Yesterday I wrote about a common question Wayne and I get: When are you going to have kids?
Well, most of my answers quench people’s curiosity and the matter’s dropped. Others, however, like close friends and relatives, lure me into giving more in depth responses. Like when they question, “But haven’t you wanted to be pregnant? To experience it?”
A major part of me abstaining from motherhood is because if I did get pregnant we’d be facing a mighty big meltdown. I don’t do needles. I don’t know words strong enough to sum up my terror of doctors and needles. And it’s beyond emotional. I physically react too.
My blood pressure skyrockets around doctors, but introduce shots or taking blood and my body revolts. I get sweaty, dizzy, then my stomach erupts and I feel like I’m going to vomit. I never have, but it’s usually because next I’m seized by bad cramps, worse bouts of dizziness and then I have to go from the other end. Immediately.
It’s an awful ordeal. Can’t even imagine how I’d do in childbirth. I’d probably have a heart attack. (Half kidding, half not.)
“What about adoption?”
I have considered it, and Wayne and I have discussed it. He wasn’t too key on it. I don’t feel strongly enough to pursue it, but if I did I have a feeling he’d back me.
“So no kids?”
I never say never because I can’t predict what surprises life might deliver, but if I continue having a say, then, yep, it looks likely no kids for us.
“Won’t you regret it? Who’ll be there for holidays and to take care of you when you’re old?”
I’ll address the regrets first: Possibly. There are times, like Sunday when Wayne and I watched the soccer games in the park, that I wonder if we’re missing out and what kind of parents we’d be and life we’d lead. But to be honest, we like our life the way it is. Simple. Encumbered. Devoted to each other and supporting the passions we want to pursue.
As far as the future: we have other family, and they have kids. Besides, sometimes we can’t make it back for Christmas nowadays. (Because most of our family lives in Colorado.) We end up celebrating with other “orphans” (close friends who either don’t have family or have family elsewhere and aren’t able to be with them either).
And taking care of us in the future? Um, that’s a poor reason to have kids period. And to expect that of them? Why would I do that? I’ve seen far too many kids and parents who end up not liking each other and don’t even talk in later years. Or parents whose children aren’t born healthy who die prematurely. Or who are healthy but are still taken before their time. I wouldn’t have kids just to count on having them there to care for me in my old age.
Once Upon a Mommy
This sounds nuts to most people I tell it to, but a side of me feels that in my past lives I had a gaggle of kids. That I was harried and worn out and the To Dos were never done. That this life is meant to be childless. To give me a break. To give me a chance to chase the things I didn’t have time for before.
Sounds crazy, I know, but I semi-sort of believe it to be true.
And Then There’s the Family Curse
Then again, I am only 37. Which might sound old in one respect, but the women in my family, especially on my mom’s side, are notorious for getting pregnant in their late 30s. My mom did. My mom’s mom did. (Well, she got pregnant in her early 30s, but it was back in the 1930s when that was considered high risk.) My mom’s niece did. And even my sister did. (But she didn’t carry it to term.)
So who knows? There’s still time.
But then I know what will happen. Everyone will ask, “Why did you wait so long?”
It’s possible the questions will never stop coming…