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.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
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.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Our Furry Kids
Sometimes I wonder whether my husband and I love our cats too much. One (awesome) parent friend called our enthusiastic sharing of photos "baby picture time!" and while we laughed it off, it was totally right.
That said, our three cats are totally our babies. Our phones are full of photos of them. They're prominent in our social media and we talk about them ad nauseum. As we watch our youngest grow we get excited about the littlest things. We squeal with happiness and watch when he plays with his brother and sister. We're overjoyed he's learning the wonder and warmth of laps. We cuddle all of them and love them so very much. All three of them are sociable, extremely affectionate and super snugglers. They are, without question, our family, as we declare happily whenever we have occasion to have all three of them with us at once.
I'd never equate having cats to raising children, but it fulfills so much of the same emotions for both of us. The love I feel for them is incredibly strong, and in the moments when I know they love us — when they take turns sitting on our laps, or when our little girl curls up to sleep on me every single night at bedtime, or when our big boy paws at us for loving — it's powerful stuff.
Especially while I'm fighting with my brain chemistry against Seasonal depression that's making everything seem a pretty gloomy, they bring me joy without fail. Cat cuddles make the worst thing better, and they're bringing me much solace. I look at them and think that this is the life. I don't need more than them. Between them and my friends' kids who we spoil rotten and enjoy plenty of Kodak moments with, life is really damn good.
That said, our three cats are totally our babies. Our phones are full of photos of them. They're prominent in our social media and we talk about them ad nauseum. As we watch our youngest grow we get excited about the littlest things. We squeal with happiness and watch when he plays with his brother and sister. We're overjoyed he's learning the wonder and warmth of laps. We cuddle all of them and love them so very much. All three of them are sociable, extremely affectionate and super snugglers. They are, without question, our family, as we declare happily whenever we have occasion to have all three of them with us at once.
I'd never equate having cats to raising children, but it fulfills so much of the same emotions for both of us. The love I feel for them is incredibly strong, and in the moments when I know they love us — when they take turns sitting on our laps, or when our little girl curls up to sleep on me every single night at bedtime, or when our big boy paws at us for loving — it's powerful stuff.
Especially while I'm fighting with my brain chemistry against Seasonal depression that's making everything seem a pretty gloomy, they bring me joy without fail. Cat cuddles make the worst thing better, and they're bringing me much solace. I look at them and think that this is the life. I don't need more than them. Between them and my friends' kids who we spoil rotten and enjoy plenty of Kodak moments with, life is really damn good.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
A Little Less Alone… and a Little More
First, I need to thank you all for your comments. It's amazing to know there are others out there and it helps more than you know. Still, I'm finding myself in the midst of a bout of depression that I've had a hard time shaking and this time, for the first time, I'm choosing not to find myself a new therapist.
This was a hard decision for me, but when I've spoken to therapists in the past they've always — ALWAYS without fail — felt the need to pathologize my desire to remain childfree. It's because my mother was a cold workaholic who didn't hug me enough. It's because of my low self-esteem. It's because my marriage is somehow unhealthy. It's because of my father's alcoholism. It's never simply because having children is not for me. It's always a symptom of some greater mental illness and I can't even begin to cope with that right now. Sure, these things may have contributed to my decision in that they've contributed to who I am, but I hate approaching the topic as if something's wrong with me.
The cruel irony is that a big part of my current depression is wrestling with my choice and coming to terms with it being my forever choice. This in the midst of all my closest friends having children or, in the case of the latest friend, going through the process of adoption. It's about my desire to fit in, my guilt for not liking children outside of a controlled setting, and not wanting that life for myself. Of course, if I wish I wanted children I must secretly want them, so why am I denying myself this? I don't need a therapist to make me feel even more like there's something wrong with me.
Additionally, I feel, more now than ever, that my femininity is part of what's being judged. It isn't friends but family in this case. As a women entering my late 30s, what am I if I'm not a mother? I see the discomfort in peoples' eyes when I tell them I have no children as they presume some sort of catastrophe or infertility problem. I can feel them deflate and become uncomfortable in a way they really didn't do before. I stay chipper, I talk about my niece or my friends' kids who I'm close with. But there's always an air of "oh, you poor thing…"
This is, of course, my childfree blog, so I'm focusing on the childfree component in my current bout with depression. The childfree issue isn't the only one contributing here; I've been stressed about starting my own business and my dying father, his dying brother, and my tense relationship with my in-laws all contribute to me being less than 100% happy 100% of the time, and that's not taking into consideration my Seasonal Affective Disorder and general brain chemistry. There's a lot there, but I can just see, as has happened in the past, my therapist focusing on the kids issue to the exclusion of all else. Or my weight… that was a fun round with *that* therapist, who blamed my fat for every thing that ever went on in my life. But I digress…
I can't deal with a therapist doing that again. I can't spend an hour each week talking about how broken I am while ignoring the elephant in the room, which is awful because I'm in a situation where I feel like I might need to go back on medication to break free from this funk. But for now, journaling helps. Hearing from all of you who say my story strikes a chord: that helps. I'll make it through this.
This was a hard decision for me, but when I've spoken to therapists in the past they've always — ALWAYS without fail — felt the need to pathologize my desire to remain childfree. It's because my mother was a cold workaholic who didn't hug me enough. It's because of my low self-esteem. It's because my marriage is somehow unhealthy. It's because of my father's alcoholism. It's never simply because having children is not for me. It's always a symptom of some greater mental illness and I can't even begin to cope with that right now. Sure, these things may have contributed to my decision in that they've contributed to who I am, but I hate approaching the topic as if something's wrong with me.
The cruel irony is that a big part of my current depression is wrestling with my choice and coming to terms with it being my forever choice. This in the midst of all my closest friends having children or, in the case of the latest friend, going through the process of adoption. It's about my desire to fit in, my guilt for not liking children outside of a controlled setting, and not wanting that life for myself. Of course, if I wish I wanted children I must secretly want them, so why am I denying myself this? I don't need a therapist to make me feel even more like there's something wrong with me.
Additionally, I feel, more now than ever, that my femininity is part of what's being judged. It isn't friends but family in this case. As a women entering my late 30s, what am I if I'm not a mother? I see the discomfort in peoples' eyes when I tell them I have no children as they presume some sort of catastrophe or infertility problem. I can feel them deflate and become uncomfortable in a way they really didn't do before. I stay chipper, I talk about my niece or my friends' kids who I'm close with. But there's always an air of "oh, you poor thing…"
This is, of course, my childfree blog, so I'm focusing on the childfree component in my current bout with depression. The childfree issue isn't the only one contributing here; I've been stressed about starting my own business and my dying father, his dying brother, and my tense relationship with my in-laws all contribute to me being less than 100% happy 100% of the time, and that's not taking into consideration my Seasonal Affective Disorder and general brain chemistry. There's a lot there, but I can just see, as has happened in the past, my therapist focusing on the kids issue to the exclusion of all else. Or my weight… that was a fun round with *that* therapist, who blamed my fat for every thing that ever went on in my life. But I digress…
I can't deal with a therapist doing that again. I can't spend an hour each week talking about how broken I am while ignoring the elephant in the room, which is awful because I'm in a situation where I feel like I might need to go back on medication to break free from this funk. But for now, journaling helps. Hearing from all of you who say my story strikes a chord: that helps. I'll make it through this.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Last One Standing
Another one down. My friend is in her late 30s, a few years older than me, and I'm ecstatic that she was able to get pregnant when she was so afraid she couldn't.
But it's another one down, the second of three who were trying to announce her pregnancy. The third has gone silent about babies in her social media, which is leading me to believe she may be close to an announcement herself.
