Maybe When I'm 30

I started another blog a while back to talk about being childfree, but I haven't updated it in quite a while and decided there's no reason I can't share all my thoughts right here. So over the next few weeks I'll be re-posting some of the things I originally posted there. This post was originally from last year, just as I turned 30.

Maybe when I’m 30…

That’s what I used to say when people asked me about having kids. I always thought that I’d have kids at some point because I figured I’d want to at some point. No one ever tells you it’s perfectly fine to neither want nor have kids. They spend most of their time, in fact, telling you the exact opposite.

You’ll change your mind… One day you’ll have kids… You’re too young to know yet…

Whenever anyone asked what my plans for kids were, I certainly did know that they were not in my near future. I just didn’t have that urge. But I swallowed what they were feeding me and was convinced that one day I’d wake up and realize Oh my god, I’m ready. I want to be a mom! So in high school, and college, and after college when I got married, whenever anyone asked about kids, I told them maybe we’d start trying when I was 30. That seemed like a good age. I figured we’d be financially established by then, but it wasn’t so late in life that I’d be risking health issues for either myself or a potential baby.

Well, yesterday I turned 30. (Edit: Actually, now I'm 31!)

A few years ago I started getting a little anxious about that number. Not because it means I’m getting older, like many people seem to assume. Hell, I’m excited to be 30 years old! I feel like this will be a great year for me. No, the reason I started looking at 30 a bit sideways when I was still in my 20s was because there were still so many goals I hadn’t reached and that seemed like they would be ten times more difficult if I suddenly had children to care for. I’d been saying maybe when I’m 30 for so long, but I was starting to think I should start saying maybe when I’m 35. That wasn’t too late, right?

My concerns over the age at which to have my first child were superficial at best. It was a distraction from the real reason I was wary about reaching the maybe when I’m 30 deadline. The truth was that I just didn’t want kids. I still hadn’t had any urge or desire to have a child. Whenever I thought of my future – where I’d be or what I’d be doing – kids never factored into my daydreams and desires.

But… I couldn’t say that… could I? It seemed so strange. So foreign. As I mentioned before, we’re all indoctrinated with the message that we will all be parents one day, and it will be glorious, and hard, and rewarding, and frustrating, and miraculous, and fulfilling, all at the same time!

No one tells you that you can choose not to have kids.

When I first realized that I didn’t want kids, period, I couldn’t even assert myself fully. It was all I don’t think I want kids… Maybe I’ll want them in the far-off future, who knows? But I doubt it… Who knows, who knows… Because I was afraid of the reactions I would get. I mean, doesn’t everyone want kids? How weird was I for not wanting what everyone else wanted?

It’s taken a few years, but it finally doesn’t feel weird to say it. I’m not having kids.

Okay, I lied, it’s still weird. I still struggle with worrying what people will say or how they’ll look at me when I say firmly, “I am not having children.” But even though I worry about that, I’ll still tell them.

No kids for me. Not even when I’m 30.

#Scintilla13: Baby Fever

Today's Scintilla prompt:

B: Write about spending time with a baby/child under age 2. If you’re a parent, do NOT write about your own child.

And today's fiction:

As soon as my sister Caroline walked through the front door, I plucked baby Isabel from her arms and whisked her away to the den. It would take Caroline at least ten minutes to unload her massive diaper bag and portable playpen. Having an infant seemed like a huge hassle.

Izzy smiled and babbled as I removed her mittens, hat, and coat. She was pretty hideous right when she was first born, but I suppose most babies are. In the nine months since, she's gotten cuter every day. Those chubby cheeks are so pinchable and kissable, I can hardly contain myself. Something about high levels of cuteness makes me aggressive. I could almost literally gobble her up.

The baby seemed sleepy, so I cradled her against my chest and walked around the room. As her eyelids drooped, my heart swelled. This is how I love them. Docile, tiny, peaceful.

"Thanks so much for babysitting," Caroline said, coming into the room.

"Of course. You know I love to."

She peeked over my shoulder. "Oh thank goodness. I thought she'd never fall asleep. She's been fighting it for a while."

We were silent for a moment, both studying Izzy's little face. The impossibly smooth, porcelain skin. The round nose. The eyelashes I would kill for.

"I can't believe she's nine months already," I said.

"I know. It's gone by so slow and so fast at the same time."

"You ready to start trying for another one yet?"

She laughed. "You could always get one of your own, you know. You and David will be great parents."

"Nah. I'll just borrow yours." Izzy began to feel heavy in my arms.

"When do you think you guys will try?"

"We won't."

Silence. Caroline stared at me.

Awkward silence.

I tried not to imagine what was going through her head. I'd heard it all before. How can you not want kids? You'll change your mind. It's different when they're your own.

Babies are great. Toddlers and teens are not. I loved Isabel almost like she were mine, but I loved being able to give her back. I'd never had any urge to have one of my own, though.

I looked at Caroline, silently daring her to take her best shot.

"Cool. You'll get to spoil Isabel all you want."

Caroline smiled. I smiled. In her sleep, I'm pretty sure Izzy smiled.