"I have these little panic attacks when I think that I could have missed out on having him. I love him so much it hurts."
I love that my friend, childfree one who accidentally got pregnant, is falling into being a mom and loving it. I didn't want her to be a childfree horror story, the one people hold up and say "yup, see, this is why we're making the right decision." But when she talks about the changes she's experienced since becoming a mom, it's hard to hear sometimes.
You want to think you know what you want, what's best for your life, and we can only do the best with the information we have. She's one of the lucky ones, bless her heart. She's got a beautiful baby boy who she loves to pieces and who enriches her world and her marriage. Would she feel the same if something was "wrong" with him, as was her biggest fear when she was pregnant? Who knows. She can't speculate, I can't know.
Would I have the same experience? Would I suddenly accept all the changes in my life, the knowledge that I could no longer plan to travel the world as I want? That I could no longer work like I do? Maybe, maybe not. We know my niece's mother never bonded with her and rejected her, leaving my brother to raise her while she skipped town. It doesn't happen for everyone.
I don't like that her situation pushes my "what if" buttons. Between her, my friend who is currently undergoing IVF at 39 after being a "career girl", and others, the "what if" buttons get pushed. It's uncomfortable when that happens. Makes me doubt my own judgment. But when I question my choice, when I wonder whether I'm making the right one, I always land in the same place:
It would probably be nice to want a child. But I don't want that life. My husband doesn't want that life, and we can't count on the hormones to come a-rushin' in to change all that when we become parents.
So there's some mourning. This isn't as easy a decision for us as it is for some childfree couples, the ones who outright dislike kids and the whole idea of parenting. We talk about it, what it means, what we want, and wonder if we'll come to the same conclusion.
But at the end of the day, we're happy with our family just as it is.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
"We'll just adopt…"
A couple we're very close to is adopting an older child next week, and it's weirding me out. We've adjusted to the new mom thing with many friends by now, but this time instead of an infant entering everyone's lives it's an 11-year-old girl. She's already almost my height, and she has a personality that's all her own. A few years in the foster system have left her a little immature for her age, but she's this person. A whole person with a history and hopes and dreams and interests. It's taking some getting used to.
My husband and I got to meet her last week on one of her last visits before she permanently moves in with her new family. She's a sweet girl, eager to please but a little clingy. She's as good a fit for this family that could possibly exist, I think, and I'm super excited that we'll get to be a part of their lives. They wanted to adopt an older child for many reasons, but I think one of the reasons was that they thought it would be easier.
It's not easier.
A lot of childfree women say "If I want kids later, I'll adopt." A couple of my best friends have been adopted. It seemed simple enough. But now, watching my friends' experiences through this process — entering the foster system with the goal of adopting, not just fostering — have shown me how complicated it is. Promises of a child coming into their life until the birth mother (or, in one case, a former foster mother) files an appeal. Getting hopes up based on profiles only to find out that the caseworker grossly understated psychological issues or abuse histories. The horrible guilt at having to reject a child after going through a good portion of the process because it "just didn't feel right" when they finally met the child in person.
In the beginning I thought I was one of those women, the ones who would take in foster kids if I got the urge to parent later in life. Long ago I decided that wasn't for me, but seeing this process is reinforcing that. New Mom is finding bonding with the child a challenge for a number of reasons. She's finding herself a little resentful of the time, the money, the changes that are happening. I worry she's regretting her decision. She even told me that in just the last few home visits she's realized that she probably would have been okay if she and her husband were childfree.
Luckily, her husband is over the moon about the whole thing. He loves being a dad to his new daughter and is helping to compensate for Mom's nerves. I think it will be okay, in time, but as the reality is hitting, as moving day approaches next week, she's really scared. She's also nervous because she's not feeling "like a mom" yet.
My husband and I have committed to supporting our friends and talked a lot about it. It's important to us that they're a part of our lives and we're ready to accept her. But it's a whole new kind of strange. From a selfish point of view, our relationship with them will be changing in a different way than new parents with infants changes. There will be this extra person there, one that we have to engage and include in conversation. Will we still be able to rant about work, gossip about friends, bitch about family when there's this girl who needs role models more than most kids?
It will obviously be more challenging for them. They're going to spend the next year or two adjusting her expectations, making her a part of the family. She's likely going to go through a phase, as "most foster kids do (according to their caseworker)" where she tries everything in her power to make their lives miserable as a challenge to see if they send her back to the group home and back into the system. It could be years before she calls them "mom and dad". In just a few years she'll be dating, driving.
And here's what gets me. They're changing this girl's life for the better, for sure. Without them, it's highly likely she'd be in the system until she's 18. They're giving her a chance at a life. But even so, they're starting from so far behind that by the time they're truly bonded, she could be starting high school.
I'm excited for them, but I find myself hoping they're doing this for the right reasons. Occasionally I wonder whether they went down this path because Dad wanted to be a father so bad and Mom just doesn't do babies. I wonder whether she does motherhood at all, or if this will change her, make her want one of her own to raise. It's going to be an interesting journey.
It's a window into the life I used to use as a way to get people off my back about not having kids. "We'll just adopt." It's far more complicated than I could have imagined.
My husband and I got to meet her last week on one of her last visits before she permanently moves in with her new family. She's a sweet girl, eager to please but a little clingy. She's as good a fit for this family that could possibly exist, I think, and I'm super excited that we'll get to be a part of their lives. They wanted to adopt an older child for many reasons, but I think one of the reasons was that they thought it would be easier.
It's not easier.
A lot of childfree women say "If I want kids later, I'll adopt." A couple of my best friends have been adopted. It seemed simple enough. But now, watching my friends' experiences through this process — entering the foster system with the goal of adopting, not just fostering — have shown me how complicated it is. Promises of a child coming into their life until the birth mother (or, in one case, a former foster mother) files an appeal. Getting hopes up based on profiles only to find out that the caseworker grossly understated psychological issues or abuse histories. The horrible guilt at having to reject a child after going through a good portion of the process because it "just didn't feel right" when they finally met the child in person.
In the beginning I thought I was one of those women, the ones who would take in foster kids if I got the urge to parent later in life. Long ago I decided that wasn't for me, but seeing this process is reinforcing that. New Mom is finding bonding with the child a challenge for a number of reasons. She's finding herself a little resentful of the time, the money, the changes that are happening. I worry she's regretting her decision. She even told me that in just the last few home visits she's realized that she probably would have been okay if she and her husband were childfree.
Luckily, her husband is over the moon about the whole thing. He loves being a dad to his new daughter and is helping to compensate for Mom's nerves. I think it will be okay, in time, but as the reality is hitting, as moving day approaches next week, she's really scared. She's also nervous because she's not feeling "like a mom" yet.
My husband and I have committed to supporting our friends and talked a lot about it. It's important to us that they're a part of our lives and we're ready to accept her. But it's a whole new kind of strange. From a selfish point of view, our relationship with them will be changing in a different way than new parents with infants changes. There will be this extra person there, one that we have to engage and include in conversation. Will we still be able to rant about work, gossip about friends, bitch about family when there's this girl who needs role models more than most kids?
It will obviously be more challenging for them. They're going to spend the next year or two adjusting her expectations, making her a part of the family. She's likely going to go through a phase, as "most foster kids do (according to their caseworker)" where she tries everything in her power to make their lives miserable as a challenge to see if they send her back to the group home and back into the system. It could be years before she calls them "mom and dad". In just a few years she'll be dating, driving.
And here's what gets me. They're changing this girl's life for the better, for sure. Without them, it's highly likely she'd be in the system until she's 18. They're giving her a chance at a life. But even so, they're starting from so far behind that by the time they're truly bonded, she could be starting high school.
I'm excited for them, but I find myself hoping they're doing this for the right reasons. Occasionally I wonder whether they went down this path because Dad wanted to be a father so bad and Mom just doesn't do babies. I wonder whether she does motherhood at all, or if this will change her, make her want one of her own to raise. It's going to be an interesting journey.
It's a window into the life I used to use as a way to get people off my back about not having kids. "We'll just adopt." It's far more complicated than I could have imagined.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Why I Do This
Why do still I talk about this, after 7 years of doing this blog? Because I wish someone told me 7 years ago that this was okay. Because I get letters like this too often to just shut this down:
Writing gives me power. Sharing gives us all power. I don't use my actual name for many reasons, but I'm reachable. I am accountable for what I say. Any one who wants to can reach me at childfreeme@gmail.com. I'm crazy busy, so I don't often have time to respond, but I appreciate the letters I get, and I'm open to starting a dialogue with people who want to understand more about why we make the choices we make, and why I blog about it.
"Reading your blog gave me so much comfort in knowing that I am not alone and It has helped me understand issues that I could face in the future. I am given ridicule for my choice, and not being believed just because of my age is really painful and makes me feel like such a freak for not wanting what everyone else seems to want. I am so glad to find that there are other people out there who feel just like me and face similar issues."There are some who take the time to hurl insults from behind an anonymous tag, but here's the thing. I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to keep talking about the decision I've made, my 7-year journey, that will be a 10-year journey. I can show what the world looks like through the eyes of a 35-year-old childfree woman. When I was in my mid-20s I needed to see the words of people in their 30s, who were feeling as I was then, to see how they felt in 10 years. Because I had no map. It's the same reason why I'm so excited to meet other childfree women, especially those in their 40s and 50s, who've dealt with the issues I'm dealing with now.
Writing gives me power. Sharing gives us all power. I don't use my actual name for many reasons, but I'm reachable. I am accountable for what I say. Any one who wants to can reach me at childfreeme@gmail.com. I'm crazy busy, so I don't often have time to respond, but I appreciate the letters I get, and I'm open to starting a dialogue with people who want to understand more about why we make the choices we make, and why I blog about it.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Five Days with a Toddler
I've been staying with friends this week, attempting to work remotely with a toddler running around. I have learned things.
THIING ONE: I can do about 10-15 minutes with the child before I'm bored/annoyed/want to do anything else but wait on her every need, and this is a child I adore. On This American Life, in its Back to School episode, Ira Glass referred to babies (as seen through the eyes of teenagers) as "these incomprehensible bundles of need", and that's what this child is.
She isn't a bad child, by any means, she's just two, and that's what two-year-olds are to me. It's especially the case for toddlers who aren't verbal. She's bright and appears to comprehend well, but she's barely talking aside from babbling, which just plain frustrates everyone, including the baby.