The point is, I'm feeling awfully alone. Friends don't understand when I explain how I feel and start pushing me to consider having kids, which is missing the entire point. I wish I had a friend who just got it, one who understands what it's like to be dealing with this mixed bag of emotions. I'm 34. My time's running out to change my mind and it's not changing and there are consequences to that.
But the only place I can talk about the consequences, the mixed emotions, is this private blog. I've swapped several posts to "private" on my public blog after friends took horrible offense to everything I said. I tried reaching out again, to see if it would be different this time. It hasn't been.
I have a couple remaining childless/childfree friends, neither of whom are very good sounding boards for such emotional stuff. I can't talk to my mom, even though I want to. It's starting to get really lonely out here.
But it's another one down, the second of three who were trying to announce her pregnancy. The third has gone silent about babies in her social media, which is leading me to believe she may be close to an announcement herself.
The point is, I'm feeling awfully alone. Friends don't understand when I explain how I feel and start pushing me to consider having kids, which is missing the entire point. I wish I had a friend who just got it, one who understands what it's like to be dealing with this mixed bag of emotions. I'm 34. My time's running out to change my mind and it's not changing and there are consequences to that.
But the only place I can talk about the consequences, the mixed emotions, is this private blog. I've swapped several posts to "private" on my public blog after friends took horrible offense to everything I said. I tried reaching out again, to see if it would be different this time. It hasn't been.
I have a couple remaining childless/childfree friends, neither of whom are very good sounding boards for such emotional stuff. I can't talk to my mom, even though I want to. It's starting to get really lonely out here.
Sunday, January 08, 2012
Wishing for the Wish
I am in love. I'm in love with a baby girl who doesn't want to sleep when it's time to sleep and won't eat anything but applesauce. It's my friend's daughter, the formerly colicky one who's calmed down a bit, and I'm still in love with her.
She makes me wish I wanted kids. The mood swings are back.
I want to want the whole package, I do. But I still just don't. For the thousand reasons I've said before, I don't. But her face… my god her face. This baby has the best face, with wide bright eyes and her mother's infectious smile. God she makes me want to want one.
And then I see her parents, who haven't changed much as people except that they're tired all the time. They have a live-in nanny (Grandma) who takes care of her all day, cooks for them, cleans for them, and still their lives now revolve around this little child. Even though they have a full-time babysitter whenever they want to do what they want to do, they can't always do it.
She's expensive, for one. Far more expensive than they even imagined, and that's without having to pay for daycare. Mom's desire to go back to school for a career change has been exchanged for thankfulness that they have job stability. Her dreams come second now. And she's okay with that. I'm glad she's okay with that. And Baby's needy, going through week-long phases that drive Mom, Dad or Grandma until they're a raw, frayed nerve ready to snap at any moment.
But her face. I do love her face. I've said she's made of magic and it's true. Whether she's been crying all day or just threw up all over the place, her face makes it better.
But that face becomes a kid's face, which becomes a teenager's face and I tense up even thinking about trying to deal with a teenager, especially when I see the teens of friends beginning to run wild and rebellious in one way or another. Nevermind that we would never have the luxury of a nanny to help care for the infant like they do. The little bit of normal that my friends hold onto can be credited to Grandma living with them, which also creates an entirely different set of privacy-related problems.
It's not a life for me, but her face… her face makes me wish it was. But I get to make that face smile at me, make her coo and laugh, and then when she pukes I get to hand her off to Mom.
I still get to enjoy that face. Not in the same way I would if I was her mother, but I don't want to be her mother. Her face makes me wish I wanted one, but it also makes me feel so lucky that I have her in my life while I won't have one of my own.
She makes me wish I wanted kids. The mood swings are back.
I want to want the whole package, I do. But I still just don't. For the thousand reasons I've said before, I don't. But her face… my god her face. This baby has the best face, with wide bright eyes and her mother's infectious smile. God she makes me want to want one.
And then I see her parents, who haven't changed much as people except that they're tired all the time. They have a live-in nanny (Grandma) who takes care of her all day, cooks for them, cleans for them, and still their lives now revolve around this little child. Even though they have a full-time babysitter whenever they want to do what they want to do, they can't always do it.
She's expensive, for one. Far more expensive than they even imagined, and that's without having to pay for daycare. Mom's desire to go back to school for a career change has been exchanged for thankfulness that they have job stability. Her dreams come second now. And she's okay with that. I'm glad she's okay with that. And Baby's needy, going through week-long phases that drive Mom, Dad or Grandma until they're a raw, frayed nerve ready to snap at any moment.
But her face. I do love her face. I've said she's made of magic and it's true. Whether she's been crying all day or just threw up all over the place, her face makes it better.
But that face becomes a kid's face, which becomes a teenager's face and I tense up even thinking about trying to deal with a teenager, especially when I see the teens of friends beginning to run wild and rebellious in one way or another. Nevermind that we would never have the luxury of a nanny to help care for the infant like they do. The little bit of normal that my friends hold onto can be credited to Grandma living with them, which also creates an entirely different set of privacy-related problems.
It's not a life for me, but her face… her face makes me wish it was. But I get to make that face smile at me, make her coo and laugh, and then when she pukes I get to hand her off to Mom.
I still get to enjoy that face. Not in the same way I would if I was her mother, but I don't want to be her mother. Her face makes me wish I wanted one, but it also makes me feel so lucky that I have her in my life while I won't have one of my own.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
My Time, Our Time
The shine has worn off of the jealousy I felt about my friend's new baby when she first came into the world. At first I viewed her experience through the rose-colored glasses that accompany new motherhood, but seeing the reality of her new world has convinced me more than ever that I don't want what she has. But it's not just her.
There's the friends with toddlers who haven't gone to the conventions that my husband and I love so much in the years since their children were born. There's the couple who has spent the four years since their son was born doing things only separately so the other could care for him since they don't have family nearby. Most of the burden has fallen on the mother. "When he was born, my life changed completely; R's life has hardly changed at all." Granted, this is a problem in their marriage, that they're not working together, but it's just so sad to me.
"You'll know if it's what you want. If you don't know, don't do it," she said to me.
But my dear friend with her newborn is providing the biggest confirmation that I don't want to do that job. Mom was a colicky baby herself, and her daughter is… well, while she's beautiful in many ways she's also a nightmare. She never stops crying. Never. If she is awake, she is not just crying, she's screaming bloody murder, wailing inconsolably.
The day I spent with Mom and baby was impossibly stressful. After awhile the wailing became white noise, sort of, but every visit since has been increasingly difficult, especially since Mom and Dad are becoming increasingly frayed. They love their daughter but being unable to console her is causing incredible tension between them. I'm encouraged that they're able to admit that this is really, really hard and think things would be even harder for them if they felt the pressure to say everything's perfect at all times, but it's hard to see them struggling so much.
She said to me "the baby eats ALL OF MY TIME" and it became so real. She has no time to be herself. When baby was first born she had time for her hobbies, but that was before she went back to work. Baking, cooking, writing, gaming, all of it's falling by the wayside so she can devote her time to her daughter.
I've talked about how important my time is to me, and how important time with my husband is, but once again I see this reinforced by watching my friends in their parenting adventures. I want to go to concerts, travel, or go to conventions, but I want to do it with my husband. Raising a child wouldn't just sacrifice my time. Sacrificing my time is sacrificing my life and who I am. It just doesn't sound worth it to me.
There's the friends with toddlers who haven't gone to the conventions that my husband and I love so much in the years since their children were born. There's the couple who has spent the four years since their son was born doing things only separately so the other could care for him since they don't have family nearby. Most of the burden has fallen on the mother. "When he was born, my life changed completely; R's life has hardly changed at all." Granted, this is a problem in their marriage, that they're not working together, but it's just so sad to me.
