I’ve been thinking about having children or rather, the fact that I’m not having children… that I made the decision to not have children. So I guess I won’t be having children.
But I can’t say I don’t think about it still. Often, sometimes.
Holidays stir up these feelings. I think about how lovely it is to gather with my family, to see my parents, to see my parents happy to see us, to see me, to see my brother’s family, his children. (Yes, we do drive my parents crazy, but I think overall they’re glad we’re here.)
But I’m not going to have that. I’m not going to have that Thanksgiving gathering like my parents, at least not in the same way, anyway. If I carry on as I am, I will never be 65, gathering for a holiday with my kids and their kids. Because I won’t have kids.
This year’s Thanksgiving gathering consisted of my parents, my husband and I, my brother, his wife and two kids. That’s eight people total, and six of those people wouldn’t have been present at this gathering if my parents decided to not have kids.
I ask my husband sometimes, “Are we going to regret not having kids,” or “Do you ever rethink our decision on having kids?” Recently he responded: “Well, we already made that choice, so I don’t re-litigate the decision.” First I thought, who says re-litigate? And then I thought, probably someone who used to be a lawyer. And he is, or was. And then I thought, I should start using that term more myself. Then I began thinking about how I struggle so much to stick with a decision. I re-litigate constantly. (See, look at me, I’m already incorporating this word.)
It’s like I miss someone that was never born. I miss a human or maybe multiple humans that were never even a wisp of a breath or a molecule in this world. It’s a funny thing. It’s a weird feeling of mourning that I feel I don’t deserve.
But then I have days where I spend time with friends’ or family’s children… and I do love kids, but man, I’m also grateful to be able to spend a specified amount of time and then leave the situation. And sometimes it’s not exactly the kids themselves that deter me. It’s seeing how it changes the parents, how it changes the relationship of the husband and wife, the partners. Or just seeing how it changes the personality of the parent overall. (Sometimes it certainly changes folks for the better though… so I’m not saying there aren’t benefits. I’m just saying… it can go either way.)
I hear men say things that upset me, things that show they don’t understand what a woman has to endure when having children or they don’t comprehend just how different the expectations are for women when a being a parent. I see fathers when they are out in the world not around their wife or kids, and they disparage the whole setup of the family. Or they flirt with other women… or worse. Or they flirt with me and say highly inappropriate things. But I also hear women say horrible things regarding their husbands. Things that dismiss the man’s experience….
Some of it I wouldn’t say is “horrible” but just something that feels like I’d rather avoid, if I could. Having kids is going to change the dynamic of a couple, of course, and again, maybe sometimes it makes it better, even if different. It’s just hard to predict.
I used to think I would maybe decide I wanted kids once I found the right person. But I still don’t feel confident in wanting kids.
The original impetus for my deciding to live child-free happened in Peck Hall at Middle Tennessee State University in my Child Psychology class sometimes around 2011. It completely ruined my desire to have children. What I learned, or rather, what I remember anyway is a sentiment that burrowed inside my brain, that is: you will actually be more stressed out, run down and unhappy a greater percentage of the time throughout the years of your child’s life compared to the amount of time you are happy/satisfied/joyful, BUT the human mind has a mechanism so that when you look back on your life, even looking back not too long ago, and you instead remember the more starry, lovely, romanticized version of your life with kids. You remember their chubby, rosy cheeks looking so cute at you, when they hold your hand when they want comfort, when they’d rather be at home with you than at school with their friends, as opposed to the scrunched up, furious face your six-year-old holds when they heave a nerf gun across the room, smashing your Nanna’s vase into an uncountable amount of pieces… because you told him he needed to go to bed.
Or maybe you think of the tantrums in a funny way when peering back in hindsight.
This Child Psychology class may have changed the entire course of my existence as an adult. It’s the quip I pull out whenever anyone asks me why I’m not having kids. “Well back in my Child Psychology class…blah blah blah.” I think I used to feel superior when saying it or I felt smart or felt proud to have a reason. But I don’t feel smart. I just feel kind of sad about it. I wish I didn’t know that. But I do know that. I do. I can’t unknow it.
My ongoing health issues that have plagued me over many years have also kept me from believing I could easily or safely have kids. Even now, I never sleep. I was laying in bed this morning after an entirely restless night thinking about how I’d just have to get up early no matter what if I had kids. Even if sleep eluded me, I’d have to power on. Sure, your spouse can help, (assuming you have a spouse and assuming your spouse would be helpful in that way), but not everyday. Everyday for a great many days and months and years, I have been unwell. I don’t remember the last time I slept more than an hour in a row. Seriously. Even if I sleep, I’m up 15 times a night, but usually more.
I find myself polling people when it comes to whether I should have kids, or rather, whether they think that I’ll regret not having kids. It’s a difficult position to put anyone in, especially since these people know the decision has been made and a medical procedure has been performed in accordance with this decision. (Though it is a reversible procedure, some will point out.)
What am I wanting them to say? How do I want them to answer? Would any answer be satisfying?
I’ve been reading Tom Lake by Ann Patchett. I think this is what fully precipitated this writing, though it’s been on my mind lately anyway. I suppose the clock is ticking and it’s getting louder and it’s becoming more difficult to drown out. But anyway, I had already been noting how lovely it is for this woman, the main character, to have three daughters, to be on a farm with all of them, telling them stories from when she was young. And then the subject came up about not having children, as one of her daughters is entertaining the idea of never having kids. Everyone is thrown off and upset.
I’ve asked my parents this many times. “Are you sad that I’m not having kids.” “Do you think I’ll regret it?” Sometimes I think they don’t know what to say. Sometimes I think it makes them sad that I ask this. Sometimes I think they do think I’ll regret it. Sometimes I think they’re so exhausted from their kids, grandkids and taking care of their parents over the years that the thought of bringing any more humans into the family that they might have to babysit at some point just terrifies them. They sometimes bring up my health and explain that they understand it would be extremely difficult to be a parent while dealing with my chronic health issues. I’m not sure if they are trying to comfort me or if they really think this.
I am doing better heathwise now, but I am by no means “well.” And I’m 33. And I’ll be 34 in April of 2024. And who’s to say when I would be able to have kids if I were to decide to. I hate this phrase, but I’m “no spring chicken.” And my husband is seven and a half years older than me. So he would be getting up there in age.