THING TWO: The primary job of a toddler's caregiver appears to be keeping her from accidentally killing herself. Not just hurting herself, mind you — pain is an excellent teacher, and if she learns that putting fingers there means pinched fingers, that's a life lesson. I'm talking possible DEATH. It's the stray piece of sharp(!) plastic in her mouth that came from god knows where. It's the heavy thing on the shelf she can just barely lift. It's the gate above the stairs you swear to god you clicked shut — or hell, did she figure that out too? It's keeping her from putting her finger in the dog's eye/ear/butt and pissing him off. It's the drawer she figured out how to open and the knife you carefully set on the counter that's juuuuuuuuust within reach of her tiny fingertips because she developed the ability to stretch just a little further. It's constant vigilance.
THING THREE: As a parent, your life is a series of little messes. Cereal bowls poured on the ground, crackers crumbled on the sofa, yogurt covering the baby. Diapers and dishes and blah blah blah. So many messes, all the time. And when she's cleaning up, the baby NEEEEEDS her attention, so while she's doing the dishes, baby is whiiiiiiiining, a sobbing mess on the floor because she's not the center of attention. Mom has to turn off the part of her brain that says "I am causing my child pain" because it's not pain. It's manipulation. It's a game. Which leads me to…
THING FOUR: Holy crap, are toddlers manipulative. Figuring out when they're hurt and when they're crying wolf is a crapshoot. Everything is a crisis. Not responding to a whine? Try a cry? Let's make it sound like I'm in pain, that you're actually harming me. It's awful. To someone as sensitive as I am, it quickly becomes emotionally overwhelming, even though I know that taking my Kindle away from her so she doesn't destroy it is not actually causing her traumatic physical pain.
They say it's different when they're your own kids, and to that I call bullshit. It's not different. You just have the love that balances out the awful more, but it's still awful. On a bad day, Mom calls baby the Soul Sucker. While baby is up, it's all about baby. She wants to work, but realistically she can't concentrate on work until baby is in bed. It's not different. It's just "worth it" I guess? I don't know.
And it's not just that. It's the series of broken Xbox controllers from being thrown around. It's Mom's brand new iPhone that got dunked in her cup of water because all the sippy cups are dirty, and the shelves full of things pushed way to the back, out of baby's reach, and the annoying door knob covers and drawer locks aimed at keeping her from getting into things she shouldn't get into. It's the screaming when she DOES get a hold of the expensive, breakable thing you tried so hard to keep her from getting her hands on. But it's "worth it"? I guess?
I found myself escaping into the basement to work in peace this week because even when baby wasn't bothering me, her emotional neediness, mom's frustrations, they weighed on me so much that I couldn't focus on my work. My guilt weighed on me too, for being annoyed when the kid is just being a two-year-old.
The adorable moments are great. But this week, I recognize those moments and say "these are the moments they say make it worth it. It's just not moving me." Right now, she's breaking up saltine crackers and crumbling them into the sofa and I've lost my will to tell her not to do it. I can't anymore. I'm tired.
It's now just one more mess for mom to clean up. Lucky her.
THIING ONE: I can do about 10-15 minutes with the child before I'm bored/annoyed/want to do anything else but wait on her every need, and this is a child I adore. On This American Life, in its Back to School episode, Ira Glass referred to babies (as seen through the eyes of teenagers) as "these incomprehensible bundles of need", and that's what this child is.
She isn't a bad child, by any means, she's just two, and that's what two-year-olds are to me. It's especially the case for toddlers who aren't verbal. She's bright and appears to comprehend well, but she's barely talking aside from babbling, which just plain frustrates everyone, including the baby.
THING TWO: The primary job of a toddler's caregiver appears to be keeping her from accidentally killing herself. Not just hurting herself, mind you — pain is an excellent teacher, and if she learns that putting fingers there means pinched fingers, that's a life lesson. I'm talking possible DEATH. It's the stray piece of sharp(!) plastic in her mouth that came from god knows where. It's the heavy thing on the shelf she can just barely lift. It's the gate above the stairs you swear to god you clicked shut — or hell, did she figure that out too? It's keeping her from putting her finger in the dog's eye/ear/butt and pissing him off. It's the drawer she figured out how to open and the knife you carefully set on the counter that's juuuuuuuuust within reach of her tiny fingertips because she developed the ability to stretch just a little further. It's constant vigilance.
THING THREE: As a parent, your life is a series of little messes. Cereal bowls poured on the ground, crackers crumbled on the sofa, yogurt covering the baby. Diapers and dishes and blah blah blah. So many messes, all the time. And when she's cleaning up, the baby NEEEEEDS her attention, so while she's doing the dishes, baby is whiiiiiiiining, a sobbing mess on the floor because she's not the center of attention. Mom has to turn off the part of her brain that says "I am causing my child pain" because it's not pain. It's manipulation. It's a game. Which leads me to…
THING FOUR: Holy crap, are toddlers manipulative. Figuring out when they're hurt and when they're crying wolf is a crapshoot. Everything is a crisis. Not responding to a whine? Try a cry? Let's make it sound like I'm in pain, that you're actually harming me. It's awful. To someone as sensitive as I am, it quickly becomes emotionally overwhelming, even though I know that taking my Kindle away from her so she doesn't destroy it is not actually causing her traumatic physical pain.
They say it's different when they're your own kids, and to that I call bullshit. It's not different. You just have the love that balances out the awful more, but it's still awful. On a bad day, Mom calls baby the Soul Sucker. While baby is up, it's all about baby. She wants to work, but realistically she can't concentrate on work until baby is in bed. It's not different. It's just "worth it" I guess? I don't know.
And it's not just that. It's the series of broken Xbox controllers from being thrown around. It's Mom's brand new iPhone that got dunked in her cup of water because all the sippy cups are dirty, and the shelves full of things pushed way to the back, out of baby's reach, and the annoying door knob covers and drawer locks aimed at keeping her from getting into things she shouldn't get into. It's the screaming when she DOES get a hold of the expensive, breakable thing you tried so hard to keep her from getting her hands on. But it's "worth it"? I guess?
I found myself escaping into the basement to work in peace this week because even when baby wasn't bothering me, her emotional neediness, mom's frustrations, they weighed on me so much that I couldn't focus on my work. My guilt weighed on me too, for being annoyed when the kid is just being a two-year-old.
The adorable moments are great. But this week, I recognize those moments and say "these are the moments they say make it worth it. It's just not moving me." Right now, she's breaking up saltine crackers and crumbling them into the sofa and I've lost my will to tell her not to do it. I can't anymore. I'm tired.
It's now just one more mess for mom to clean up. Lucky her.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Best Laid Plans — UPDATE
Lots of people have asked about my friend I referred to in Best Laid Plans.
With a lighthearted laugh she blames it on the chemicals, the oxytocin released at birth. She loves her son. Loves him "so much it hurts. Like literally hurts." Her family thinks she's crazy because this comes as such a surprise to her. "They don't understand that I really did not expect to love my baby."
It's not easy. He's not a good sleeper and the broken schedule is wearing on her. (This is a common theme among the parents of newborns in my life right now.) She's so tired. Every conversation starts with how goddamn tired she is. And it's dull. Her son is gorgeous, but he's not very interesting right now.
And her instincts aren't finely honed. This bothers her. Dad's a pro, like he's done this before. He anticipates the baby's needs, knows how to quiet him, can interpret the cries in a way she's still struggling to do. She's self-conscious about it, but considering this wasn't ever her dream she's not surprised that she's absolutely clueless. But she wishes she was better at it. I have a feeling every mom probably feels that way.
She's worried about what this means for her career. She's the primary breadwinner in the relationship, the one with the degree and the good job. The one with benefits. They know they can't survive — not near Chicago at least — on Dad's salary, but the cost of childcare is so daunting she's admittedly in denial about it. Budgeting terrifies her. It's never been something she's had to do before, and now money is suddenly very tight. It's uncomfortable for her. This was exactly why she didn't want children.
I have faith they can get past all of this because she does love the hell out of her son and her husband. She's learning to be a mom and getting better at it. I'm hopeful for them. I get the impression that things are going as well as could be expected, if not better.
With a lighthearted laugh she blames it on the chemicals, the oxytocin released at birth. She loves her son. Loves him "so much it hurts. Like literally hurts." Her family thinks she's crazy because this comes as such a surprise to her. "They don't understand that I really did not expect to love my baby."
It's not easy. He's not a good sleeper and the broken schedule is wearing on her. (This is a common theme among the parents of newborns in my life right now.) She's so tired. Every conversation starts with how goddamn tired she is. And it's dull. Her son is gorgeous, but he's not very interesting right now.
And her instincts aren't finely honed. This bothers her. Dad's a pro, like he's done this before. He anticipates the baby's needs, knows how to quiet him, can interpret the cries in a way she's still struggling to do. She's self-conscious about it, but considering this wasn't ever her dream she's not surprised that she's absolutely clueless. But she wishes she was better at it. I have a feeling every mom probably feels that way.
She's worried about what this means for her career. She's the primary breadwinner in the relationship, the one with the degree and the good job. The one with benefits. They know they can't survive — not near Chicago at least — on Dad's salary, but the cost of childcare is so daunting she's admittedly in denial about it. Budgeting terrifies her. It's never been something she's had to do before, and now money is suddenly very tight. It's uncomfortable for her. This was exactly why she didn't want children.
I have faith they can get past all of this because she does love the hell out of her son and her husband. She's learning to be a mom and getting better at it. I'm hopeful for them. I get the impression that things are going as well as could be expected, if not better.
The Harsh Realities
There seems to be a movement right now that encourages parents to admit that, on some days, parenting kind of sucks. I think this is a powerful movement, and I know that there's power in being honest with one another. Making struggling parents feel guilty for not enjoying and cherishing every single movement, making them feel like terrible people and parents for wanting to punt their children into the neighbor's yard, that's not helpful.
But honestly? It's all fuel to my fire, reminding me why I've made my decision.
I have several friends with toddlers right now, and others who've recently gotten past the "hell years", as one mom who just got through those years put it. "Oh god, 2 is the very worst." "3 and 4 are the worst. I don't envy you." I'm hearing it over and over. I'm seeing it in their mommy blogs, reading it on their Facebook pages, hearing about it on instant message. It's the rants, the frustration, the agony. "I understand why people hit their kids."
But it's not just that. I'm hearing it from the parents of newborns too, how just a few weeks in they're at their wits' end because they're not handling the sleep deprivation well, or the boredom after working consistently every day of their adult lives. "I understand why people shake their babies," my goddaughter's mother admitted after the third long, colicky night.