"You'll know if it's what you want. If you don't know, don't do it," she said to me.
But my dear friend with her newborn is providing the biggest confirmation that I don't want to do that job. Mom was a colicky baby herself, and her daughter is… well, while she's beautiful in many ways she's also a nightmare. She never stops crying. Never. If she is awake, she is not just crying, she's screaming bloody murder, wailing inconsolably.
The day I spent with Mom and baby was impossibly stressful. After awhile the wailing became white noise, sort of, but every visit since has been increasingly difficult, especially since Mom and Dad are becoming increasingly frayed. They love their daughter but being unable to console her is causing incredible tension between them. I'm encouraged that they're able to admit that this is really, really hard and think things would be even harder for them if they felt the pressure to say everything's perfect at all times, but it's hard to see them struggling so much.
She said to me "the baby eats ALL OF MY TIME" and it became so real. She has no time to be herself. When baby was first born she had time for her hobbies, but that was before she went back to work. Baking, cooking, writing, gaming, all of it's falling by the wayside so she can devote her time to her daughter.
I've talked about how important my time is to me, and how important time with my husband is, but once again I see this reinforced by watching my friends in their parenting adventures. I want to go to concerts, travel, or go to conventions, but I want to do it with my husband. Raising a child wouldn't just sacrifice my time. Sacrificing my time is sacrificing my life and who I am. It just doesn't sound worth it to me.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Names
Apparently this is a thing among (many?) women who dream all their lives of being mothers. They have a list of names all picked out for their future children. I know if my childhood best friend ends up with a fourth (FOURTH!) girl, the plan is to name her after me. Friends have names picked out long before they even get pregnant and, even though it often changes, they daydream about the named child all the time.
Yeah, I don't have names. Like anybody, I say things like "that's a nice name." I was listening to Within Temptation and the song "Jillian" came on and I thought that would be a nice name, but it's a fleeting thought and mostly on my mind because of this discussion I had with a friend about baby names.
I've never really had that name thing happening. I wouldn't have the slightest clue about what I'd name a child and the thought of it freaks me out because it's so much pressure. I love naming my characters for the games we play, or for stories I write, but I've never had that list of names picked out. But that's fun because it doesn't matter.
Naming a child is a gargantuan responsibility, and one I've seen friends and family members make both excellent and questionable choices, in my opinion. And that's just it. Add that to the long list of items that you'll be judged for as a parent forever. And we know how well I deal with being judged. (hint: not well)
It was an interesting tidbit that I grabbed from a conversation with a new friend, the parent of a four-year-old, who also said, "Don't do it. If you're on the fence at all, don't do it. It will change your life completely and you will know if it's what you want. If you're not sure, then you don't want to be a parent." Words to live by, I think.
Yeah, I don't have names. Like anybody, I say things like "that's a nice name." I was listening to Within Temptation and the song "Jillian" came on and I thought that would be a nice name, but it's a fleeting thought and mostly on my mind because of this discussion I had with a friend about baby names.
I've never really had that name thing happening. I wouldn't have the slightest clue about what I'd name a child and the thought of it freaks me out because it's so much pressure. I love naming my characters for the games we play, or for stories I write, but I've never had that list of names picked out. But that's fun because it doesn't matter.
Naming a child is a gargantuan responsibility, and one I've seen friends and family members make both excellent and questionable choices, in my opinion. And that's just it. Add that to the long list of items that you'll be judged for as a parent forever. And we know how well I deal with being judged. (hint: not well)
It was an interesting tidbit that I grabbed from a conversation with a new friend, the parent of a four-year-old, who also said, "Don't do it. If you're on the fence at all, don't do it. It will change your life completely and you will know if it's what you want. If you're not sure, then you don't want to be a parent." Words to live by, I think.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Much Ado About Nothing
Since I crossed back into feeling better about my choice, I've been worried that meeting Newbaby would drop me right back into the midst of the rabies. Thankfully, when I visited my friends and their daughter this weekend, it couldn't have been better.
I think this was the first baby I've ever held without anyone uttering the words "don't you want one, even just a little?" and the first time the mother hasn't been convinced I was going to accidentally break the child. This comfort and ease made the visit something awesome. We laughed, we all sat and watched movies and chilled and took turns holding her, handing her back to Mom or Dad when she fussed.
They handled Newbaby with ease and grace, even while admitting that in her week in this world she'd already managed to rob them of sleep and frustrate the hell out of them occasionally. And I got to see the immense love they felt for her and how natural and normal it all seemed.
And, I am happy to report, my uterus didn't twinge once.
Through it all, though I loved holding her and cuddling her, I knew I definitely did not want their life. Just the slightest glimpse showed me how 24/7 this job is. They're overjoyed by it all, but all I saw was what I would lose.
I've been told that I'm too focused on the negative side of parenting, but that's the fundamental difference between us and those who want kids. For me, the negatives are overwhelming and always have been. Parenting's a tough job. So's being a doctor or a physicist. And, again, I'll leave it to those who want to do it and I'll watch from afar, grabbing opportunities to babysit on occasion, or make the busy family dinner (as I did this weekend) to help out the people I love, and my life will be far from empty.
I think this was the first baby I've ever held without anyone uttering the words "don't you want one, even just a little?" and the first time the mother hasn't been convinced I was going to accidentally break the child. This comfort and ease made the visit something awesome. We laughed, we all sat and watched movies and chilled and took turns holding her, handing her back to Mom or Dad when she fussed.
They handled Newbaby with ease and grace, even while admitting that in her week in this world she'd already managed to rob them of sleep and frustrate the hell out of them occasionally. And I got to see the immense love they felt for her and how natural and normal it all seemed.
And, I am happy to report, my uterus didn't twinge once.
Through it all, though I loved holding her and cuddling her, I knew I definitely did not want their life. Just the slightest glimpse showed me how 24/7 this job is. They're overjoyed by it all, but all I saw was what I would lose.
I've been told that I'm too focused on the negative side of parenting, but that's the fundamental difference between us and those who want kids. For me, the negatives are overwhelming and always have been. Parenting's a tough job. So's being a doctor or a physicist. And, again, I'll leave it to those who want to do it and I'll watch from afar, grabbing opportunities to babysit on occasion, or make the busy family dinner (as I did this weekend) to help out the people I love, and my life will be far from empty.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Birth Control Party
Spending the evening at a friend's party that was not closed to kids is the best birth control ever. In one night there was a baby whose parents had to leave early because of his fussing, a curious but well-behaved one-year-old who couldn't stop touching EVERYTHING and opening every drawer, making a huge mess and nearly breaking many things, and a hyperactive three-year-old who acted like she'd done a few lines of cocaine before coming into the room with us. My head still hurts from said 3-year-old's screaming.
PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!!!
My friends all thought this was adorable. "Look how energetic and friendly she is! She isn't afraid of strangers at all!!" I spent the entire time anxious, nervous, and wanting to leave, and now I have a headache.
This is why we do not invite the kids of friends to evening parties. A barbecue, sure. But not an evening party with drinking and booze and grown-ups chatting about things that may not be appropriate. (Don't get mad at us, Mom. We're here to hang out. Don't want her to hear us? Keep her out by your clique of friends)
Actually coming out and saying out loud to my husband what I was feeling and confronting my fear that he'd take my statements and turn it into "let's have a baby" seemingly evaporated every bit of anxiety and babyrabies I was having. My body seems to have settled and is no longer throwing the pangs in my belly at me, and because of that my mind is clear.
Between that and today's kid experience, I'm feeling like myself again. It's a damn good place to be, and it was beautiful to come home to our kidless home and just relax in the peaceful quiet.
PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!!!
My friends all thought this was adorable. "Look how energetic and friendly she is! She isn't afraid of strangers at all!!" I spent the entire time anxious, nervous, and wanting to leave, and now I have a headache.
This is why we do not invite the kids of friends to evening parties. A barbecue, sure. But not an evening party with drinking and booze and grown-ups chatting about things that may not be appropriate. (Don't get mad at us, Mom. We're here to hang out. Don't want her to hear us? Keep her out by your clique of friends)
Actually coming out and saying out loud to my husband what I was feeling and confronting my fear that he'd take my statements and turn it into "let's have a baby" seemingly evaporated every bit of anxiety and babyrabies I was having. My body seems to have settled and is no longer throwing the pangs in my belly at me, and because of that my mind is clear.
Between that and today's kid experience, I'm feeling like myself again. It's a damn good place to be, and it was beautiful to come home to our kidless home and just relax in the peaceful quiet.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Talking it Over
I love my husband, and one of the reasons is that I can talk to him when I need to (even if sometimes I don't realize it). And tonight, boy did I need to. Tonight I had the most acute case of the rabies that I've ever experienced. It was so bad that I was really questioning myself, asking myself what my motivations were for not wanting children, whether it was something I really wanted or something I was telling myself I wanted. I was terrified to talk to my husband about these feelings because deep down I feared his response would be "well, maybe we should think about trying." So I clammed up.
But tonight, with talk of the new baby everywhere, the pictures, the stories, knowing that for the next forever the baby is going to be the center of my friend's world, it was all too much. I cried a lot tonight. I was furious at my body, for tying my stomach in knots and hurting my heart when I looked at the baby and tried to reconcile never having that. I was furious that my arguments were getting batted back in a horrible internal dialogue that questioned everything I believe. But my husband, who I had to talk into childfreedom when we got engaged nearly 7 years ago, took my hand and squeezed it, looking at me very seriously.
"If I believed this is what you wanted, I'd say we'll adapt, but this isn't what you want. This isn't you talking. I don't know if it's hormones or what, but this isn't you. So right now, even if you do want kids in this moment, I'm telling you this: I don't."
And he was right. So we talked. We talked about the good stuff we'll be missing out on. We acknowledged that it sucks that we can't have that without the long list of things we don't want. As we started talking the list felt good, and I started snapping out of it. And then it felt great. And then it felt fucking comical.
Seriously, everything I looked at in our amazing house reminded me of why I love my life, and all I'd have to sacrifice to make raising a child possible. My workaholic's workload. The laundry that's piling up and the litterbox that is overdue for a cleaning. The fact that we got them gravity feeders and a water fountain so we don't have to bother with feeding and watering the cats every day. Our pretty things. Our fragile pretty things. My gourmet kitchen. All of it. I don't want kids. I want to feel the joy of holding my child in my arms, but you want me to hold it for the next couple years? You want me to have this child as a constant tag-along to wherever I go, listening to kids' music instead of blaring industrial on a summer's day, and to another birthday party, or a kid-friendly event that will fill the room with dozens of children? Have you met me? How could you possibly think I'd want that life?
There are women who dream of this. There are women who want to be the nurturers. What I'm wanting right now is a moment, and it's a moment I realized, after talking with my husband, I can live without, even if it's going to be hard while I watch newbaby rack up the milestones.
It feels liberating, really, and I feel like me again. But this is exactly why we childfree DO talk about it so much. Because sometimes we are at odds with bodies and hormones and peer pressure that messes with our heads so much we get lost like I got lost. And sometimes we need someone to say "you don't sound like you. What's wrong? Let's talk this over." It's really invaluable.
But tonight, with talk of the new baby everywhere, the pictures, the stories, knowing that for the next forever the baby is going to be the center of my friend's world, it was all too much. I cried a lot tonight. I was furious at my body, for tying my stomach in knots and hurting my heart when I looked at the baby and tried to reconcile never having that. I was furious that my arguments were getting batted back in a horrible internal dialogue that questioned everything I believe. But my husband, who I had to talk into childfreedom when we got engaged nearly 7 years ago, took my hand and squeezed it, looking at me very seriously.
"If I believed this is what you wanted, I'd say we'll adapt, but this isn't what you want. This isn't you talking. I don't know if it's hormones or what, but this isn't you. So right now, even if you do want kids in this moment, I'm telling you this: I don't."
And he was right. So we talked. We talked about the good stuff we'll be missing out on. We acknowledged that it sucks that we can't have that without the long list of things we don't want. As we started talking the list felt good, and I started snapping out of it. And then it felt great. And then it felt fucking comical.
Seriously, everything I looked at in our amazing house reminded me of why I love my life, and all I'd have to sacrifice to make raising a child possible. My workaholic's workload. The laundry that's piling up and the litterbox that is overdue for a cleaning. The fact that we got them gravity feeders and a water fountain so we don't have to bother with feeding and watering the cats every day. Our pretty things. Our fragile pretty things. My gourmet kitchen. All of it. I don't want kids. I want to feel the joy of holding my child in my arms, but you want me to hold it for the next couple years? You want me to have this child as a constant tag-along to wherever I go, listening to kids' music instead of blaring industrial on a summer's day, and to another birthday party, or a kid-friendly event that will fill the room with dozens of children? Have you met me? How could you possibly think I'd want that life?
There are women who dream of this. There are women who want to be the nurturers. What I'm wanting right now is a moment, and it's a moment I realized, after talking with my husband, I can live without, even if it's going to be hard while I watch newbaby rack up the milestones.
It feels liberating, really, and I feel like me again. But this is exactly why we childfree DO talk about it so much. Because sometimes we are at odds with bodies and hormones and peer pressure that messes with our heads so much we get lost like I got lost. And sometimes we need someone to say "you don't sound like you. What's wrong? Let's talk this over." It's really invaluable.
The Magic of Babies
This is not actually a cynical post. I just laid eyes on a photo of my dearest friend's freshly baked daughter and I'm sort of overwhelmed by the magic of it all. I'm always reminded of the Onion article, "Miracle of Birth Occurs for 83 Billionth Time", but with this couple, this baby, it feels a little more special.
Maybe it's because her mother didn't treat me like a freak when I was interested in hearing about her experience being pregnant with her first child. Perhaps it's because nothing changed when she got pregnant and even though things will necessarily change in some ways now that the little one is here and healthy and beautiful I know she values my friendship and respects my choices. Whatever the case, I already adore this baby. I watched her mom struggle to get pregnant, saw her joy when she finally did and waited on pins and needles for 9 months praying she was healthy, and I feel connected to her.
I just can't get over that this little piece of both of them was in my friend's belly when we were at their house over the holiday weekend fully cooked and ready to be born. For the first time I really feel like I'm allowed to find this exceptionally cool without anybody getting all up in my face about my own choices. I just want to love this little girl and now I can.
She may not be a miracle in the strictest sense, but this baby girl is really special and I feel blessed to have her and her family in my life. They're the family I choose, and I'm so unbelievably happy for them.
Maybe it's because her mother didn't treat me like a freak when I was interested in hearing about her experience being pregnant with her first child. Perhaps it's because nothing changed when she got pregnant and even though things will necessarily change in some ways now that the little one is here and healthy and beautiful I know she values my friendship and respects my choices. Whatever the case, I already adore this baby. I watched her mom struggle to get pregnant, saw her joy when she finally did and waited on pins and needles for 9 months praying she was healthy, and I feel connected to her.
I just can't get over that this little piece of both of them was in my friend's belly when we were at their house over the holiday weekend fully cooked and ready to be born. For the first time I really feel like I'm allowed to find this exceptionally cool without anybody getting all up in my face about my own choices. I just want to love this little girl and now I can.
