When Jesse and I first married, neither of us was sure we wanted kids. We were firmly on the “We don’t know, but prospects aren’t great” side of the fence. Over time, we moved to the “We don’t know, but it’s possible” side, and eventually settled into a firm “Maybe.” Then, I had some sort of illness or mental problem that made me want a baby, bad. This probably freaked Jesse out, and I decided if we were to have kids it would be because he started wanting one. I dropped the subject. I didn’t want to be one of those women who pressure her husband into producing offspring he wasn’t sure he really wanted.
But, then he did something shocking and started wanting a baby, right about the time I stopped wanting one. It seems the closer I get to thirty (the magic number, it seems, for when you’re Supposed to Be Pregnant Already), the less I want kids. I inched back onto the “Maybe” side and then slid right back to “Eh, is that really necessary? I kind of like things how they are.”
I have found that the more time I spend with people who have kids, the more thankful I am that I don’t have them myself. I know how bad that sounds. I know they love their kids, and I love their kids too, and I’m absolutely sure I don’t know what it is I’m missing, all that fierce unconditional love and seeing the product of your marriage in bodily form, the mystical elements and the tangible ones, the hugs and all that.
But the pendulum has swung hard the other way and I’m trying to remember what exactly I found attractive about the whole having children thing. It seems when a woman has a baby, her world becomes said child—a vibrant and varied life becomes, on the surface at least, a long string of discussions and thoughts about poop, naps, breastfeeding, and endless debates about the ever-fascinating Cloth vs. Disposable issue. (Right about now, I’m worried the pitchforks are coming out…)
I know there’s the whole “new life” thing, but it seems more like a death to me right now, the ending of one life in order to make room for another. The eclipsing of one’s thoughts and personality with the new baby and its needs.
I see the necessity in this, the absolute biological necessity in the parents’ having tunnel vision. They need to keep an infant, something entirely helpless and fragile, alive. No small task there. They have to disappear, at least a bit, in order to do their job. Is there anything worse than a neglectful parent, or an abusive one? It seems to go against nature.
It’s just, nothing about that job seems attractive to me right now. (Also, I don’t find newborns cute. In pretty much all cases. Babies are at some times cute, but then they usually poop or vomit, making up for any momentary adorableness they may have displayed.) As soon as you make it through the baby stage, you have to potty train, and then educate, and don’t even get me started on the teen years. And if you do your job right, the best outcome you can expect is that your kids will leave you eighteen years later and you’ll just end up with empty-nest syndrome.
Cynical much? I know. Sorry. Well, I’m not really sorry. I’m sure I’ll change my mind again, probably a dozen times over, but this is where I sit now. And I know this view is going to be unpopular with probably most people I know, but oh well. Someone had to say it. I can’t be the only one who feels this way.
Two days a week, I watch A, a most adorable two-year-old boy. And I love that job, and I feel it’s important, and I throw my whole energy into it—trying to teach him shapes, reading to him, singing to him while he eats lunch. I have a great job, and I think he’s a great kid. I really wouldn’t trade it, and I think I do a good job of it, if I do say so myself. But I go home exhausted and wonder how on earth people manage it twenty-four hours a day. I get to go home and make myself lunch in silence. Then, I read or I write or I nap or I do laundry or I go to the beach or I make dinner or I do whatever the heck I want to do.
Maybe one day, I’ll be unselfish enough to want to parent another human being all the time. Maybe then I’ll see what I’m missing and I’ll write all about it, I’ll tell you just how fascinating those diapers really are, and maybe you’ll believe me or maybe not. But regardless, this is not that day, and I’ll leave the mothering to my friends, who are better people than I am and have a much, much harder job.
14 Comments
Heh. Seriously? You’re calling yourself a cynic? If thirty is the magic number, then I am an utter failure. And those mystical elements are just neurotransmitters and hormones. And anyway, what’s more selfish than contributing to the overpopulation of a dying planet? (You’re never gonna top me on pitchfork-rousing monologs!)
P.S. You’re a writer. If your ego needs a legacy, you don’t have to give birth; you have to get published.
You’re not the only one who feels this way. Maybe as only children we are more selfish than those who had siblings, but I completely agree about the fear of losing your sense of self and your silences. I like being alone. I find that it centers me, clears my head, and makes me, well, me. And when people have babies, they do for a time have to focus solely on those babies. What I find interesting is watching my friends come out of that stage and become themselves again. They suddenly get babysitters and regain interest in life, and you can actually have a conversation with them about things other than diapers.
Turning 30 in a few months has caused me to reevaluate how I feel about this issue, and my conclusion was basically that my biological clock is still broken. I still can’t imagine devoting my life to another human being. Babies are not as disgusting as they once were, but they are still pretty gross.
Hey Erin! I really enjoyed reading this post. It’s interesting to read a point-of-view completely opposite of mine, but I don’t doubt anything you say. In fact, I see the truth in all if it, and it may actually slow me down on starting my own family. This is MUCH appreciated (particularly by my boyfriend, who’s tired of seeing me get weepy at weddings and babies on TV). It makes sense.
Perhaps it IS because you have so much going on right now, so many trips, and you’re content. That’s fabulous. In my moments of transition after grad school, I’m looking…hard…for something to hold onto. I guess we’ll see how this pans out.