You have to really want it to cope well with the realities of parenting. The more I hear from my friends, the more I understand that parenting is no job for a fence-sitter. I'm well and truly over any fences now (funny how a European vacation can do that), but in the moments when I think parenting could be cool I think back to the hard stuff, the moments that are currently driving a number of my girlfriends absolutely crazy. The ones that need to be disclaimer'ed to hell and gone so everyone understands that there are beautiful moments mixed in with the contemplations about how bad it could REALLY be to give a toddler a shot of whiskey to help them sleep.
I'm so grateful that my friends live in a world where it's safe to talk about how hard parenting can be. It helps new parents understand what they're in for in a way that I don't think previous generations were allowed. They were told it was the best time of their lives, that the kids grow so fast you have to love every moment, that you have to do everything right 100% of the time or you're a bad person. Even the parents of 10-year-olds I know didn't get that freedom. Not like today.
Today they can cry out in solidarity when potty training isn't going well and they just decide to put the potty trainer in front of the television because at least then he'll sit on it until he has to go. That's powerful stuff, and I think it's going to help this generation of new parents do a much better job.
It's also something I feel fortunate I'm not a part of. I'll sit back and listen, experiencing parenting vicariously through them while thanking the powers that be that my house won't ever have a poop-covered toddler running around… and if that does happen, it's not my problem to deal with it.
But honestly? It's all fuel to my fire, reminding me why I've made my decision.
I have several friends with toddlers right now, and others who've recently gotten past the "hell years", as one mom who just got through those years put it. "Oh god, 2 is the very worst." "3 and 4 are the worst. I don't envy you." I'm hearing it over and over. I'm seeing it in their mommy blogs, reading it on their Facebook pages, hearing about it on instant message. It's the rants, the frustration, the agony. "I understand why people hit their kids."
But it's not just that. I'm hearing it from the parents of newborns too, how just a few weeks in they're at their wits' end because they're not handling the sleep deprivation well, or the boredom after working consistently every day of their adult lives. "I understand why people shake their babies," my goddaughter's mother admitted after the third long, colicky night.
You have to really want it to cope well with the realities of parenting. The more I hear from my friends, the more I understand that parenting is no job for a fence-sitter. I'm well and truly over any fences now (funny how a European vacation can do that), but in the moments when I think parenting could be cool I think back to the hard stuff, the moments that are currently driving a number of my girlfriends absolutely crazy. The ones that need to be disclaimer'ed to hell and gone so everyone understands that there are beautiful moments mixed in with the contemplations about how bad it could REALLY be to give a toddler a shot of whiskey to help them sleep.
I'm so grateful that my friends live in a world where it's safe to talk about how hard parenting can be. It helps new parents understand what they're in for in a way that I don't think previous generations were allowed. They were told it was the best time of their lives, that the kids grow so fast you have to love every moment, that you have to do everything right 100% of the time or you're a bad person. Even the parents of 10-year-olds I know didn't get that freedom. Not like today.
Today they can cry out in solidarity when potty training isn't going well and they just decide to put the potty trainer in front of the television because at least then he'll sit on it until he has to go. That's powerful stuff, and I think it's going to help this generation of new parents do a much better job.
It's also something I feel fortunate I'm not a part of. I'll sit back and listen, experiencing parenting vicariously through them while thanking the powers that be that my house won't ever have a poop-covered toddler running around… and if that does happen, it's not my problem to deal with it.
Wednesday, May 08, 2013
The One Thing That a Woman's Supposed to Do
Sometimes I watch terrible chick flicks to laugh at them, but What to Expect When You're Expecting was a whole other brand of awful.
On the one hand, it reinforced that I definitely do not want children. I don't see myself in any of their lives. Yes, they're fictional, but I've pretty much known all the women whose caricatures are portrayed in the film, from the breast-obsessed mom to the image-obsessed mom. They've all been in my life at some point, and I cannot relate in the slightest.
It kind of makes me feel defective.
I don't really mean that in a bad way. I've talked about this before, feeling broken, defective, like something's wrong with me because I don't want kids. It takes on a different tone now that I'm older. It still sucks, feeling left out, but lately I find myself feeling extremely grateful that I've recognized this in myself and have been working so hard at loving my life as it is.
But when Jennifer Lopez's character bawls about not being able to do "the one thing that a woman's supposed to be able to do", it made me twitch. It made me angry. I've heard friends dealing with infertility say this a lot, that not getting pregnant means they're a failure as a woman, or as a wife.
Fuck that.
I genuinely feel sympathy for families going through infertility. I cannot imagine wanting a child, especially not wanting one so badly that every failed month is painful. I get it.
But you are more than your ability to procreate. I am not doing this world a disservice because I'm not procreating. I'm no less of a woman. You know what I was meant to be? A designer. An entrepreneur. A badass aunt and a really great partner. I'm meant to be me.
Be strong. Be sad if you need to be sad — I'm not saying there's no place for disappointment and devastation. What I'm saying is, stop equating womanhood with childbearing. Stop equating masculinity with the ability get a woman pregnant. Stop excluding me when you say "family" is everything. My husband and I started a family when we got married. We count.
I've been told I'll never know what love is, that I'll never fully appreciate my own mother, that I'm wasting a perfectly good uterus, and that I'm doing a disservice to my family and the world. These are not paraphrased statements. People have said these things to me. They've also implied that i shouldn't have gotten married, that I'm childish and immature, that my husband isn't a real man because he hasn't managed to knock me up for whatever reason, that I'm a bad person and incapable of loving the children in my life, that my life lacks meaning because I don't want kids of my own.
I'm mad. That's my emotion tonight; I'm mad. I'm tired of being bullied and made to feel less than what I am, and movies like What to Expect reinforce that. A woman is nothing if she doesn't get pregnant. Husbands are bumbling and stupid and lose all their masculinity when they become parents.
I didn't expect a good movie when I watched this. I knew what I was getting into, but it was far worse, and not at all funny. It was pathetic, and it made me feel sorry for people whose world is shattered if they can't have children.
Having children is great… if that's what you want. But someone whose goal in life was to be a mom is a complete mystery to me. AND THAT'S OKAY. I have different goals. Stop trying to make me feel like I'm less than you because of them, and I will never make you feel like you're less than me because you chose a different path.
Deal?
On the one hand, it reinforced that I definitely do not want children. I don't see myself in any of their lives. Yes, they're fictional, but I've pretty much known all the women whose caricatures are portrayed in the film, from the breast-obsessed mom to the image-obsessed mom. They've all been in my life at some point, and I cannot relate in the slightest.
It kind of makes me feel defective.
I don't really mean that in a bad way. I've talked about this before, feeling broken, defective, like something's wrong with me because I don't want kids. It takes on a different tone now that I'm older. It still sucks, feeling left out, but lately I find myself feeling extremely grateful that I've recognized this in myself and have been working so hard at loving my life as it is.
But when Jennifer Lopez's character bawls about not being able to do "the one thing that a woman's supposed to be able to do", it made me twitch. It made me angry. I've heard friends dealing with infertility say this a lot, that not getting pregnant means they're a failure as a woman, or as a wife.
Fuck that.
I genuinely feel sympathy for families going through infertility. I cannot imagine wanting a child, especially not wanting one so badly that every failed month is painful. I get it.
But you are more than your ability to procreate. I am not doing this world a disservice because I'm not procreating. I'm no less of a woman. You know what I was meant to be? A designer. An entrepreneur. A badass aunt and a really great partner. I'm meant to be me.
Be strong. Be sad if you need to be sad — I'm not saying there's no place for disappointment and devastation. What I'm saying is, stop equating womanhood with childbearing. Stop equating masculinity with the ability get a woman pregnant. Stop excluding me when you say "family" is everything. My husband and I started a family when we got married. We count.
I've been told I'll never know what love is, that I'll never fully appreciate my own mother, that I'm wasting a perfectly good uterus, and that I'm doing a disservice to my family and the world. These are not paraphrased statements. People have said these things to me. They've also implied that i shouldn't have gotten married, that I'm childish and immature, that my husband isn't a real man because he hasn't managed to knock me up for whatever reason, that I'm a bad person and incapable of loving the children in my life, that my life lacks meaning because I don't want kids of my own.
I'm mad. That's my emotion tonight; I'm mad. I'm tired of being bullied and made to feel less than what I am, and movies like What to Expect reinforce that. A woman is nothing if she doesn't get pregnant. Husbands are bumbling and stupid and lose all their masculinity when they become parents.
I didn't expect a good movie when I watched this. I knew what I was getting into, but it was far worse, and not at all funny. It was pathetic, and it made me feel sorry for people whose world is shattered if they can't have children.
Having children is great… if that's what you want. But someone whose goal in life was to be a mom is a complete mystery to me. AND THAT'S OKAY. I have different goals. Stop trying to make me feel like I'm less than you because of them, and I will never make you feel like you're less than me because you chose a different path.
Deal?
Friday, April 05, 2013
Full Time Job
I already have a full-time job. Two, on many days and nights. I work from home, often for very long hours fueled by lots of late night coffee, and because I generally make my own hours, when I can choose my hours I work into the wee hours of the night. I'm a textbook night owl, preferring to work late and wake late.
Because I love my job, my career, this is perfect for me.
The moment I consider how a child would change the way I live my life, my work is the first thing I think about. I think about the long days, the crunch time nights where I get three or four hours of sleep because I'm balancing so many clients, and know that there's just no room.
In addition to all this work, I have a marriage that I treasure. Our couple's time is very important. Even after 10 years together, we program in snuggle time into the morning alarm. We enjoy gourmet food and entertaining friends, and traveling is a huge part of our life together. To give up the vacations we take, to use our treasured vacation time to manage sick kiddos, I can't imagine that.
You make sacrifices, moms will say, and it's worth it.
But what if I don't want to make those sacrifices? What if the price is too high?
This is something I have a hard time explaining to people who've known all their lives that kids would be a big part of their life. Of course you can't explain to someone whose kids are their world just how much you value your time. When you don't have the drive to be a parent, there's nothing a parent can say that can make me want to change my priorities.
I know amazing parents who do it with grace. I know others who struggle. The consensus is that there are sacrifices involved, of course. Some work part time or fewer hours. Most who work full-time have family who cares for their kids. But all understandably devote an incredible amount of time to their kids' lives.
It's like adding another job to the list. I mean no disrespect when I say that, because I understand that everyone's kids are far more than just a "job", but that's just it. Because I don't have the drive, all I see is the work involved. As my mom said when I was younger, I'm "more of a career girl."
Because I love my job, my career, this is perfect for me.
The moment I consider how a child would change the way I live my life, my work is the first thing I think about. I think about the long days, the crunch time nights where I get three or four hours of sleep because I'm balancing so many clients, and know that there's just no room.