She may not be a miracle in the strictest sense, but this baby girl is really special and I feel blessed to have her and her family in my life. They're the family I choose, and I'm so unbelievably happy for them.
Friday, July 01, 2011
Who Am I Trying to Convince?
Is there a more condescending statement out there? This hits a nerve because it was a sticking point in my relationship with friends I've since lost, but I'm going to indulge the Anonymous poster who insists I think about my childfreedom too much.
Is it self-indulgent to blog about the times I feel conflict? Sure, I suppose, but this is the stuff that, when I started this blog 6 years ago I wish was available. Back then I needed someone saying something that other "Fuck kids! Kids suck!" as their reason for not having children. I needed someone to counter the insistence from people I cared about that I was broken, that I should seek therapy because I didn't want kids. And I needed people who admitted that it's not always easy. I didn't find that in 2005.
Do I obsess over this? Hell no, but when it's on my mind I talk about it, sometimes at length. Lately, while my best friend is due (today, in fact) to have her first child and while nearly all my other friends are trying to conceive it is on my mind a lot. I'm at the age where this is something that I'm thinking about because if I am to change my mind that window is closing and that's a big emotional deal.
Am I trying to convince anyone? My readers? Myself? Dear Anonymous, you've made up your mind about me and my motives, but I assure you that's not what this blog is about.
This blog is about sharing my experiences, just like Mommy blogs are about sharing theirs. Do I go to their blogs and ask them, when they gush about how amazing their lives are, who they're trying to convince? When they spew "it's the toughest job you'll ever love", do I ask who they're trying to convince? Of course not. Because it would be condescending and insulting to do so.
I journal for myself, to think things through, and I share it because I get letters every week from people who are thankful someone understands the conflict they're going through. When I started the blog it's something I really needed, and over the years I come back to it a few times a year when it's on my mind.
You don't get worked up when someone questions your life choices, Anonymous? Good for you, and I mean that. I wish I could just brush it aside. Some of us are sensitive. Some of us do take to heart what others say and when someone implies we're defective we go out seeking answers and wonder seriously whether we are. People seek support and kinship and validation online. I've found it in my readers, and they find it in me, and there's value in that.
To those of you who've provided support and encouragement, thank you. And to those who suggest that talking about our childfreedom is uncalled for, or symptomatic of us being broken? Well, there are some things you don't say in polite company.
Is it self-indulgent to blog about the times I feel conflict? Sure, I suppose, but this is the stuff that, when I started this blog 6 years ago I wish was available. Back then I needed someone saying something that other "Fuck kids! Kids suck!" as their reason for not having children. I needed someone to counter the insistence from people I cared about that I was broken, that I should seek therapy because I didn't want kids. And I needed people who admitted that it's not always easy. I didn't find that in 2005.
Do I obsess over this? Hell no, but when it's on my mind I talk about it, sometimes at length. Lately, while my best friend is due (today, in fact) to have her first child and while nearly all my other friends are trying to conceive it is on my mind a lot. I'm at the age where this is something that I'm thinking about because if I am to change my mind that window is closing and that's a big emotional deal.
Am I trying to convince anyone? My readers? Myself? Dear Anonymous, you've made up your mind about me and my motives, but I assure you that's not what this blog is about.
This blog is about sharing my experiences, just like Mommy blogs are about sharing theirs. Do I go to their blogs and ask them, when they gush about how amazing their lives are, who they're trying to convince? When they spew "it's the toughest job you'll ever love", do I ask who they're trying to convince? Of course not. Because it would be condescending and insulting to do so.
I journal for myself, to think things through, and I share it because I get letters every week from people who are thankful someone understands the conflict they're going through. When I started the blog it's something I really needed, and over the years I come back to it a few times a year when it's on my mind.
You don't get worked up when someone questions your life choices, Anonymous? Good for you, and I mean that. I wish I could just brush it aside. Some of us are sensitive. Some of us do take to heart what others say and when someone implies we're defective we go out seeking answers and wonder seriously whether we are. People seek support and kinship and validation online. I've found it in my readers, and they find it in me, and there's value in that.
To those of you who've provided support and encouragement, thank you. And to those who suggest that talking about our childfreedom is uncalled for, or symptomatic of us being broken? Well, there are some things you don't say in polite company.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Jealousy
Is it possible to be jealous of something you don't really want? Because that's the emotion that I'm dealing with as I wait with bated breath for one of my best friends to go into labor with her first little girl.
Most days its easy to be childfree. Today's not one of those days. The twinges and the baby rabies have calmed considerably in the last few weeks to being pretty much gone, but tonight they're here hardcore and more upsetting than it's ever been.
I'm going through all the names I've been called. Cold, selfish, you name it, and feeling a little broken down because of it. I'm sort of wishing I wanted parenthood as a part of my life and tonight I'm feeling angry and even a little resentful that it's not something I want. It's got me feeling a little defective and it's hard to face that.
Ironically, this is coming after having a rant-filled conversation about how little I can tolerate children just hours ago after being surrounded by kids downtown during a "family fun fair". It's not the kids I want. Again, it's the kodak moments.
I want the emotion that she's going to feel when she gets to hold her daughter for the first time. I want to know that love and I'm curious about the change people say takes place when they become parents. And yeah, I *am* curious if having kids would make me change how I feel about kids in general. It's also something that I'm completely uncomfortable banking on because right now, as a rule, spending time with kids is about the LAST thing I want to do.
but right now, while she's waiting for her daughter to be born any day now, she's feeling emotions that I won't ever know. Her life is about to change in ways I never want to experience and in ways I wish I could experience. And she's just days away from holding a child that she grew in her body that's a perfect little piece of her and her husband, and I don't care what people say, that's pretty fucking amazing.
This year I'll be 34, and the finality of the decision to remain childfree is starting to really get to me. I know I'm going to be one of those women who wonders "what if", but I don't think that's the same as regret. I don't regret that I deviated from the journalism career path in favor of marketing, though I wonder often what would have happened if I'd stuck with college the first time and focused on my writing. I don't regret not kissing the boy I really liked at an office party in '97, but occasionally I look at Facebook and wonder what my life would've been like if we'd both acted on the crush we had on each other but were too shy to acknowledge, and I don't regret not studying abroad though I wonder how a year or two in Spain might have changed my life.
I think that's the difference. We can wonder what our lives would be like and we can be jealous of others' experiences, but it's possible to do that while still being content in our own lives… even if it means a night or two of being really sad and conflicted. If we're true to ourselves, it'll work itself out.
Most days its easy to be childfree. Today's not one of those days. The twinges and the baby rabies have calmed considerably in the last few weeks to being pretty much gone, but tonight they're here hardcore and more upsetting than it's ever been.
I'm going through all the names I've been called. Cold, selfish, you name it, and feeling a little broken down because of it. I'm sort of wishing I wanted parenthood as a part of my life and tonight I'm feeling angry and even a little resentful that it's not something I want. It's got me feeling a little defective and it's hard to face that.
Ironically, this is coming after having a rant-filled conversation about how little I can tolerate children just hours ago after being surrounded by kids downtown during a "family fun fair". It's not the kids I want. Again, it's the kodak moments.
I want the emotion that she's going to feel when she gets to hold her daughter for the first time. I want to know that love and I'm curious about the change people say takes place when they become parents. And yeah, I *am* curious if having kids would make me change how I feel about kids in general. It's also something that I'm completely uncomfortable banking on because right now, as a rule, spending time with kids is about the LAST thing I want to do.
but right now, while she's waiting for her daughter to be born any day now, she's feeling emotions that I won't ever know. Her life is about to change in ways I never want to experience and in ways I wish I could experience. And she's just days away from holding a child that she grew in her body that's a perfect little piece of her and her husband, and I don't care what people say, that's pretty fucking amazing.
