By Chelsea Butters Wooding
For the first 24 years of my life, I wanted what I thought was the “American Dream” — a spouse, 2.5 kids, and a home with a white picket fence. At 24 years old, a six-year relationship I was in ended, and I started asking myself why I wanted those things. Upon more reflection, I realized I actually only wanted kids because “that was what you did.” You graduated high school, went to college, got a job with benefits, got married, and had kids. That was the order of operations of life.
However, almost a quarter of a century into my life, the relationship I thought I would be in forever had ended, I was about to start graduate school (the first person in my family to do so), and I wasn’t sure what I really wanted. At first, I started saying “I don’t know if I want kids” as a way to rebel and show how “progressive” or different I was. The more I said it, though, the more real it became.
At the same time, some of my friends started getting married and initiating the process of having kids. All of a sudden, my dear friends were teaching me the harsh realities about the process. Miscarriages (seriously, why aren’t we taught how common those are?!), infertility, IVF (when they could afford it, which was often not until we were in our 30s, when the risk was even higher). Then, when my friends were able to have children, I heard about the impact it had on their relationships, their bodies, their health, their sleep, their work, their perspective, their life.
Seeing so many incredible people go through such challenges for something they wanted so passionately made me realize two things. First, it truly is a miracle when people have children, through whatever means they take. And I don’t say that offhandedly, I actually mean it’s a miracle. Whether it was unassisted and in the first few months of trying, through round upon round of IVF or via adoption or fostering or a surrogate or another creative path, seeing families grow and come together is one of the most beautiful things I have had the honor of witnessing.
I love celebrating someone telling me they are pregnant, asking about the size of the fetus along the way (this week it’s the size of a sweet potato!), buying them as many gender-neutral but helpful gifts as I can without breaking the budget. And once the baby is here? Goodness gracious will I cherish them. I love the shit out of them, because they are simultaneously an extension of a loved one in my life while also being their own unique human. How special is that?
Second, witnessing my friends go through so many challenges and obstacles (and joys) through the process of having kids solidified in me that I really do not want children. Ever. Let me say it again: I do not want children. I’m not just saying that because my partner doesn’t want them (this was one of the first conversations we had in our relationship, because we realized what a dealbreaker it would be for many people). I’m not just saying that because I’m unable to have them (I actually never asked to find out because, even with how certain I am I don’t want kids, I don’t know how I would respond to hearing I couldn’t have them). I really don’t want to have kids of my own. My spouse and I even jokingly (not really joking) started a list of reasons why we aren’t having them.