In addition to all this work, I have a marriage that I treasure. Our couple's time is very important. Even after 10 years together, we program in snuggle time into the morning alarm. We enjoy gourmet food and entertaining friends, and traveling is a huge part of our life together. To give up the vacations we take, to use our treasured vacation time to manage sick kiddos, I can't imagine that.
You make sacrifices, moms will say, and it's worth it.
But what if I don't want to make those sacrifices? What if the price is too high?
This is something I have a hard time explaining to people who've known all their lives that kids would be a big part of their life. Of course you can't explain to someone whose kids are their world just how much you value your time. When you don't have the drive to be a parent, there's nothing a parent can say that can make me want to change my priorities.
I know amazing parents who do it with grace. I know others who struggle. The consensus is that there are sacrifices involved, of course. Some work part time or fewer hours. Most who work full-time have family who cares for their kids. But all understandably devote an incredible amount of time to their kids' lives.
It's like adding another job to the list. I mean no disrespect when I say that, because I understand that everyone's kids are far more than just a "job", but that's just it. Because I don't have the drive, all I see is the work involved. As my mom said when I was younger, I'm "more of a career girl."
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
It's Okay
The childfree aren't allowed to have doubts. Have you noticed? I've hesitated to call myself "childfree" at times because there are segments of our community that are so hateful toward people who are more open-minded when it comes to the ideas of children and parenthood.
How does trying to make CF some sort of exclusive club help anyone? And why is an expression of doubt an acceptable reason to stop supporting someone's decision?
We are all different, and we come to this community for different reasons and in different ways. No major life decision is without some degree of conflict. We need to support each other. You're not better than me at being childfree because doubt never comes into the picture, and I'm not better than you*.
And no, you can't say for certain how you're going to feel in 10 years, 20 years. You may change your mind… yeah, I know, I've already talked about how we're not allowed to suggest that. But reality is reality. One of my formerly CF friends is currently plunking tens of thousands of dollars on fertility treatments at 38 because she feels like she missed out. Becoming a mom is all she can think about or talk about now. I just shared the story of a CF friend who couldn't go through with her promise to herself to have an abortion if she got pregnant. They were childfree until they weren't. IT IS A THING. This isn't a label we have to wear to the grave. CF can mean different things to different people.
It's okay to admit that things can change. It's okay to be conflicted sometimes. Major life decisions almost always involve some degree of conflict or wondering what might be or might have been. And it's okay to be firm in your decision while getting emotional about it from time to time. It's okay to never have a single shred of doubt; if that's the case, I solute you. Tearing women down for expressing conflict or changing their minds is just as bad as the people who we get so angry at who insist that we're making a mistake.
We're human, we're not machines. Our emotions are complex, and the childfree community is complex. Embrace it, and embrace each other.
*unless you're an asshole
Just because being childfree is a complicated decision for you doesn't mean that you're some sort of failure to the CF community.I say this because people have tried to make me feel that way. On social media and public forums, other CF women jump on me and say I'm not really CF if I think being a mom looks kind of awesome sometimes. I haven't had anyone tell me it's okay to be conflicted sometimes, that even stopping to consider whether it's really what you want is okay.
Really, it's okay.Don't we have enough people on our asses about how we're living our lives? If we say that sometimes it makes us sad that we're missing out, or that we're a little jealous of the things that make parenthood awesome, we're vilified by the childfree community and told by parents that we should stop kidding ourselves. We're not allowed to express conflict or doubt. EVER.
How does trying to make CF some sort of exclusive club help anyone? And why is an expression of doubt an acceptable reason to stop supporting someone's decision?
We are all different, and we come to this community for different reasons and in different ways. No major life decision is without some degree of conflict. We need to support each other. You're not better than me at being childfree because doubt never comes into the picture, and I'm not better than you*.
And no, you can't say for certain how you're going to feel in 10 years, 20 years. You may change your mind… yeah, I know, I've already talked about how we're not allowed to suggest that. But reality is reality. One of my formerly CF friends is currently plunking tens of thousands of dollars on fertility treatments at 38 because she feels like she missed out. Becoming a mom is all she can think about or talk about now. I just shared the story of a CF friend who couldn't go through with her promise to herself to have an abortion if she got pregnant. They were childfree until they weren't. IT IS A THING. This isn't a label we have to wear to the grave. CF can mean different things to different people.
It's okay to admit that things can change. It's okay to be conflicted sometimes. Major life decisions almost always involve some degree of conflict or wondering what might be or might have been. And it's okay to be firm in your decision while getting emotional about it from time to time. It's okay to never have a single shred of doubt; if that's the case, I solute you. Tearing women down for expressing conflict or changing their minds is just as bad as the people who we get so angry at who insist that we're making a mistake.
We're human, we're not machines. Our emotions are complex, and the childfree community is complex. Embrace it, and embrace each other.
*unless you're an asshole
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
It Changes Everything
There's still no verdict on whether my friend I mentioned in the latest post is going to love being a mom or not. She tells me that she's tired, a lot, and that it's more work than she anticipated, but that he's a good baby and she did fall in love at first sight.
I think that's good news.
But she also said it changes everything, which I've no doubt about. It's the thing I fear the most when I consider parenthood.Even the healthiest, happiest, easiest baby changes everything. But still, I look at my friends with the active, happy kids, and I look at other friends whose baby is developmentally delayed enough that we're all exchanging looks and biting our tongues, and I don't see a life I want.
I love watching her play, explore, learn. She's an amazing kid, and funny as hell. We cuddled, we played. I love her to pieces, but oh my god I wanted to crawl out of my skin after 4 hours. But I couldn't. I had to stay vigilant, making sure she didn't get into anything or hurt herself, even though there was relatively little trouble she could get into.
It was an easy day with her and I found it exhausting, and boring as hell. All I did was sit on the sofa watching Hotel Transylvania for the hundredth time because that's what the baby likes best, and occasionally fill up her bottle with more milk, feed her food she didn't want to eat anyway, and clean up her messes. The good stuff outweighs the bad/dull/exhausting when you're a parent, I get that. It changes your priorities; I get that too.
But I like my priorities. I like that I'm up at 3:00 am working on a project for a client. I enjoy working 60 hours a week because I love my job. I enjoy going to school on top of this all to finish my MBA. I love that Mondays are work/study nights, Tuesdays we go to our trivia league, Wednesday we're going to see my husband's cousin in a Broadway production, Thursday we're gaming with other friends, and Friday we've got date night. My life is amazing.
I'm not eager to bring something in that will fundamentally change my relationship with my husband, or my life, or my priorities. A life where I'm not creating — writing, designing, imagining — would weigh so heavily on me.
Some parents I know manage it. I've watched other couples grow bitterly resentful of one another because they feel disrespected. While some still put a high value on grown-up time, others dissolve into their new role as Mothers and lose the rest of their identity. They're not bad people, or stupid people, but that's how parenthood changed everything for them.
So when I say I wish I wanted it, I mean that I know I'm missing out on some pretty amazing stuff. Everybody wishes they could have it all. I just know that I can't, and I'm at peace with that.
I think that's good news.
But she also said it changes everything, which I've no doubt about. It's the thing I fear the most when I consider parenthood.Even the healthiest, happiest, easiest baby changes everything. But still, I look at my friends with the active, happy kids, and I look at other friends whose baby is developmentally delayed enough that we're all exchanging looks and biting our tongues, and I don't see a life I want.
I'm 35. This is pretty much it, and I've made my choice. It's been my choice from the beginning, but the older I get the more gravity it holds.For me, it's becoming clear that there's going to be some mourning involved. I sort of wish I wanted kids, that I wanted to sacrifice so much for that experience, for that kind of love. It's not enough for me. I was so excited to spend a whole day babysitting my goddaughter last week, and it melted my brain after 4 hours.
I love watching her play, explore, learn. She's an amazing kid, and funny as hell. We cuddled, we played. I love her to pieces, but oh my god I wanted to crawl out of my skin after 4 hours. But I couldn't. I had to stay vigilant, making sure she didn't get into anything or hurt herself, even though there was relatively little trouble she could get into.
It was an easy day with her and I found it exhausting, and boring as hell. All I did was sit on the sofa watching Hotel Transylvania for the hundredth time because that's what the baby likes best, and occasionally fill up her bottle with more milk, feed her food she didn't want to eat anyway, and clean up her messes. The good stuff outweighs the bad/dull/exhausting when you're a parent, I get that. It changes your priorities; I get that too.
But I like my priorities. I like that I'm up at 3:00 am working on a project for a client. I enjoy working 60 hours a week because I love my job. I enjoy going to school on top of this all to finish my MBA. I love that Mondays are work/study nights, Tuesdays we go to our trivia league, Wednesday we're going to see my husband's cousin in a Broadway production, Thursday we're gaming with other friends, and Friday we've got date night. My life is amazing.
I'm not eager to bring something in that will fundamentally change my relationship with my husband, or my life, or my priorities. A life where I'm not creating — writing, designing, imagining — would weigh so heavily on me.
Some parents I know manage it. I've watched other couples grow bitterly resentful of one another because they feel disrespected. While some still put a high value on grown-up time, others dissolve into their new role as Mothers and lose the rest of their identity. They're not bad people, or stupid people, but that's how parenthood changed everything for them.
So when I say I wish I wanted it, I mean that I know I'm missing out on some pretty amazing stuff. Everybody wishes they could have it all. I just know that I can't, and I'm at peace with that.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Best Laid Plans
She didn't plan this. She planned for this not to happen. She and her fiancé were happily childfree and she'd been religious about taking her birth control since high school. She did everything right.
And she got pregnant.
This is the story of a dear friend who's due to have her son any day now. It sounds like a childfree cliché, a horror story that never really happens. But it did, and it's breaking my heart.
I'm hoping my friend has a change of heart, that something happens to her after her son is born that makes her fall head over heels in love and feel silly for ever thinking anything else would happen.
At this point, I'm not sure if that'll happen.
When she found out she was pregnant, she scheduled an abortion. As happens with so many women, a heartbeat changed her mind, but not out of love. Out of guilt. She's adopted, from a mother who was 19 and just starting her life on her own. But my friend has a good job, a wedding date planned, a great relationship with her parents and her birth mother, and she's in her 30s like me. So she decided to keep the baby.
She's lost friends because she ever considered ending the pregnancy. She's lost friends because she's not over-the-moon ecstatic. She's lost childfree friends who can't believe she'd have the baby. Her husband, who agreed to a life with no kids, is beyond happy to welcome their son in to the world. I'm glad for that; at least, if she doesn't change her mind, the baby will have him.