This year I'll be 34, and the finality of the decision to remain childfree is starting to really get to me. I know I'm going to be one of those women who wonders "what if", but I don't think that's the same as regret. I don't regret that I deviated from the journalism career path in favor of marketing, though I wonder often what would have happened if I'd stuck with college the first time and focused on my writing. I don't regret not kissing the boy I really liked at an office party in '97, but occasionally I look at Facebook and wonder what my life would've been like if we'd both acted on the crush we had on each other but were too shy to acknowledge, and I don't regret not studying abroad though I wonder how a year or two in Spain might have changed my life.
I think that's the difference. We can wonder what our lives would be like and we can be jealous of others' experiences, but it's possible to do that while still being content in our own lives… even if it means a night or two of being really sad and conflicted. If we're true to ourselves, it'll work itself out.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Hypocrisy and Respect
It's something I see a lot in the childfree world, and it bothers me a lot. We scream and cry and say "don't judge me", "don't assume X about me", but then in the same breath someone will say something nice about parenthood and immediately the shackles get raised, or they'll say "I was childfree until I changed my mind" and the twitching starts.
Many childfree people find solace in the stories of parents who regret their decision. We look at the woman who resents her children and feel validation, seeing our biggest fears about parenthood happening. And, if we're human, we feel incredible sympathy. If we're not, we go "HA HA HA! Stupid parents" to their faces.
I'm not hopping up on a high horse here. I'm horrified constantly by situations that make me think parenthood should require some sort of licensing process. I get angry at people whose children misbehave and have zero tolerance once normal conversation about what we love and hate about our lives turns into preaching or, worse, accusations about our character. I make judgments all the time about people who I don't think have any business procreating. I have a very low tolerance for misbehavior; I'm highly sensitive, easily annoyed and overwhelmed and because of it I have a really hard time being around kids for more than a couple hours at a time. Sometimes I lose my cool. I bitch a lot to like-minded friends. I'm certainly not perfect.
My issue comes in with over-generalizations, the same ones that we get so angry about. The word "breeders" used as a slur makes me angry, as do many of the vulgar phrases used to describe children at some childfree blogs and communities.
I don't want you to presume I hate all, and specifically your children, but I owe it to you to not call you names. My desire to make the childfree choice a respected one involves respect on both sides.
This also includes not presuming all parents who love parenthood are delusional. I think a lot of people tell themselves little lies to make the hard situations in their life easier to deal with. I think many parents idealize their experience, and I think a lot of childfree women lie to themselves when they say they never think that elements of parenthood are kind of cool. But for every childfree woman who loves her childfree life and knows motherhood isn't for her, I promise you there are a dozen who were born to be mothers. It's an evolutionary fact. Those of us who choose not to have children ARE unusual, and the fact is it will take people some time to get used to us.
But let's try something new. Let's try not getting upset and uppity when someone presumes we're eventually going to have children. It's natural for that to be the assumption. Don't flip your shit when someone pushes the issue...in the beginning. If they continue to push boundaries, explain, calmly, your feelings but don't get bitchy and accusatory about it. Reserve your anger for when people really cross the line and actually intend to hurt. The more bitter childfree people parents meet, the more they'll be able to believe that we're horrible, soulless and defective.
Additionally, don't freak out when someone says they were childfree and they changed their mind, or they suggest that when you're older, when your circumstances change, etc., you'll change your mind too. Again, if they make the comment it's one thing; if they push, it's another entirely. NEWSFLASH: Many, if not most childfree people DO change their minds. I know I'm *gasp* not supposed to talk about it, but come on. It's a fact. Many of my friends who are currently trying to conceive were formerly my sisters in childfreedom. It happens. Blame it on hormones, blame it on societal pressure, blame it on maturity, but getting angry about a fact of life is just silly. Because of this I think it's acceptable that people presume we will change our minds, as annoying as it is. Yes, you can and should be offended when people are entirely dismissive, or they push the issue or are disrespectful. But be realistic, and especially to the formerly childfree who changed their minds: be respectful.
Lastly, don't be afraid to admit that there are things you're going to miss out on by not being parents. Don't be afraid to admit that this is sometimes hard. This is a lifestyle choice (although in many ways it doesn't feel like a choice because it's so natural and as much a part of who we are as parenthood can be for others). But we're never going to know just how it feels to watch a child of ours grow, and it doesn't make you a bad childfree person to admit there's a sadness to that.
As I've said in my post, The Rules: Open a dialogue. Don't lecture. Don't judge. There are still things that we'd like to be off-limits, but what I don't address in that passionate post is that we often need to adjust our expectation when someone breaks The Rules and educate people how to treat us respectfully. Part of mutual respect is understanding their prejudices and that those prejudices are normal, and working through conversation, not confrontation, to educate people.
Many childfree people find solace in the stories of parents who regret their decision. We look at the woman who resents her children and feel validation, seeing our biggest fears about parenthood happening. And, if we're human, we feel incredible sympathy. If we're not, we go "HA HA HA! Stupid parents" to their faces.
I'm not hopping up on a high horse here. I'm horrified constantly by situations that make me think parenthood should require some sort of licensing process. I get angry at people whose children misbehave and have zero tolerance once normal conversation about what we love and hate about our lives turns into preaching or, worse, accusations about our character. I make judgments all the time about people who I don't think have any business procreating. I have a very low tolerance for misbehavior; I'm highly sensitive, easily annoyed and overwhelmed and because of it I have a really hard time being around kids for more than a couple hours at a time. Sometimes I lose my cool. I bitch a lot to like-minded friends. I'm certainly not perfect.
My issue comes in with over-generalizations, the same ones that we get so angry about. The word "breeders" used as a slur makes me angry, as do many of the vulgar phrases used to describe children at some childfree blogs and communities.
I don't want you to presume I hate all, and specifically your children, but I owe it to you to not call you names. My desire to make the childfree choice a respected one involves respect on both sides.
This also includes not presuming all parents who love parenthood are delusional. I think a lot of people tell themselves little lies to make the hard situations in their life easier to deal with. I think many parents idealize their experience, and I think a lot of childfree women lie to themselves when they say they never think that elements of parenthood are kind of cool. But for every childfree woman who loves her childfree life and knows motherhood isn't for her, I promise you there are a dozen who were born to be mothers. It's an evolutionary fact. Those of us who choose not to have children ARE unusual, and the fact is it will take people some time to get used to us.
But let's try something new. Let's try not getting upset and uppity when someone presumes we're eventually going to have children. It's natural for that to be the assumption. Don't flip your shit when someone pushes the issue...in the beginning. If they continue to push boundaries, explain, calmly, your feelings but don't get bitchy and accusatory about it. Reserve your anger for when people really cross the line and actually intend to hurt. The more bitter childfree people parents meet, the more they'll be able to believe that we're horrible, soulless and defective.
Additionally, don't freak out when someone says they were childfree and they changed their mind, or they suggest that when you're older, when your circumstances change, etc., you'll change your mind too. Again, if they make the comment it's one thing; if they push, it's another entirely. NEWSFLASH: Many, if not most childfree people DO change their minds. I know I'm *gasp* not supposed to talk about it, but come on. It's a fact. Many of my friends who are currently trying to conceive were formerly my sisters in childfreedom. It happens. Blame it on hormones, blame it on societal pressure, blame it on maturity, but getting angry about a fact of life is just silly. Because of this I think it's acceptable that people presume we will change our minds, as annoying as it is. Yes, you can and should be offended when people are entirely dismissive, or they push the issue or are disrespectful. But be realistic, and especially to the formerly childfree who changed their minds: be respectful.
