let me state the obvious: i don’t have kids.

i don’t call myself “childfree” because that implies that i find children burdensome. i don’t call myself “childless” because that implies that i’m missing them from my life. neither of those polemical terms accurately describe me – i just don’t have kids.

most women i know grew up with some sort of future vision of themselves as mothers. i never did. if you’d asked me at any point in my childhood what i wanted to be when i grew up, i don’t think “mother” as an aspiration would have even occurred to me. and that’s not due to any failure on my own mother’s part to be a wonderful role model, or lack of babydolls to play with. i just never thought about it.

even in my first marriage, i don’t think i ever took the idea seriously. my ex wanted kids, and i always said i’d consider it when i turned 27. at 19, that seemed a lifetime away, and i assumed that was the appropriate age at which my “biological clock” would start to kick in. i just figured that even though i didn’t really have any desire to get pregnant or give birth, that someday i would. because after all, doesn’t everyone? and as 27 got closer and closer, and no baby-making instinct kicked in, it began to occur to me that maybe my feelings wouldn’t change so quickly, if at all. previously i’d always chalked up my hesitation to feeling insecure in the rotten state of my marriage, or not feeling “ready” to care for another being. but the reality was, i didn’t feel anything at all. i kept expecting to have some lightbulb go off in my head or heart… and it never did.

after we divorced and i began to date again, i started to realise just what a big deal this was for potential future relationships. that actually, for a lot of people, it would be considered a deal-breaker. that for me, in fact, it probably was a deal-breaker. that i couldn’t really see myself with anyone who was committed to having a family. whereas i was open to the idea that maybe i would, at some point, change my mind, i knew i couldn’t get serious with anyone who wasn’t open to the idea that i might not.

and as i’ve continue to grow older, it’s become clearer and clearer to me that i’m pretty unlikely to ever transform into that mother that i never envisioned myself being. that internal compulsive baby lust that all my friends talk about is as completely foreign to me as the mathematical equations behind chaos theory. i understand that it exists in an abstract kind of way – i just don’t get it. and the more i speak with any kind of certaintly about a future without babies, the more people feel the need to point out i *might change my mind*.

which is certainly true, hypothetically. i can’t predict the future and it’s possible, though unlikely, that i will suddenly develop an overwhelming desire to bear a child. i can’t rule it out with one hundred percent certainty, like most anything in life. but i just don’t see it happening.

and in a way, it would be so much easier. because to not decide to have kids is to alienate yourself from the experience of 99% of the human race. i’m jealous of people who always knew they wanted children, because it has to be infinitely preferable to knowing you don’t, but feeling (and being told) that you should. in many ways, it’s a lonely place to be.

i’m lucky – most of my family don’t question my feelings, or lack thereof. (though on his recent visit my dad did say something along the lines of, “well if you ever have kids”, to which i said, “but i’m not going to have kids”, to which he said, “but you never know, you *might*”, to which i said, “i’ve been in long-term monogamous relationships since i was 19. do you think the fact i haven’t had a baby is some kind of happy coincidence?”) and when i asked the nurse if you could get your tubes tied on the nhs, she didn’t immediately try to convince me i would regret doing something so permanent. once you start talking about stuff like that, though, people get nervous -try to steer you towards something reversible, still holding out hope you’ll want to get in on the miracle of new life.

and it is miraculous. it’s just not for me.

i’ve not gone down that road yet. but even if i did, and magically changed my mind at a later date, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. i’ve often thought that if i ever did want a child, i’d adopt, so that’s always an option that’s open to me. permanent is only scary if you need to see what your own genes would look like reflected back at you. coming from a family rich with adoption and a wild mix of genes, that’s not something that bothers me in the least.

in fact, the only thing that bothers me about the prospect of not having kids is the sense that i lose that commonality with friends and family, as their families grow and change. sad, but true – finding yourself outside the norm is always difficult, as anyone who experienced high school has learned. but fitting in with your peers wasn’t a good rationale for doing drugs in your teens, and it’s certainly not a good rationale for creating a human as an adult.

and of course, it bothers me that it bothers other people.

i’ll never say never – but i know myself well enough to be confident and comfortable with my choices and my future. i just wish everyone else was.

the juliana theory – this is your life

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