But her experience is so like how I imagine my own that it frightens me. She's told me I'm the only one she can talk to about how she really feels instead of customizing it the person she's talking to. Why is it impossible for people to just encourage her to feel what she's feeling? She hates being pregnant, she's terrified that the child will have something wrong with him or that she'll be a terrible mother because she doesn't have a nurturing bone in her body. She's already feeling guilty for being a bad mom and he's not even born yet.
I hope she has a change of heart. I hope her friends stop being assholes and start respecting her. I hope her son is healthy and beautiful and she thinks he's the best thing she ever did.
The last thing I want is for her to be a poster child for why childfree women shouldn't have kids. No child deserves that.
And she got pregnant.
This is the story of a dear friend who's due to have her son any day now. It sounds like a childfree cliché, a horror story that never really happens. But it did, and it's breaking my heart.
I'm hoping my friend has a change of heart, that something happens to her after her son is born that makes her fall head over heels in love and feel silly for ever thinking anything else would happen.
At this point, I'm not sure if that'll happen.
When she found out she was pregnant, she scheduled an abortion. As happens with so many women, a heartbeat changed her mind, but not out of love. Out of guilt. She's adopted, from a mother who was 19 and just starting her life on her own. But my friend has a good job, a wedding date planned, a great relationship with her parents and her birth mother, and she's in her 30s like me. So she decided to keep the baby.
She's lost friends because she ever considered ending the pregnancy. She's lost friends because she's not over-the-moon ecstatic. She's lost childfree friends who can't believe she'd have the baby. Her husband, who agreed to a life with no kids, is beyond happy to welcome their son in to the world. I'm glad for that; at least, if she doesn't change her mind, the baby will have him.
But her experience is so like how I imagine my own that it frightens me. She's told me I'm the only one she can talk to about how she really feels instead of customizing it the person she's talking to. Why is it impossible for people to just encourage her to feel what she's feeling? She hates being pregnant, she's terrified that the child will have something wrong with him or that she'll be a terrible mother because she doesn't have a nurturing bone in her body. She's already feeling guilty for being a bad mom and he's not even born yet.
I hope she has a change of heart. I hope her friends stop being assholes and start respecting her. I hope her son is healthy and beautiful and she thinks he's the best thing she ever did.
The last thing I want is for her to be a poster child for why childfree women shouldn't have kids. No child deserves that.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Troll - The Last Word
"Wow! I'm very glad you are all childfree. Most of you sound very
uneducated. I can rest well at night knowing women, as ignorant as you
all, are not reproducing. Your species will die off quickly and pain
free."
I hate to give this sad person any airtime and I was so tempted to let it just disappear into the ether, but I want to make sure all of you smart, well-spoken ladies see this so you can have a good laugh at our very brave Anonymous troll. That said, I'm curious what this person's species might be, if not human like us. I like to think we've made alien contact. Or maybe we're the aliens? Thoughts?
I hate to give this sad person any airtime and I was so tempted to let it just disappear into the ether, but I want to make sure all of you smart, well-spoken ladies see this so you can have a good laugh at our very brave Anonymous troll. That said, I'm curious what this person's species might be, if not human like us. I like to think we've made alien contact. Or maybe we're the aliens? Thoughts?
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Without Great Risk…
I have several mothers in my life dealing with autistic children, and as a childless woman it's been made clear I'm not allowed to talk about autism and Aspergers. And I get it. I don't believe, as many do, that autism is some horrible affliction that means the end of the world. I think Autism Speaks is a misguided organization and I think the demonization of autism as a terrible disease is missing the point. I think these parents are doing an amazing job under difficult circumstances. I know their brilliant, hysterical, eccentric kids and I am in awe of the way their minds work. So autism activists — please understand I'm on your side.
THAT SAID, watching my friends' struggles reinforces a key reason I don't want to be a mother: I can't handle a sick or difficult child. I couldn't do it. I couldn't deal with my friend's often violent, moody, yet absolutely brilliant Aspie kid, who is hypersensitive to the max and has already had bouts of suicidal depression that required hospitalization. It's not in me. I just can't.
Whenever I daydream about potentially having a child, it's under perfect circumstances. The kind of circumstances that involve a bright, even-tempered child who is self-reliant and calm from the start. I picture I a child I could travel with, who we could teach to love Indian food and behave in restaurants, who never has tantrums or bad days. I picture utopia. That ain't the real world.
When I think about a child who's got my highly sensitive traits and neurotic tendencies paired with my husband's all-but-diagnosed Aspergers, I shudder. I think about the calls my friends get from the school that their child hit another because he acted out of turn in the game, or another friend is dealing a teacher who thinks her daughter's plan for care is stupid and the school is threatening to condemn her to learning disabled classes when she's absolutely brilliant, though incredibly particular and eccentric. I contrast these to the kids who make me think I could maybe do it someday — the easy ones, the mellow ones, the funny and geeky ones — and it just sinks in about what a great roll of the dice having children is.
Of course autism spectrum disorders are only a fraction of the things that can make life with one child more difficult than another, but they're the type of difficult with which I'm most familiar (and the one that my and my husband's history would be more likely to experience) so they're my example. My friends don't regret having their children, but they're also quite different than me. They've always wanted kids. They've known it in their hearts and have been committed from the start to devote their lives to being mothers. If I had a child right now, there wouldn't be that passion. There just wouldn't. Maybe I would change as so many new moms I know did, and suddenly feel that my child was my heart walking around outside my body or whatever.
Or maybe I would be like my mother, or my niece's mother. Cold. Detached. Resentful. Maybe I would regret forever changing my career goals like my mother did. My gut tells me that's me. My lack of patience, how easily I'm annoyed to the point of anger, my inability to play along with kids for too long without getting frustrated…all signs point to "don't go there", and that's okay.
I think I could love that "perfect" child and I think it could be great. But for me the idea of having an incredibly high maintenance or sick child sounds a little like hell. No… it sounds a lot like hell.
I am proud of the moms I know, and I think it's wonderful that there are parents out there who are willing to do whatever it takes to devote their lives to their kids. Childfree women fight the selfish label all the time, but in this case? I think it's good to be a little selfish, to know what my limitations are and to recognize them. I think it's healthy that I know what I'm willing to handle and that I'm not interested in rolling the dice.
My friends' spectrum kids are awesome. But with their particular brand of awesomeness comes a degree of difficulty that only the most devoted and amazing parents can truly handle with grace. While I tip my hat to them, their life is one I would never, ever want, despite how much we all adore their kids. I simply don't want the reward enough to take the risk.
THAT SAID, watching my friends' struggles reinforces a key reason I don't want to be a mother: I can't handle a sick or difficult child. I couldn't do it. I couldn't deal with my friend's often violent, moody, yet absolutely brilliant Aspie kid, who is hypersensitive to the max and has already had bouts of suicidal depression that required hospitalization. It's not in me. I just can't.
Whenever I daydream about potentially having a child, it's under perfect circumstances. The kind of circumstances that involve a bright, even-tempered child who is self-reliant and calm from the start. I picture I a child I could travel with, who we could teach to love Indian food and behave in restaurants, who never has tantrums or bad days. I picture utopia. That ain't the real world.
When I think about a child who's got my highly sensitive traits and neurotic tendencies paired with my husband's all-but-diagnosed Aspergers, I shudder. I think about the calls my friends get from the school that their child hit another because he acted out of turn in the game, or another friend is dealing a teacher who thinks her daughter's plan for care is stupid and the school is threatening to condemn her to learning disabled classes when she's absolutely brilliant, though incredibly particular and eccentric. I contrast these to the kids who make me think I could maybe do it someday — the easy ones, the mellow ones, the funny and geeky ones — and it just sinks in about what a great roll of the dice having children is.
Of course autism spectrum disorders are only a fraction of the things that can make life with one child more difficult than another, but they're the type of difficult with which I'm most familiar (and the one that my and my husband's history would be more likely to experience) so they're my example. My friends don't regret having their children, but they're also quite different than me. They've always wanted kids. They've known it in their hearts and have been committed from the start to devote their lives to being mothers. If I had a child right now, there wouldn't be that passion. There just wouldn't. Maybe I would change as so many new moms I know did, and suddenly feel that my child was my heart walking around outside my body or whatever.
Or maybe I would be like my mother, or my niece's mother. Cold. Detached. Resentful. Maybe I would regret forever changing my career goals like my mother did. My gut tells me that's me. My lack of patience, how easily I'm annoyed to the point of anger, my inability to play along with kids for too long without getting frustrated…all signs point to "don't go there", and that's okay.
I think I could love that "perfect" child and I think it could be great. But for me the idea of having an incredibly high maintenance or sick child sounds a little like hell. No… it sounds a lot like hell.
I am proud of the moms I know, and I think it's wonderful that there are parents out there who are willing to do whatever it takes to devote their lives to their kids. Childfree women fight the selfish label all the time, but in this case? I think it's good to be a little selfish, to know what my limitations are and to recognize them. I think it's healthy that I know what I'm willing to handle and that I'm not interested in rolling the dice.
My friends' spectrum kids are awesome. But with their particular brand of awesomeness comes a degree of difficulty that only the most devoted and amazing parents can truly handle with grace. While I tip my hat to them, their life is one I would never, ever want, despite how much we all adore their kids. I simply don't want the reward enough to take the risk.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Thirty-Five
It's a big number. As a rule I haven't really cared much about the numbers, but 35 is a big one and it has me reflecting a lot. I wasn't even 30 when I started this blog and started talking about milestones. In those years I've struggled with losing friends, disappointing family, fighting against my body when it wanted a baby and my brain didn't.
When I started this journey my friends, who were a couple years older than me, were starting their families. Although I was just starting a relationship with the man who I've now called mine for 10 years, I had made my choice, though they all insisted that, in time, when I met the right man, I would change my mind. I was the only one making this choice, and for reasons I still don't understand many of them had problems with that. They interpreted my choice as a rejection of them, of their children, and very quickly there was no room for me in their lives. Aside from commenting on each others' Facebook posts now and again, none of them, including my best friends at the time, are a part of my life anymore.
Thankfully, much of that is now behind me.
This time, I do have support. I have many childfree friends, and my parents support us even if my in-laws don't understand. The parents who DO remain in my life are amazing, and their kids give us plenty of moments to experience the good stuff we're missing out on. My life is full of love and support.
For years it was easy. None of my new circle of friends, even those who were older, had kids. That's changed in the last year, not that it was unexpected. Friends who had declared themselves childfree are panicking as they now face infertility at 38, 39, while others the same age and younger are all becoming new moms. This stirred up some baby rabies, but my conflict was all internal this time, without the harsh pressure and ridicule of 10 years ago.