Sabrina and Yana, it’s a great comfort to know other people are having the same thoughts about the topic. I wonder if there’s any statistic out there about procreation rates among only children…
Erica, I think one of my most intense bouts of baby-wanting came shortly after I finished the MFA, in the throes of “Now what?” Oh, boy, I know how you feel! I think it’s natural. When I’m excited about a new project, my desire for a baby goes down. Maybe my biological clock thinks books are children…right now, it’s convinced I’m already pregnant.
I do enjoy your thoughts on this, though i will say this discussion makes me ever-the-more thankful for my ‘happy accident’ arrival into motherhood– it was a far easier decision that way!
I never really *loved* kids before i had my own– even though i always knew that someday I’d like to have children– and I don’t know that, if I were more of a planner/preparer type (or… um, good at using birth control as prescribed) I would have ever been ready to TRY to have a baby. But of course, like marriage, or any big decision, I don’t always want to be a mother now (… speaking of pitchforks…) but that doesn’t change the fact that I am, so on those days I just suck it up and remind myself that I’m thankful for the abundance of little ones. B/c really, i am so thankful for them, and for how their lives have changed mine. Heck, that was so long i shoulda just put all that on my own blog!
I know I already agreed with you by commenting on your FB status, but I just wanted to tell you that you are not alone!
I really enjoyed this post, because I was going through the same thoughts you are just a couple of weeks ago. I am not an only child; my brother is actually very close to me. I was starting to wonder if something is wrong with me because my husband is the one who seems more ready for a kid than me!
Last year I graduated from law school and after almost a full year of bar study, I am admitted in two states. But, I still don’t have a job ( the legal area was hit so hard by the recession) and I am ever-hopeful that something will come along. The unwritten rule for women lawyers is : do NOT get pregnant within a few years of starting the new job. I’m only 27 so I have time to wait once I do get a job, but my husband freaks out about waiting just 2 or 3 more years.
Tomorrow is our 5th wedding anniversary. My non-lawyer friends all have kids. I have never liked kids, don’t think they are all that cute, and to be honest, couldn’t even stand watching the toddler like you do. I am sure I will be crucified for saying all of this, but this is how I feel and I promise I am not a bad person!
It’s like our brains can only handle one major life focus at a time–law school or baby. Book or baby. I thought we, as women, were supposed to be good at multi-tasking? Oh well!
For our fifth wedding anniversary, my in-laws took my husband and I out to dinner and, I kid you not, told us (jokingly, of course) that it was time to start having babies. What is it about the fifth anniversary? I know several people who were married for ten years before having babies. I’ve still got at least four years! And a friend of mine just had her first baby at age thirty-eight. My mom had me when she was thirty-eight. So, I’m not sure where I got the “thirty as magic number” idea from…
Good luck with the job hunt! It’s such a brutal market right now.
Lindsay, I can definitely see the advantages in being spared that decision! And can I say how relieved it makes me to know that mothers don’t always dance around in clouds of maternal bliss? I hesitate to admit to my married friends that I don’t always like being married, and I imagine there is a similar hush-hush quality surrounding an admission that, no, motherhood isn’t always a Huggies commercial. Speaking of diapers.
I’m so on board with you on all of this. I’ve never really thought having a baby would be that great. I don’t even want the responsibility of a pet. In both cases, other people’s are just enough for me. I’m happy for parents, and also happy for myself, you, and others who aren’t currently trying and aren’t unhappy being non-parents. Everyone has a lot to offer to the world, and I don’t think it’s safe or healthy to assume that that always means parenting. Thanks for putting it into words, and in public! Lots of us needed to hear this.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of the sentiments you’ve posted, and shame on anyone who makes you feel otherwise. Our society is a bit ridiculous about pressuring people to have children, especially given (as Sabrina points out) that we’re not exactly experiencing a population shortage.
And 30 is a downright ludicrous “deadline” for having kids. Were it up to me, I would set 30 as the *minimum* age at which anyone should consider it. We just had our first (of hopefully two) and Chris is 38.
Lastly, if you do decide to have kids, I can promise you that you’ll feel exactly as you do now on quite a few occasions even after they’re born. But I can also promise that you’ll be able to handle doing the job and you’ll still have a life (Chris and I just got back from a week trip to Lake Tahoe, and I’m buying my first surfboard tomorrow).
Whatever you choose, you just have to be willing to work to make it happen and ignore the naysayers.
Brian, I was so happy when I saw the pictures Chris put up of your trip to Tahoe. I thought, “Ah! It is possible!” It’s so nice to hear from you two about what it’s like–you’re both so honest about everything, and I love that. Openness is not so common an attribute, unfortunately.
My parents were older when they had me, and my dad has said before he felt he was more relaxed as a parent because of it. I can see the maturity you and Chris bring to your parenting, and I know other parents who waited until their 30s with much success. That makes me feel much better!
I do think there’s something to the idea that you get more relaxed as a parent the older you get. You’ve just got more life experience, and with that comes the knowledge that most things work out okay. I’m a much more confident person now than I was at 25 — and probably I’ll be much more confident at 40 than I am right now.
There are DEFINITELY days when I feel tired of being a parent, and I’m pretty sure that anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. But your friend Brian is right — there’s still time for a life outside of parenthood, and if you do decide to have children, I know you’ll be good at scheduling time for yourself and time for you and Jesse. (I think that making sure you have a life outside of parenting actually makes you a better parent, too.)
thank you for writing this. i agree 100%. the part about the life of a new baby feels like the death of you is spot on.