When I put out a call for guest bloggers to write for me while I soak up sun, sand and crab cakes, I was thrilled when Jaclyn threw her hand in the air. This girl is talented in a bunch of different ways and she is just so sweet and down to Earth and funny.
She was a little worried that a post about how she doesn’t want to be a mom might seem strange to an audience of predominantly young mothers. Personally, I thought it was brilliant. Her honesty is refreshing and I love celebrating the differences among women – how boring life would be otherwise.
So here she is, kicking off the I’m Not Around So Read Stuff From My Friends Week. You’re going to love her.
I don’t subscribe by email to many blogs — maybe two? three? — but Phase Three of Life is definitely one of the few. Meghan and I have been friends since college, and I’ve always been in awe of her writing talent.
Case-in-point: Me, a gal with no kids with zero desire to have kids, loves the crap out of this parenting blog. I’m honored she’s let me call this space mine for a few graphs.
When I was about six years old, my aunt gave me a pair of twin baby dolls for Christmas.
They were not your normal baby dolls. There was no cute hair to twirl in my fingers or sweet facial expressions. There was no awesome baby doll dresses for dress-up or that weirdass feature that made dolls go pee-pee in their di-di.
No, these were lifelike infants whose soft plastic faces were molded into wails of the shock from being expelled from their mother’s nether regions, wondering where the warm place went.
Naturally? I burst into hysterical, stomach-clenching sobs. Those little bastards scared the ever-lovin’ doll pee out of me.
While there is a picture of my aunt holding up the offending dolls while I stand next to her and sob, it’s somewhere in an album at my parents’. Suffice it to say: They looked something like this. Frozen in time. Forever …
Today, the sight of an infant wailing does not make me burst into tears. It makes me want to pick him up and cuddle and rock and sing to him.
It does not, however, make me want to have one of my own.
Nor does the sight of a happy infant. Or a happy toddler. Or a kid sitting on her dad’s shoulders. Or an upturned, smiling face smeared adorably in chocolate icing. Or a picture of a sleeping baby nestled on her mother’s chest.
I do not want kids. I have never wanted kids. I love them, desperately. Once I get hitched next year to this dude I’m calling my fiance, I’ll have the three most glorious nieces on the planet. Would I love to babysit them for an entire weekend while Mom and Dad get the crap out of town and toy with never coming home? Absolutely. But then, when Mom and Dad realize that they do have to return and pick up their hyper bundles of awesome, I would happily give them back and return to my regularly scheduled programing.
The idea of ME being pregnant bothers me, immensely. (Let me stress: ME being pregnant. I take no issue with other pregnant woman.) I have no desire to feel a fetus kick at my insides. I don’t want to experience the miracle of birth. I don’t want to have that joyous jumping up-and-down moment as I wave a stick I just peed on in front of my baby daddy’s face.
I’m too selfish for kids. I like to sleep in. I like to travel. I like to have money. I like to go on dates. I like to be spontaneous. I like to leave my jewelry-making tools out on my desk and not put them away for fear of something tiny picking up my needle-nose pliers and plucking out her left eye ball with it.
I like my soon-to-be-husband. He’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. And I want him to continue to be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t want him to have to share me with anyone, and I don’t want to have to share him with anyone.
The happy two-person family, no babies required.
To me, it’s all very logical. When people tell me, “Oh, you’ll change your mind,” I get stabby. Would I ever tell a mother, “Oh, wow, you had a baby? Man, you’re gonna be regretting that decision soon”? Of course not. How insensitive. Whether to have children is one of the biggest decisions a person makes in his or her life. Wouldn’t I, a completely responsible and able-bodied 29-year-old woman, have gone through that thought-process?
I reserve the right to change my mind. I think adoptive parents are some of the most amazing people in the world. Ten years from now, if I’m feeling the urge, of course I’d look into adoption.
In fact, I feel exceedingly lucky that being pregnant weirds me out because even if I did desperately wanted to birth a kid, it wouldn’t happen — I have a younger brother with autism, and this family’s genes stop here, thankyouverymuch.
Alas, I like the idea of mine being a two-person family. It can be just as full of love as your three- or five- or 11-person one. Except it’s much more suited to us.