My friendship groups are shifting again, but this time I can say with confidence it is simply us growing apart rather than the hostility I felt when it was all about "this childfree hate group I called myself a part of." I'm at peace with that.
Age has brought me confidence that I do know what I want from life, and I don't want to be a mom. I'm working at my dream job, spending tons of time with friends, excelling in grad school and traveling constantly. My husband and I have a rich social life, we travel constantly and we dote on our cats like crazy. We enjoy our disposable income and our freedom. Age has taught me that while there are moments we wonder whether we're missing out, we know we'd be asking the same questions if we chose the other path. I don't need to make excuses for the choice like I felt I had to before. I'm 35, and life is good. Life is really damn good.
When I started this journey my friends, who were a couple years older than me, were starting their families. Although I was just starting a relationship with the man who I've now called mine for 10 years, I had made my choice, though they all insisted that, in time, when I met the right man, I would change my mind. I was the only one making this choice, and for reasons I still don't understand many of them had problems with that. They interpreted my choice as a rejection of them, of their children, and very quickly there was no room for me in their lives. Aside from commenting on each others' Facebook posts now and again, none of them, including my best friends at the time, are a part of my life anymore.
Thankfully, much of that is now behind me.
This time, I do have support. I have many childfree friends, and my parents support us even if my in-laws don't understand. The parents who DO remain in my life are amazing, and their kids give us plenty of moments to experience the good stuff we're missing out on. My life is full of love and support.
For years it was easy. None of my new circle of friends, even those who were older, had kids. That's changed in the last year, not that it was unexpected. Friends who had declared themselves childfree are panicking as they now face infertility at 38, 39, while others the same age and younger are all becoming new moms. This stirred up some baby rabies, but my conflict was all internal this time, without the harsh pressure and ridicule of 10 years ago.
My friendship groups are shifting again, but this time I can say with confidence it is simply us growing apart rather than the hostility I felt when it was all about "this childfree hate group I called myself a part of." I'm at peace with that.
Age has brought me confidence that I do know what I want from life, and I don't want to be a mom. I'm working at my dream job, spending tons of time with friends, excelling in grad school and traveling constantly. My husband and I have a rich social life, we travel constantly and we dote on our cats like crazy. We enjoy our disposable income and our freedom. Age has taught me that while there are moments we wonder whether we're missing out, we know we'd be asking the same questions if we chose the other path. I don't need to make excuses for the choice like I felt I had to before. I'm 35, and life is good. Life is really damn good.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Wishing
"The day I found out I wasn't pregnant after the sixth failed intrauterine insemination (IUI) I collapsed to the ground in tears. My husband had to help me to the car. I laid on the floor for hours just sobbing while my mother sat on the phone with me, feeling impossibly helpless."
This is paraphrased from my cousin's new blog that deals with her journey through infertility. Her journey has a happy ending, with gorgeous twin girls through IVF, but the journey is what blows my mind. Six IUIs, laparoscopic surgery, heavy fertility drugs, two specialists and, finally, the IVF that brought her twins, over the course of four years. I can not imagine wanting anything that much.
The times when I waver are when I think about my cousin and other friends who've struggled with infertility. They sob each month when they get their periods, mourning each month of failure. Their lives fall apart after a miscarriage, or a failed fertility treatment, and it breaks my heart. But is also makes me realize that my twinge of "gee, I hope I'm making the right decision" that is always followed by a glaring realization that I *AM* making the right decision pales in comparison.
I can't imagine wanting it that badly. Or truly wanting at all, really. I remember the years before my IUD where a late month sent me into a state of panic, and when talking to mommy friends about my scare would land me an "I'm sorry." No, I'm *glad* I'm not pregnant, I'd say, and they'd respond with something akin to "well, when it's your time it'll happen," still consoling me as if I'd said nothing.
And then there are the "friends" who have made me feel guilty, including the bitter one a decade ago who said she felt more comfortable with my childfree choice because I had PCOS, which meant I wasn't "wasting a perfectly good uterus." And I do feel a bit guilty. It's hard not to.
There are times I wish I wanted a child. Usually these are the kodak moments with my friends' kids who I adore so completely, or the moments when they're so filled with love and pride. I'm missing out and that sucks. But watching these people who are close to me makes me realize a wistful moment is not the same thing as wanting to raise a child. It's heartbreaking, but also refreshing. "If you want a child, you'll know," one mom told me when I told her I was wavering. "You'll know, and you so don't know right now." I laughed, but she was right.
This is paraphrased from my cousin's new blog that deals with her journey through infertility. Her journey has a happy ending, with gorgeous twin girls through IVF, but the journey is what blows my mind. Six IUIs, laparoscopic surgery, heavy fertility drugs, two specialists and, finally, the IVF that brought her twins, over the course of four years. I can not imagine wanting anything that much.
The times when I waver are when I think about my cousin and other friends who've struggled with infertility. They sob each month when they get their periods, mourning each month of failure. Their lives fall apart after a miscarriage, or a failed fertility treatment, and it breaks my heart. But is also makes me realize that my twinge of "gee, I hope I'm making the right decision" that is always followed by a glaring realization that I *AM* making the right decision pales in comparison.
I can't imagine wanting it that badly. Or truly wanting at all, really. I remember the years before my IUD where a late month sent me into a state of panic, and when talking to mommy friends about my scare would land me an "I'm sorry." No, I'm *glad* I'm not pregnant, I'd say, and they'd respond with something akin to "well, when it's your time it'll happen," still consoling me as if I'd said nothing.
And then there are the "friends" who have made me feel guilty, including the bitter one a decade ago who said she felt more comfortable with my childfree choice because I had PCOS, which meant I wasn't "wasting a perfectly good uterus." And I do feel a bit guilty. It's hard not to.
There are times I wish I wanted a child. Usually these are the kodak moments with my friends' kids who I adore so completely, or the moments when they're so filled with love and pride. I'm missing out and that sucks. But watching these people who are close to me makes me realize a wistful moment is not the same thing as wanting to raise a child. It's heartbreaking, but also refreshing. "If you want a child, you'll know," one mom told me when I told her I was wavering. "You'll know, and you so don't know right now." I laughed, but she was right.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
An Acceptable Choice
Initially I applauded How I Met Your Mother for keeping Robin childfree, but that was before. Before they felt the need to justify her choice and their choice to keep her childless by making her infertile. It played into so many of my pet peeves because it minimizes her choice, and even though she stuck by it by not choosing adoption or fostering, her choice feels less powerful to me, somebody who would have liked to see a childfree person on TV respected. I like it in that it takes away peoples' hope that her mind will change, but it reinforces what so many people say to me.
Countless times it's been suggested to me that I should lie and tell people I'm infertile to get the people judging me to back off. But I can't. I have friends and family who've struggled with infertility. I just can't take the chance of getting into that conversation. I've seen the desperation in their eyes when they've talked about their struggle with wanting a baby so badly and being unable to have one. Without fail, infertility has brought mourning with it for the people I've known, and I can't play that game.
I understand that gives people a reason to accept my decision, to shut up about the pressure, but I want to be accepted for the choice in itself. I want people to stop saying I'll change my mind not because I'm too old to change it, or because nature took care of that choice for me. I don't want them feeling sorry for me.
I'm happy with my life and my choice, and that's after dealing with a pretty rough bout of arguing with my biology over babies. I'm not going to be a mom. Not because "it's God's plan." Not because I waited too long. Not because I or my husband can't make it happen. I'm not going to be a mom because I don't want to be.
Wouldn't it be nice if that was enough?
NOTE: This post has become a spam magnet, so I'm disabling additional comments. If you like, feel free to comment on another post or email me at childfreeme@gmail.com.
Countless times it's been suggested to me that I should lie and tell people I'm infertile to get the people judging me to back off. But I can't. I have friends and family who've struggled with infertility. I just can't take the chance of getting into that conversation. I've seen the desperation in their eyes when they've talked about their struggle with wanting a baby so badly and being unable to have one. Without fail, infertility has brought mourning with it for the people I've known, and I can't play that game.
I understand that gives people a reason to accept my decision, to shut up about the pressure, but I want to be accepted for the choice in itself. I want people to stop saying I'll change my mind not because I'm too old to change it, or because nature took care of that choice for me. I don't want them feeling sorry for me.
I'm happy with my life and my choice, and that's after dealing with a pretty rough bout of arguing with my biology over babies. I'm not going to be a mom. Not because "it's God's plan." Not because I waited too long. Not because I or my husband can't make it happen. I'm not going to be a mom because I don't want to be.
Wouldn't it be nice if that was enough?
NOTE: This post has become a spam magnet, so I'm disabling additional comments. If you like, feel free to comment on another post or email me at childfreeme@gmail.com.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
On Death and Dying
This is a very stream-of-consciousness post. My apologies if I seem all over the place.
My husband's grandmother has cancer. The matriarch of his side of the family. The vibrant almost-90-year-old who's outlived two husbands and a daughter, is getting sick, and it's a scary time. It's also a time when she's getting extra impatient. She wants to meet her grandchildren "before"… And once again we're faced with letting her hope that we're "trying", so she can say her prayers and wish us well, or to tell her that the grandchildren aren't coming.
It's her 87th birthday on Sunday and we'll be celebrating with family. This includes my husband's father and wicked stepmother, his childless aunt and uncle, and, of course, Grandma. I twitch when I start thinking about the questions that are getting harder once again to dodge with a chuckle and a change of subject. We will be finding out on Sunday just how bad the melanoma is, if it has spread and how far. It's a conversation no one wants to have over the phone, but having it over a birthday feast seems a little off-putting too.
I don't know; I suppose it's because we're all getting older, but things have been pretty gloomy and are getting gloomier when it comes to the health questions, and the wondering about what will happen when we, who don't have children, get older.
But then I see my father's brother, the one I can barely stand to call my uncle. He's dying of cancer and probably only has a few weeks left in him. The last family member in my father's generation, he's been kind of a drunk screw-up his whole life. I can't say I love the man, but I do feel for him. Miraculously, his son managed to escape the craziness he and his wives would sow over the years to become a successful theater manager in New York, an outstanding actor married to a beautiful woman who he often shares the stage with. They're great, but their life is in Manhattan. Both working actors, they don't make a lot of money. They can't help with his medical care, keeping food on his table. They're keeping food on their own table. My family is helping where they can, but they have their own massive medical bills to deal with.
