never have even married my father if she didn’t get knocked up with me. And it's absolutely the case for several family members. Of course many are happy, but I think the assumption that marriages that don’t break up are happy marriages is wishful thinking.

I’m sad to see it come to this for all these couples, because I don’t want the people I care about to hurt. But when my friend says things like “I think marrying him was a mistake”, which, by extension means having children with him was a mistake (quite a different thought than wishing your children weren’t born)… that makes me so unbelievably sad.