Lastly, don't be afraid to admit that there are things you're going to miss out on by not being parents. Don't be afraid to admit that this is sometimes hard. This is a lifestyle choice (although in many ways it doesn't feel like a choice because it's so natural and as much a part of who we are as parenthood can be for others). But we're never going to know just how it feels to watch a child of ours grow, and it doesn't make you a bad childfree person to admit there's a sadness to that.
As I've said in my post, The Rules: Open a dialogue. Don't lecture. Don't judge. There are still things that we'd like to be off-limits, but what I don't address in that passionate post is that we often need to adjust our expectation when someone breaks The Rules and educate people how to treat us respectfully. Part of mutual respect is understanding their prejudices and that those prejudices are normal, and working through conversation, not confrontation, to educate people.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
And so it begins…
Nearly all of my childless friends are now either actively trying to conceive or actually pregnant. It's getting lonely on this side of the fence and I'm having a hard time deciding how I feel about that.
I knew it would only be a matter of time before this happened, and it's just happening later for me than for most. We're all in our 30s, with a couple friends finally decided to try for kids after 35, which brings up all my ethical issues regarding infertility treatments, to be honest. It's all taking on the air of that exclusive club I'm not invited to.
Because of my body's current revolt against my childfree choice, paired with all of my friends switching gears all at once, I've made a lot of mental lists. It's all left me feeling sort of deficient, which I haven't felt in a long time. My usual confidence is being tested more than usual.
But then I ask a friend if she'll be at a concert that I know we both desperately want to go to, but she can't come because her sitter isn't available that night. I see the very girlfriends who are switching gears into baby mode either scrambling to get in the travel they want to do before they get knocked up, or freaking out about how stretched they will be financially when their babies that are on the way get here, and I think my god, that's not something I have to worry about. Fears about what it means for their careers, or whether it's worth it to put an infant in daycare and I thank my lucky stars that I'm not in their place.
And the thing is, when I see them journaling about what they'll miss, how their lives will change, I see that they're struggling with the same questions I'm dealing with. They're just seeing it from the other side of the fence. They're still looking at what they'll miss out on if they make this lifechanging decision, while I'm thinking about what I'll miss out on if I don't.
It's a way that, in a perfect world, we could connect. But I'm terrified to talk about it with them for fear of turning people off as I have in the past. So I clam up for now. Maybe we'll talk about it at some point, but for now I'm just observing from afar and dealing with my issues on my own.
I knew it would only be a matter of time before this happened, and it's just happening later for me than for most. We're all in our 30s, with a couple friends finally decided to try for kids after 35, which brings up all my ethical issues regarding infertility treatments, to be honest. It's all taking on the air of that exclusive club I'm not invited to.
Because of my body's current revolt against my childfree choice, paired with all of my friends switching gears all at once, I've made a lot of mental lists. It's all left me feeling sort of deficient, which I haven't felt in a long time. My usual confidence is being tested more than usual.
But then I ask a friend if she'll be at a concert that I know we both desperately want to go to, but she can't come because her sitter isn't available that night. I see the very girlfriends who are switching gears into baby mode either scrambling to get in the travel they want to do before they get knocked up, or freaking out about how stretched they will be financially when their babies that are on the way get here, and I think my god, that's not something I have to worry about. Fears about what it means for their careers, or whether it's worth it to put an infant in daycare and I thank my lucky stars that I'm not in their place.
And the thing is, when I see them journaling about what they'll miss, how their lives will change, I see that they're struggling with the same questions I'm dealing with. They're just seeing it from the other side of the fence. They're still looking at what they'll miss out on if they make this lifechanging decision, while I'm thinking about what I'll miss out on if I don't.
It's a way that, in a perfect world, we could connect. But I'm terrified to talk about it with them for fear of turning people off as I have in the past. So I clam up for now. Maybe we'll talk about it at some point, but for now I'm just observing from afar and dealing with my issues on my own.
Friday, March 11, 2011
More on the Baby Rabies
Someone wanted to hear more about the conflict that having a body that wants a baby and a rational mind that knows I don't.
The feelings I get are very internal. I'm not the only person I know who's described it as a twinge, but it's like a little twisting or spasm in my uterus or my heart when I see a newborn, or a child doing something cute, and it's entirely bizarre. I'll feel it when I'm watching someone with a child, or holding my cousin's twins, or smelling their hair, or just talking about this.
It's like this incredible feeling of "what if" that inspires the smallest inklings of doubt. It's the literal tugging I feel inside when I read the Essure website and start weighing my options for a permanent birth control solution. It's the tugging that makes me unable to make the final decision to remove all possibility that I will get pregnant.
It's like there's a disconnect in my mind over the concept of having a baby and what a baby means. My mind goes to different places when my body starts wanting the baby. I say things to myself like "it wouldn't be that bad" and my rational brain chimes in immediately with "of course it would!" I don't know if other childfree folk feel this, but for me it's quite plainly an internal struggle. "But BABIES..." "...require every last moment of your attention and energy that you don't have to give." "But, but BABIES!" "…mean the end of your life as you know it and having a constant tag-along who you will resent, and you know you will." The argument rages in my mind and it's frustrating, and I can't talk to anyone about it.
Why? Because it immediately means that I'm really changing my mind, that I'm clinging to this "childfree" label but really I want children. Really, I'm NORMAL. Nothing I can say will make people believe it is not the case. I've tried to explain it. Even in these moments when my uterus is twitching and my stomach is churning and my heart aches, I couldn't begin to list for you the reasons why having a child would be the right thing for me. I can't even throw together a "we would adapt" spiel. Even in these moments the thought of being pregnant frightens me to the core because I think "I'm too old to have an abortion. Too mature and financially secure to live with that decision." I cannot even fathom the idea of bringing a child into this world to live under my care. I don't want that. But like any grass that's sometimes greener, there are aspects that are, of course, appealing.
I do want a little of that joy. I want to know that feeling of watching the ultrasound and holding my breath as the nurse determines whether I'm having a boy or a girl. (twinge). I want to know how it feels to hold my child for the first time (twinge). I want to feel that incomparable love that parents always talk about, that immense satisfaction that I made that. I want that intangible knowledge that my husband and I created a life together, that this child is alive and awesome because of us, and it has my eyes and his smile. (twinge twinge twinge)
But there's a difference between wanting that and wanting years on-end of being responsible for a child's every waking moment, of knowing the only traveling we'll be doing is to Disneyland, if we can even afford that at all. I can't have all those things and still have my hobbies, my work, my peace and quiet and my life as I know it. Being a parent is hard work, and it's hard work that would make me miserable. Me being miserable would make me a terrible, resentful, short-fused, easily annoyed parent and an even worse wife and partner.
I'm at a crossroads in my life right now, but I am 100% sure that I will go through life without knowing what it's like to be a mother. And I'm going to admit what a lot of childfree women will never admit: That kind of sucks. But I'm also going to have a life full of rich experiences with my husband. We'll get to be fully in love as we grow old together, as we travel and experience the world together. We'll never deal with the pitfalls of parenting. We'll never have the heartbreak of having our child proclaim that we're awful and she hates us. We'll never stay up nights worried about the thousands of things parents have to worry about. Our life won't be free from cares, but it will be free from parental cares, and there's value in that.
Mothers and fathers wonder all the time what their lives would have been like if they didn't have children and many come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be worth it because they wouldn't have their child in their life. Well, we look at the decision too, and when we start weighing things, yeah, maybe we'd be pretty great parents, but then we'd lose us in the process, and that just wouldn't be worth it.