I understand being torn, and my father's not a giant broken mess like his brother is. I look at my parents and the thing I'm most scared of is having to take care of my father because something happens to my mother before his illness takes him. We bought a house big enough for Mom to have her own space if she needs it after Dad dies. We've talked about the opposite happening, especially now that my father's illness is under control, and we are unable to form a plan. We feel selfish. Horrible. But we know it's on us. My brother and his wife can't afford to help. It's on us, and we don't want to do it.
Having kids is no guarantee they'll be there for you in your darkest hour, and it's not always because they're bad people. It's far more complicated than good vs. bad. Of course we say we would do what we can to help, but where does that line get drawn? Do we sell our house that we love so much? Do I quit my job and become a caretaker — a job that I am *woefully* unequipped for, emotionally and physically — or do we take on enormous debt to ensure he has a caretaker? Or, do we find him a nursing home we can afford while keeping our own future stable? It's an honest question, and with healthcare costs we have to look at that. My dad would say he doesn't want us to blow our future on him, but at the same time, can I live with putting my dad in a shitty home? I don't think so.
My husband's Grandma has it made. Her childless son and his wife are very well-off and can take care of all her needs. But my husband and I aren't there yet. My cousin and his wife aren't there yet, and neither are my brother and sister-in-law. Between student loans, expensive housing, iffy job prospects and everything being so bloody expensive, I'd argue having a child doesn't get you much closer to having someone to care for you at all, and if you count on it not only do you come up empty-handed, but it comes along with the hurt and betrayal of feeling "abandoned". My husband and I know we have to deal with that ourselves and will take measures to attempt to ensure we're not blindsided. It's on my mind a lot lately, what we'll do with our parents, with ourselves. How far we can go.
And then I my thoughts go back to Grandma, wanting so badly to see her grandson become a father before she dies. Nothing would make her happier, and yet I can't help her with that. The thought of breaking her heart breaks mine and sets all these emotions tumbling. I just hope we're not made to be bad guys at dinner this Sunday.
My husband's grandmother has cancer. The matriarch of his side of the family. The vibrant almost-90-year-old who's outlived two husbands and a daughter, is getting sick, and it's a scary time. It's also a time when she's getting extra impatient. She wants to meet her grandchildren "before"… And once again we're faced with letting her hope that we're "trying", so she can say her prayers and wish us well, or to tell her that the grandchildren aren't coming.
It's her 87th birthday on Sunday and we'll be celebrating with family. This includes my husband's father and wicked stepmother, his childless aunt and uncle, and, of course, Grandma. I twitch when I start thinking about the questions that are getting harder once again to dodge with a chuckle and a change of subject. We will be finding out on Sunday just how bad the melanoma is, if it has spread and how far. It's a conversation no one wants to have over the phone, but having it over a birthday feast seems a little off-putting too.
I don't know; I suppose it's because we're all getting older, but things have been pretty gloomy and are getting gloomier when it comes to the health questions, and the wondering about what will happen when we, who don't have children, get older.
But then I see my father's brother, the one I can barely stand to call my uncle. He's dying of cancer and probably only has a few weeks left in him. The last family member in my father's generation, he's been kind of a drunk screw-up his whole life. I can't say I love the man, but I do feel for him. Miraculously, his son managed to escape the craziness he and his wives would sow over the years to become a successful theater manager in New York, an outstanding actor married to a beautiful woman who he often shares the stage with. They're great, but their life is in Manhattan. Both working actors, they don't make a lot of money. They can't help with his medical care, keeping food on his table. They're keeping food on their own table. My family is helping where they can, but they have their own massive medical bills to deal with.
I understand being torn, and my father's not a giant broken mess like his brother is. I look at my parents and the thing I'm most scared of is having to take care of my father because something happens to my mother before his illness takes him. We bought a house big enough for Mom to have her own space if she needs it after Dad dies. We've talked about the opposite happening, especially now that my father's illness is under control, and we are unable to form a plan. We feel selfish. Horrible. But we know it's on us. My brother and his wife can't afford to help. It's on us, and we don't want to do it.
Having kids is no guarantee they'll be there for you in your darkest hour, and it's not always because they're bad people. It's far more complicated than good vs. bad. Of course we say we would do what we can to help, but where does that line get drawn? Do we sell our house that we love so much? Do I quit my job and become a caretaker — a job that I am *woefully* unequipped for, emotionally and physically — or do we take on enormous debt to ensure he has a caretaker? Or, do we find him a nursing home we can afford while keeping our own future stable? It's an honest question, and with healthcare costs we have to look at that. My dad would say he doesn't want us to blow our future on him, but at the same time, can I live with putting my dad in a shitty home? I don't think so.
My husband's Grandma has it made. Her childless son and his wife are very well-off and can take care of all her needs. But my husband and I aren't there yet. My cousin and his wife aren't there yet, and neither are my brother and sister-in-law. Between student loans, expensive housing, iffy job prospects and everything being so bloody expensive, I'd argue having a child doesn't get you much closer to having someone to care for you at all, and if you count on it not only do you come up empty-handed, but it comes along with the hurt and betrayal of feeling "abandoned". My husband and I know we have to deal with that ourselves and will take measures to attempt to ensure we're not blindsided. It's on my mind a lot lately, what we'll do with our parents, with ourselves. How far we can go.
And then I my thoughts go back to Grandma, wanting so badly to see her grandson become a father before she dies. Nothing would make her happier, and yet I can't help her with that. The thought of breaking her heart breaks mine and sets all these emotions tumbling. I just hope we're not made to be bad guys at dinner this Sunday.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Living At the Dance Studio
My (step)sister-in-law has two adorable little girls, and she made a post on her Facebook page that started me thinking and led to me noticing commentary from other moms I know that sort of terrified me. Maybe it's because summer is coming, but everyone's all a-twitter about what their kids are going to be doing this summer.
"Just enrolled Gracie in Dance! Starting next week we'll be living at the dance studio every night!"
(S)SIL is enrolling her younger daughter in dance classes that, inconveniently, meet on the days that her older daughter has off, which puts them at the dance studio almost every night of the week. The level of commitment blows me away.
I have my commitments. Gaming every odd Thursday, a rotating dinner-and-a-movie party with friends every Tuesday (hosting once a month). Additional hosting on weekends and such. It gets exhausting but it's fun for me. I get to host friends, make delicious meals for everyone to enjoy. It's something I could conceivably manage with a baby, possibly, but one or two young children who are already getting into extra activities? When I think about my life becoming that of a (hardly) glorified chauffeur, driving my child from this practice/class/birthday party to that, I start looking for myself in the picture and can't find me.
Other moms are struggling to find activities for their children over the summer. One stay-at-home mom is fretting because activities that don't put her at the center of everything are hella expensive. Send the kids to the neighborhood community pool? $500 for passes… PER CHILD. And that's not even the private club, which involves a $1500 buy-in *before* the annual fee. Park classes? When I was in elementary school in the '80s $5 bought a supervised afternoon at the park and craft supplies to make with friends. Now? $300 please, to join the summer program in their upper-middle-class neighborhood, and then individual class fees. Why yes, that IS per child, TYVM.
It's ridiculous. And for parents who don't have the luxury of staying home? Now suddenly there's a full day worth of childcare for three months that is now a problem. I've said it before and it's certainly not news, but kids are damn expensive.
I don't know what's worse, really, the financial cost or the time. For me I think it would be the time. I don't have a problem, in general, with throwing money at the problem (supposing I have it). But my time is a non-renewable resource. I need time to be me, to do things I enjoy. I could find joy in my children, I suppose, but I know I'd be miserable living at the dance studio every night. The novelty of "look what I can do" would wear off quickly. The pressure to be perky and enthusiastic among the other moms, to not look run-down and tired like I would surely be, would be devastating. I imagine high school all over again, full of gossip and cliques. I wouldn't fit in with the other moms, of course. Flashback to sitting alone at the lunch table in high school, in college, looking around for people who look like me. It's almost panic-inducing. No; strike that "almost".
Okay, fine, I don't need to enroll my kid in anything like that, but that doesn't help matters. I'd want to nurture my child's interests, which would get to be exhausting. My god, how much time it would take. It isn't any wonder that so many parents lose their own identities. Time alone makes it almost impossible to nurture yourself anymore without being branded a neglectful parent. "You're leaving your kids for the weekend to do WHAT?" "You're going on vacation without your kids?"
Judgment. Ridicule. The constant fear that you're ruining your kids. Keep it.
I'll be busy traveling with other grown-ups, eating in the best restaurants in the country and spending my time living my best life. If it's not your idea of the good life, that's fine. Ask me if I have regrets and I'll throw it right back at you.
"Just enrolled Gracie in Dance! Starting next week we'll be living at the dance studio every night!"
(S)SIL is enrolling her younger daughter in dance classes that, inconveniently, meet on the days that her older daughter has off, which puts them at the dance studio almost every night of the week. The level of commitment blows me away.
I have my commitments. Gaming every odd Thursday, a rotating dinner-and-a-movie party with friends every Tuesday (hosting once a month). Additional hosting on weekends and such. It gets exhausting but it's fun for me. I get to host friends, make delicious meals for everyone to enjoy. It's something I could conceivably manage with a baby, possibly, but one or two young children who are already getting into extra activities? When I think about my life becoming that of a (hardly) glorified chauffeur, driving my child from this practice/class/birthday party to that, I start looking for myself in the picture and can't find me.
Other moms are struggling to find activities for their children over the summer. One stay-at-home mom is fretting because activities that don't put her at the center of everything are hella expensive. Send the kids to the neighborhood community pool? $500 for passes… PER CHILD. And that's not even the private club, which involves a $1500 buy-in *before* the annual fee. Park classes? When I was in elementary school in the '80s $5 bought a supervised afternoon at the park and craft supplies to make with friends. Now? $300 please, to join the summer program in their upper-middle-class neighborhood, and then individual class fees. Why yes, that IS per child, TYVM.
It's ridiculous. And for parents who don't have the luxury of staying home? Now suddenly there's a full day worth of childcare for three months that is now a problem. I've said it before and it's certainly not news, but kids are damn expensive.
I don't know what's worse, really, the financial cost or the time. For me I think it would be the time. I don't have a problem, in general, with throwing money at the problem (supposing I have it). But my time is a non-renewable resource. I need time to be me, to do things I enjoy. I could find joy in my children, I suppose, but I know I'd be miserable living at the dance studio every night. The novelty of "look what I can do" would wear off quickly. The pressure to be perky and enthusiastic among the other moms, to not look run-down and tired like I would surely be, would be devastating. I imagine high school all over again, full of gossip and cliques. I wouldn't fit in with the other moms, of course. Flashback to sitting alone at the lunch table in high school, in college, looking around for people who look like me. It's almost panic-inducing. No; strike that "almost".
