Tomorrow, I will be 30, and not once have I felt or heard the ticking of the "biological clock". Sure, there was a time when I thought I would have children. When I was a little girl who played with dolls, I thought babies were pretty rad, and that I'd definitely like to have some. After I grew out of the dolls stage, I really didn't think much about having children, just that it was something that I'd do because that's what people do, right?
High school was when I was introduced to the full reality of babies. My brother and sister-in-law had my nephew when I was a junior. Of course, I immediately loved him, redness, wrinkles, flakiness, and all. Around that time, a few acquaintances and friends became pregnant, and after the initial shock, they all seemed to be pretty psyched to be having a kid. My mind recoiled in horror that this is something that people my age, with the whole world in front of them, considered to be a good thing. Sure, it's either make the best of it or get the big A, so I suppose they were putting on the brave face, which is commendable. At that age, I can't say that I would have chosen to keep the pregnancy.
But back to my nephew. I'd occasionally watch him for a few hours so the grown-ups could do their thing, and boy, did that drive home reality fast. Around that time, I also babysat an infant and his five year old brother (who routinely kicked my ass at Mario Brothers), and as much as I enjoyed the time when the infant was calm and curled up in my arms sleeping or just hanging out and drooling on himself, it always scared me silly when he'd start crying or screaming. OMFG. The diaper is dry. I just fed him. I am holding him. CLEARLY THIS CHILD IS IN MORTAL PERIL. I had that experience with both my nephew and my infant charge, and boy, that feeling of panic does not suit my disposition in the least.
Still, I felt that once I was the ripe old age of, 25, I would be this totally different person, ready for the 9-to-5, a nice, clean-cut husband, a house in the suburbs, and a couple kids. Suffice to say, my life didn't turn out like that. At 25, I'd been dating my now-husband for over a year. We were in dire straits financially, just barely making enough for both of us to survive. Money was incredibly tight for us for the first few years we were together, so tight that when his roommate went nuts (literally) and told him he had two weeks to get out, the best option was for him to move in with me. We'd been together for two weeks at the time, and my family wasn't terribly pleased with this, but thankfully they understood that, as someone new in town, I had very few options. My roommates had just moved out on me, too. I couldn't afford my house alone. Brandell didn't have deposit money. So we made an agreement that regardless of what happened with our relationship, we'd always put our friendship first, and if we had to part ways, we'd continue to help each other until he could find another place. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary.
About two years into the relationship, we started talking about eventually (OH GOD, NOT NOW, OF COURSE, BUT EVENTUALLY) having kids. Two seemed like a good number. Eventually, we'd want to do this. Eventually, it would seem like the greatest idea ever, and we'd go for it. We'd grow up. We'd settle down. One day, the urge to have babies would start to percolate in both of us, just like it does for every human...right? A year later, we'd decided on ONE. ONE KID. THAT IS ALL. And for the love of butter, NOT NOW.
About a year later, something just...clicked. We were talking about kids, all the money and hassle involved, the patience both of us lack, the sacrifices we'd have to make, the frequent migraines we both have, the fact that both of us get very, very annoyed in the presence of anything loud, and the fact that neither of us felt any particular drive to be a parent. Neither of us craved that opportunity to nurture and teach a small human. We have friends with kids, and while we're totally fine with playing aunt and uncle for a few hours at a time, by the end of it, we're both thinking "DEAR GOD, GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME!" I can't remember who said it first, but it was probably me. "We just...shouldn't."
That settled it, save one moment of reconsideration at the urging of a friend. She wasn't trying to pressure me, she just wanted to make sure I'd fully weighed my options, and the experiment she suggested, "Spot the Good Kid", absolutely changed my attitude towards other people's children (yes, curmudgeonly 20-something, there ARE good parents in the world), but further cemented my resolve not to have my own, there's been no looking back. We agreed that if, later in life, we felt we'd missed out on something important, we'd get involved as foster parents, or perhaps consider adoption.
Last summer, I was working at a call center when I, for lack of a more fitting term, completely lost my shit. I was constantly anxious, and the depression that I'd gotten a pretty good handle on over the past few years came roaring back with a vengeance. I immediately got involved with my county's Behavioral Health program. Soon, I realized that if I was to have any hope of being a functional person, I was going to need to be on an antidepressant for the rest of my life. Quitting for a year and a half or so (pregnancy plus breast feeding time) would likely result in a nasty downward spiral, culminating in horrible postpartum depression.
My fibromyalgia diagnosis absolutely cements it. I can't imagine the pain I'd endure carrying a child to term with absolutely nothing to mitigate the pain I already have just lugging my carcass about. Once the child was born, even if I opted out of breast-feeding to resume my medications, what would I do on the bad days? Sometimes, a gallon of milk feels like the weight of the world. Lack of sleep makes my symptoms worse, so until the baby started sleeping through the night, I imagine I'd be pretty miserable on a daily basis. And the migraines. Oh god, the migraines. Mine last anywhere from hours to weeks. How the hell could I possibly care for a helpless infant in that state?
I know that my husband would do his best to help, but he's got his own set of issues, physical and mental, and it wouldn't be fair to him to have to constantly pick up my slack.
But you know what? I'm 100% fine with all of this. I simply do not want to have a child. I will be a proud aunt. I will be a good godmother. When I have the spoons, I will give my friends some free babysitting so they can enjoy the luxuries that I have every day, like an uninterrupted shower, a chance to sprawl out with a book, or go to the mall or grocery store, or hell, spend time with other adults.
Brandell and I agree--we love our life as it is. We have my family, for better or for worse. We have an amazing chosen family of friends. We have our cats, who we love and spoil--who ARE our furry, mostly self-sufficient, quiet, cuddly kids. And most importantly, we have our freedom. Not only can we do what we want, when we want, we can do absolutely nothing at all, and I swear to you, that is my most cherished freedom.
So no, I'm not some evil child-hater. I believe that people who truly want and have the ability to care for children are the ones who should have them. We are not those people.
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