The feelings I get are very internal. I'm not the only person I know who's described it as a twinge, but it's like a little twisting or spasm in my uterus or my heart when I see a newborn, or a child doing something cute, and it's entirely bizarre. I'll feel it when I'm watching someone with a child, or holding my cousin's twins, or smelling their hair, or just talking about this.
It's like this incredible feeling of "what if" that inspires the smallest inklings of doubt. It's the literal tugging I feel inside when I read the Essure website and start weighing my options for a permanent birth control solution. It's the tugging that makes me unable to make the final decision to remove all possibility that I will get pregnant.
It's like there's a disconnect in my mind over the concept of having a baby and what a baby means. My mind goes to different places when my body starts wanting the baby. I say things to myself like "it wouldn't be that bad" and my rational brain chimes in immediately with "of course it would!" I don't know if other childfree folk feel this, but for me it's quite plainly an internal struggle. "But BABIES..." "...require every last moment of your attention and energy that you don't have to give." "But, but BABIES!" "…mean the end of your life as you know it and having a constant tag-along who you will resent, and you know you will." The argument rages in my mind and it's frustrating, and I can't talk to anyone about it.
Why? Because it immediately means that I'm really changing my mind, that I'm clinging to this "childfree" label but really I want children. Really, I'm NORMAL. Nothing I can say will make people believe it is not the case. I've tried to explain it. Even in these moments when my uterus is twitching and my stomach is churning and my heart aches, I couldn't begin to list for you the reasons why having a child would be the right thing for me. I can't even throw together a "we would adapt" spiel. Even in these moments the thought of being pregnant frightens me to the core because I think "I'm too old to have an abortion. Too mature and financially secure to live with that decision." I cannot even fathom the idea of bringing a child into this world to live under my care. I don't want that. But like any grass that's sometimes greener, there are aspects that are, of course, appealing.
I do want a little of that joy. I want to know that feeling of watching the ultrasound and holding my breath as the nurse determines whether I'm having a boy or a girl. (twinge). I want to know how it feels to hold my child for the first time (twinge). I want to feel that incomparable love that parents always talk about, that immense satisfaction that I made that. I want that intangible knowledge that my husband and I created a life together, that this child is alive and awesome because of us, and it has my eyes and his smile. (twinge twinge twinge)
But there's a difference between wanting that and wanting years on-end of being responsible for a child's every waking moment, of knowing the only traveling we'll be doing is to Disneyland, if we can even afford that at all. I can't have all those things and still have my hobbies, my work, my peace and quiet and my life as I know it. Being a parent is hard work, and it's hard work that would make me miserable. Me being miserable would make me a terrible, resentful, short-fused, easily annoyed parent and an even worse wife and partner.
I'm at a crossroads in my life right now, but I am 100% sure that I will go through life without knowing what it's like to be a mother. And I'm going to admit what a lot of childfree women will never admit: That kind of sucks. But I'm also going to have a life full of rich experiences with my husband. We'll get to be fully in love as we grow old together, as we travel and experience the world together. We'll never deal with the pitfalls of parenting. We'll never have the heartbreak of having our child proclaim that we're awful and she hates us. We'll never stay up nights worried about the thousands of things parents have to worry about. Our life won't be free from cares, but it will be free from parental cares, and there's value in that.
Mothers and fathers wonder all the time what their lives would have been like if they didn't have children and many come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be worth it because they wouldn't have their child in their life. Well, we look at the decision too, and when we start weighing things, yeah, maybe we'd be pretty great parents, but then we'd lose us in the process, and that just wouldn't be worth it.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Baby Rabies
The prospect of updating this blog has become very loaded, but I'm at a point lately where I really need to vent about this and I'm needing an outlet desperately.
I've got the baby rabies. Oh, it's not so bad. I know it's my biological clock and I have no desire to have a child because my mind knows what's involved, but I'm at a point right now where I'm actively fighting against my biological urges.
So what brought this on? Well, for starters, my husband and I bought a house. A dream house, to be exact, with tons of space, two fully loaded entertaining rooms and a kitchen that was designed by the empty-nester owners and has proven to be outstanding for entertaining. It's amazing.
Also, one of my best friends is expecting, which means I'm spending a lot of time looking at goodies to buy, hearing about her pregnancy (in a good way — she's been great about it all)… babies are on my mind a lot.
And, lastly and most pressing, it seems, is the expiration of my IUD. I'm faced with needing to either get a new IUD in February. That, or my husband as offered to get a vasectomy. Talk of the vasectomy makes me twitch in a way I never thought possible.
Talking about the baby rabies is something that's taboo among the childfree. We're conditioned to never ever mention that our bodies are sometimes in conflict with our minds, and it's a strange and annoying place to be. My heart and mind know that I don't want to raise a child for all the reasons I've listed a thousand times over. I do not want this for myself. And yet the idea of my husband getting a vasectomy and cutting off that possibility entirely (because right now we're talking about biological children) makes my stomach twitch awkwardly.
The conflict is troubling in a way that's hard to explain. I hate the idea of being pregnant, and suddenly I find myself jealous of my friend's experience. When I look at the prospect of raising a child, especially a baby, it sounds dreadful. And yet I have a physical reaction when my husband and I talk about him getting a vasectomy. I feel a deep, internal sadness that's complete contradiction with the relief I feel at the thought of not having to worry about being pregnant ever again.
I also hate that I can't talk about it without getting "I told you so" looks or commentary, when my mind isn't actually changing. I feel defensive, and worse I feel defensive against myself. It's incredibly frustrating, but it feels really good to just talk about it.
I've got the baby rabies. Oh, it's not so bad. I know it's my biological clock and I have no desire to have a child because my mind knows what's involved, but I'm at a point right now where I'm actively fighting against my biological urges.
So what brought this on? Well, for starters, my husband and I bought a house. A dream house, to be exact, with tons of space, two fully loaded entertaining rooms and a kitchen that was designed by the empty-nester owners and has proven to be outstanding for entertaining. It's amazing.
Also, one of my best friends is expecting, which means I'm spending a lot of time looking at goodies to buy, hearing about her pregnancy (in a good way — she's been great about it all)… babies are on my mind a lot.
And, lastly and most pressing, it seems, is the expiration of my IUD. I'm faced with needing to either get a new IUD in February. That, or my husband as offered to get a vasectomy. Talk of the vasectomy makes me twitch in a way I never thought possible.
Talking about the baby rabies is something that's taboo among the childfree. We're conditioned to never ever mention that our bodies are sometimes in conflict with our minds, and it's a strange and annoying place to be. My heart and mind know that I don't want to raise a child for all the reasons I've listed a thousand times over. I do not want this for myself. And yet the idea of my husband getting a vasectomy and cutting off that possibility entirely (because right now we're talking about biological children) makes my stomach twitch awkwardly.
The conflict is troubling in a way that's hard to explain. I hate the idea of being pregnant, and suddenly I find myself jealous of my friend's experience. When I look at the prospect of raising a child, especially a baby, it sounds dreadful. And yet I have a physical reaction when my husband and I talk about him getting a vasectomy. I feel a deep, internal sadness that's complete contradiction with the relief I feel at the thought of not having to worry about being pregnant ever again.
I also hate that I can't talk about it without getting "I told you so" looks or commentary, when my mind isn't actually changing. I feel defensive, and worse I feel defensive against myself. It's incredibly frustrating, but it feels really good to just talk about it.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Finally Updating
Yes I am still childfree. Yes we are still dealing with many of the issues that brought me to blog in the first place, but life gets in the way. I still get emails and messages hoping I'll update now and again, so here I am. I'm going to try to blog weekly, but we'll see how that goes. There's certainly plenty for me to sound off about.
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