Okay, fine, I don't need to enroll my kid in anything like that, but that doesn't help matters. I'd want to nurture my child's interests, which would get to be exhausting. My god, how much time it would take. It isn't any wonder that so many parents lose their own identities. Time alone makes it almost impossible to nurture yourself anymore without being branded a neglectful parent. "You're leaving your kids for the weekend to do WHAT?" "You're going on vacation without your kids?"
Judgment. Ridicule. The constant fear that you're ruining your kids. Keep it.
I'll be busy traveling with other grown-ups, eating in the best restaurants in the country and spending my time living my best life. If it's not your idea of the good life, that's fine. Ask me if I have regrets and I'll throw it right back at you.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Looking Brighter
My depression is subsiding with the warm weather, thankfully. I've spent several days in the sun and working outside getting the garden ready for our early spring and I'm feeling more optimistic about things in general, and you all have helped tremendously.
Seriously, you all are awesome. The influx of support while I've been depressed is amazing and encouraging. I thank those of you who are commenting so much. I feel less alone and I'm so glad I've made you feel less alone too. You are so amazing it makes me consider lifting the anonymity of my blog, but I still can't bring myself to do it (not that any of my friends wouldn't recognize themselves in my stories if they came across the blog, but that's beside the point). The anonymity protects me, keeps me honest and frank.
To all of you who've offered up support, you're amazing. Want to talk? Reach me at childfreeme at gmail and Google+. Maybe we can get together and have a childfree hangout on G+ sometime soon. I'm useless as an organizer, but it's something to think about — we need to stick together!!
Also, if you like my blog, consider clicking on a couple ads. It isn't much but every little bit helps me write more.
Much love,
Stasha
Seriously, you all are awesome. The influx of support while I've been depressed is amazing and encouraging. I thank those of you who are commenting so much. I feel less alone and I'm so glad I've made you feel less alone too. You are so amazing it makes me consider lifting the anonymity of my blog, but I still can't bring myself to do it (not that any of my friends wouldn't recognize themselves in my stories if they came across the blog, but that's beside the point). The anonymity protects me, keeps me honest and frank.
To all of you who've offered up support, you're amazing. Want to talk? Reach me at childfreeme at gmail and Google+. Maybe we can get together and have a childfree hangout on G+ sometime soon. I'm useless as an organizer, but it's something to think about — we need to stick together!!
Also, if you like my blog, consider clicking on a couple ads. It isn't much but every little bit helps me write more.
Much love,
Stasha
Frayed
My friends' little girl — the one who's made of magic — is amazing. I'm overjoyed to be welcomed as a part of her life and she is absolutely awesome. When I consider how much I love Babygirl I feel almost self-conscious, like I'm intruding on Mom and Dad's territory, even though they encourage us to love the hell out of her because there's plenty to go around. Most of the time since she's gotten over her colicky start in this world she's a dream, but when she has a bad day… damn.
We stayed the weekend at their house and Saturday was a really bad day. Babygirl didn't sleep so well the night before and neither did mom and dad, so everyone was a little on edge, yet somehow they managed to be gracious hosts. We did, however, get to see the vicious cycle of frayed nerves, exacerbated by the fact that their live-in nanny, Babygirl's grandmother, is contemplating moving out and suddenly they're faced with looking into the cost of childcare.
Mom and Dad are excellent parents under the worst stress, but Dad was under a lot more pressure than usual this time around. He and I are of very similar temperaments, so it's interesting to me to watch him dealing with his daughter. He's highly sensitive and easily annoyed, very nurturing but often impatient. And my guess is, because both Mom and Dad are very intuitive, perceptive people, Babygirl could be extra sensitive to their emotions.
I could watch her grow uncomfortable as Dad got more and more frustrated that she continued to fuss, and when he got angry that, once again, she slept only briefly before waking up and squalling. When I mentioned this to Mom she just laughed and agreed that it's as if Babygirl is yelling at Dad for getting so frustrated with her. We did a lot of laughing that weekend, and it got us through the worst of it. It's easy enough to tolerate the child's inconsolable crying, but it's the tense, frayed energy from Dad that really made me start to get twitchy and uncomfortable. I feel bad for him, because all he wants is to be able to comfort his daughter when she's hurt or upset and it eludes him. Because of his hypersensitivity, he can't not take it personally and it really, really gets to him. I imagine he and Mom fight about the fact that only Mom can really calm the baby down more on their own than they do when we're around.
But if it was just Babygirl we were talking about, it wasn't that bad. We got used to it. We laughed when Babygirl made a particularly hilarious sound during her cries and were able to go about our business of hanging out. The next morning, when she woke all bright-eyed and happy, her magic kicked in and all was forgotten.
There were so many times that day and night where my husband would take my hand and squeeze, or I'd glance at him with a knowing look.
I see so much of us in this couple. They're amazing. I've never known a couple to continue living their life as normal so easily with a baby in tow. They're not afraid to take her places. They know Babygirl loves animals and is always gentle with kitties — she loves our big fluffy boy especially — and they have no problem setting up the pack-n-play in our guest room so they can spend the night. They're not paranoid about germs or who holds her and they take everything in stride. Some things have changed — they're not as flexible as they used to be, but they're the same people. Unlike so many parents I've known who've become paranoid, distrustful shells of who they once were, losing their entire identity with the birth of their child, this couple proves to me that parenthood doesn't have to change you. They prove to me that you can have a child and not live a life of fear. It's refreshing.
But that doesn't mean there aren't fundamental changes in their life and their relationship. Far from it, and I'm seeing it more as Babygirl gets older and they're coming to the realization that this is their life now. This isn't going away. It gets more real every day.
While they're very much the same, their world does revolve around this amazing little girl. When she's hungry, when she's dirty, when she's sick or in pain from just plain growing too fast, they have to be there. Even with their nanny, there are really no breaks. Sheer determination and knowledge that they need their creative outlets keeps them devoted to their hobbies but it leaves them utterly exhausted. Their social life may not be suffering, but it's clear their romantic life is, and that breaks my heart for a couple that is so in love. But there's just no time and intimacy is easy to sacrifice when your nerves are shot to hell from wearing Baby on your hip since you got home from work. Not a moment of their days is unaccounted for… and not a penny of their money is either. The level of sacrifice is daunting to consider, even for people who, on the surface, appear to not have sacrificed much at all.
I can't fathom my life changing that much. The constant presence of someone so dependent on me, the frayed nerves causing tension in our marriage, or the lack of any intimate alone time. So for now, we'll just consider spoiling Babygirl with the toys and clothes that are so fun to buy, and we'll enjoy taking her from Mom and Dad when they need a break. It's a pretty sweet arrangement, I've gotta say.
We stayed the weekend at their house and Saturday was a really bad day. Babygirl didn't sleep so well the night before and neither did mom and dad, so everyone was a little on edge, yet somehow they managed to be gracious hosts. We did, however, get to see the vicious cycle of frayed nerves, exacerbated by the fact that their live-in nanny, Babygirl's grandmother, is contemplating moving out and suddenly they're faced with looking into the cost of childcare.
Mom and Dad are excellent parents under the worst stress, but Dad was under a lot more pressure than usual this time around. He and I are of very similar temperaments, so it's interesting to me to watch him dealing with his daughter. He's highly sensitive and easily annoyed, very nurturing but often impatient. And my guess is, because both Mom and Dad are very intuitive, perceptive people, Babygirl could be extra sensitive to their emotions.
I could watch her grow uncomfortable as Dad got more and more frustrated that she continued to fuss, and when he got angry that, once again, she slept only briefly before waking up and squalling. When I mentioned this to Mom she just laughed and agreed that it's as if Babygirl is yelling at Dad for getting so frustrated with her. We did a lot of laughing that weekend, and it got us through the worst of it. It's easy enough to tolerate the child's inconsolable crying, but it's the tense, frayed energy from Dad that really made me start to get twitchy and uncomfortable. I feel bad for him, because all he wants is to be able to comfort his daughter when she's hurt or upset and it eludes him. Because of his hypersensitivity, he can't not take it personally and it really, really gets to him. I imagine he and Mom fight about the fact that only Mom can really calm the baby down more on their own than they do when we're around.
But if it was just Babygirl we were talking about, it wasn't that bad. We got used to it. We laughed when Babygirl made a particularly hilarious sound during her cries and were able to go about our business of hanging out. The next morning, when she woke all bright-eyed and happy, her magic kicked in and all was forgotten.
There were so many times that day and night where my husband would take my hand and squeeze, or I'd glance at him with a knowing look.
I see so much of us in this couple. They're amazing. I've never known a couple to continue living their life as normal so easily with a baby in tow. They're not afraid to take her places. They know Babygirl loves animals and is always gentle with kitties — she loves our big fluffy boy especially — and they have no problem setting up the pack-n-play in our guest room so they can spend the night. They're not paranoid about germs or who holds her and they take everything in stride. Some things have changed — they're not as flexible as they used to be, but they're the same people. Unlike so many parents I've known who've become paranoid, distrustful shells of who they once were, losing their entire identity with the birth of their child, this couple proves to me that parenthood doesn't have to change you. They prove to me that you can have a child and not live a life of fear. It's refreshing.
But that doesn't mean there aren't fundamental changes in their life and their relationship. Far from it, and I'm seeing it more as Babygirl gets older and they're coming to the realization that this is their life now. This isn't going away. It gets more real every day.
While they're very much the same, their world does revolve around this amazing little girl. When she's hungry, when she's dirty, when she's sick or in pain from just plain growing too fast, they have to be there. Even with their nanny, there are really no breaks. Sheer determination and knowledge that they need their creative outlets keeps them devoted to their hobbies but it leaves them utterly exhausted. Their social life may not be suffering, but it's clear their romantic life is, and that breaks my heart for a couple that is so in love. But there's just no time and intimacy is easy to sacrifice when your nerves are shot to hell from wearing Baby on your hip since you got home from work. Not a moment of their days is unaccounted for… and not a penny of their money is either. The level of sacrifice is daunting to consider, even for people who, on the surface, appear to not have sacrificed much at all.
I can't fathom my life changing that much. The constant presence of someone so dependent on me, the frayed nerves causing tension in our marriage, or the lack of any intimate alone time. So for now, we'll just consider spoiling Babygirl with the toys and clothes that are so fun to buy, and we'll enjoy taking her from Mom and Dad when they need a break. It's a pretty sweet arrangement, I've gotta say.
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