Counting Kids

I am the childfree aunt they write about in books. The one who lives in a faraway place and spends her days writing and painting and filling the quiet of her world with music and color. The friend you call late at night for a laugh or advice. I am weird and quirky and perfectly content.

I'm not the spinster skipped over by love they usually depict, because for some reason, if a woman does not want kids, she must be single. It's as if to say, see, this is the reason she has no kids. She never met the 'right man'. Instead, I am happily married to a partner with the same goals. We enjoy our mornings together, spend our sleep holding hands, and our afternoons sharing tales. I found the perfect partner, and we both chose an empty test.

This life was never proposed to me as an option. Everyone in my family had children, save one odd ball uncle, and it was always depicted as a bit of a tragedy. As my cousins grew up, they too had kids, and the ones who did not, just had not married yet.

Growing up, I was never asked if I wanted to have kids. Instead, I was asked how many kids I wanted to have. And, truthfully, when left with that question, I never imagined an answer outside it. I wanted the number to be even, so two seemed like a nice number. But my mother had four, and most books I liked also had three or four. So maybe that was the answer.

I did not know any childfree adults by choice. It was always just a circumstance that happened to them rather than a destiny they chose. And, it would be shared wistfully, as they imagined what could have been.

In addition to it all, my mother is what is now labeled as a trad wife. Motherhood in my family was presented as the greatest occupation for everyone rather than for those that want it. My family's religious and farming roots drove several to have as many kids as they could reasonably afford. My grandmother had twelve, my great grandmother fifteen, and my aunts a range of numbers, averaging around four. Anyone with a number as low as one or two, expressed that they had wanted more, circumstances had simply gotten in the way.

"There is no greater calling than being a parent," was told to me as inspiration. But the same sentiment was never shared with my brother or boy cousins. Kids were something the wife wanted and the husband gave her. At least, that's how it felt.

You can imagine my surprise, when I developed chronic pain and a disability at fifteen and asked myself for the first time, "Can I even have kids?" That question naturally led to, "Do I even want kids?"

It was an alternative reality that had not yet existed in my universe. I wanted to get married. And if you got married, usually your spouse wanted kids. The more doctors I saw and the worse my condition got, the more apparent it became that I would never have kids. A doctor confirmed it would be risky. Then later, multiple gynecologists confirmed an additional issue with my body. Each told me I would need surgery if I wanted to have children. Only one was pushy when I said I did not. I never went back to suffer her shaming or superiority.

People are still quite pushy when I share that I do not want kids. Especially if they see that I am happily married. I started to overshare of my medical history because telling them I did not want kids was not enough of a reason. But really, if I wanted kids, there were ways. I could adopt or surrogate or have surgery and risk my health. When I slowed down and asked myself if I wanted kids, I found the answer to be no.

The idea of having a child did not appeal. Your world stops being yours. It becomes teaching, practicing patience, cleaning messes, surrendering sleep until suddenly there are no more quiet afternoons without planning. No more impulsive plans that are not child friendly. It felt like the death of a part of myself that I enjoyed; my complete independence.

My sister had a child, and for me, being an aunt was enough. I got the best of both worlds. I had more money and time to do what I wanted. Which meant I could spend heaps of both on spoiling my nephew without the massive task of raising a child being my primary responsibility.

I shared with anyone I dated that I did not want kids. Then I met my partner, and we were aligned. We acknowledge things could change for either of us as we neared our 30's. But instead, our desire to not have kids grew stronger. We found our life and relationship to be fulfilling and fun. It was not the empty void or tragedy I had been raised to believe.

Naturally, we had to fight off everyone's pestering.

"You'll change your mind." I have changed my mind about very few wants in life. I know myself well.

"But you two would make good parents! You're so good with kids." Not enough of a reason to do something. I am also good at math but have no desire for a career in it.

"But you make good money." That I like to save and spend on my hobbies and my nieces and nephews. I cannot afford to be the fun aunt and the fun mom.

"But you were created to have children. You'll understand after you have one." I do not believe that is my purpose on earth. More alarmingly, how many people never understand after they have a kid? What then?

I think healthy people assess and reflect on if they want their world to change to raising kids. They take the decision very seriously and only move forward with a resounding yes. And for us, there has never been that yes. We have never wanted to pivot from focusing only on each other to nurturing a human.

How many people never slowed down to ask themselves that simple question. Do I want kids? How many people had children just because? Would there be less neglectful parents? Would there be less angry parents? Less abusers? Would the world sound different?

Unfortunately, in our current society I continue to have to defend that choice. I am getting better at defending it. Better at not caring if someone believes I am content. But the critics of those of us who choose to be childfree is rising as the birth rate declines. And it feels like many are pushed and forced into it, especially as access to choice is removed in America.

The simple truth is that we should ask girls if they want to have children. And we should trust that they know themselves when they say, no. Naturally, that answer is allowed to change. But it is also allowed to stay. And that does not make life any less.