Childless
Best Friend: Your loins will be burning for a child by the time you leave Portland.
Me: Bwahahahahaha! Not gonna happen!
My best friend has two kids. The last time I saw them, they were barely out of babyhood. Her eldest, a daughter, was the first diaper I've ever changed. I was 34.
The first time I announced to the world that I didn't want kids, I think I was around 18. I have no idea what my reason was back then. It might have been some kind of shocking way to rebel against society. (Knowing me, that's exactly what it was.)
My family and friends assumed I'd change my mind when I got older. So did I.
It was curious how, when I hit 30, that “my loins were not burning” yet. I'd been married for 3 years at that point. That was actually a good thing, because my then husband had convinced a doctor to perform a vasectomy on him at age 28, six months after we met.
Then 35 rolled around. I literally did not think about it. Ever. But its amazing how many people think about it for me. And remind me about it.
You know those movies with the wacky, single, childless “Auntie” character who rolls up at Christmas dinner on a motorcycle, fully decked out in camo and feathers, fresh off a three month hike through Nepal? Well, that's me.
I fully embraced my “crazy aunt” truth many years ago. I've meticulously designed the lifestyle I have and have no intention or desire to adopt the suburban, structured life 99% of my family and friends have. To do that would be throwing away the years of sacrifice and fighting I endured for the dream: the life of a wanderer.
A lot of people mistake my not wanting children with my not liking children. You don't want kids? Oh, you don't like em, they'll say, smiling. They just can't wrap their heads around the disciplined thought I've put into the decision.
For the record, I find children gut-wrenchingly annoying. I don't like being around them. This is not the same as “not liking them”. They're alright, and they bring a lot of joy to those who choose to have them. And whether I like it or not, they are in fact, our future.
But the high-pitched, whiny voices, the constant need for approval, the stomping, the shitting, the messes, the toll they take on their parents, the expense...uh, I'm happy to let someone else do that job.
But, it's different when they're yours! Oh, if I had a dime for every time someone has told me this. And, yes, I believe them. Of course it would be different...without question.
What a lot of people don't know is the real reason I don't want kids. I don't dare explain it to them, because it would take too long and move polite, boring chit-chat into a philosophical realm most people don't want to enter.
So I'm perfectly happy letting them think, she doesn't like kids, so she doesn't have any.
Whatever.
The real reason: I like my life too much.
I've done the impossible in my family. Since I was a teenager I've dreamed of a life of freedom, fluidity, serendipity, and discovery. Like a killer whale in a giant theme park tank, I knew I had to commit to die fighting for the freedom (and danger) of the open ocean. Any thought to the contrary I quickly beat from my mind. Simply put: I'm one of those whales who will go mad and start maiming people if I'm kept in a tank. It's better for everyone involved if I go.
I've had some fantastic adventures, which I can assure you, 100% would not have happened if I had kids. And the thing is, I'm hungrier for more.
I would love to have my own family. If I could be assured that my life wouldn't change too much, I would do it in a heartbeat. But that's not possible. My life would change a lot. And right now, in this moment in time, the benefits to having a family do not outweigh the joy I get from exploring the world unhinged. Think what you like...that's the honest truth.
I've told my best friend this a thousand times. She doesn't seem to agree.
Best Friend: Your life wouldn't have to change that much if you had a baby. I want you to have a baby!!! She says with big, excited blue eyes.
Me: You know how things would go? I'll tell you. As soon as the umbilical cord fell off, I'd throw that shit in my bike basket and we'd go on adventures!
Best Friend: That's fine. You can do that.
Me: You mean to tell me that if I took a newborn infant on a multi-month road trip on a bicycle, they wouldn't call DHS on me and lock me up?!
Best Friend: No! Well...as long as the baby was wearing a helmet.
I start cracking up at the vision of a tiny baby in a basinet on the back of my bike wearing goggles and an itty-bitty helmet. And you know it would be one of those helmets with a mohawk on it, too!
Best Friend: It's Portland! People do all kinds of crazy shit with their babies and nobody cares.
Now, this, I can believe.
*Me: Fine! But you know what else? I'm deathly afraid of messing this person up. I would be one of those moms everybody thinks is a huge weirdo. I wouldn't allow them to watch TV, have electronics, play with Pokemons, or whatever the fuck. They'd eat paleo, spend all day outside building forts and inventing stuff. I'd judge all the kids they played with...big time. And they'd judge me.
“Wow, your mom doesn't let you watch Disney (whateverthefuck)? That sucks!”
Don't you think this person deserves a chance at being normal? Knowing what's “cool” in the world? Not being some kind of traveling intellectual weirdo none of the other kids will relate to? They might even be hated or feared by other kids.
Sorry, if I have a baby, I'm going to do things my way. And I'm not sure I'm okay with being responsible for raising a social outcast.*
Best Friend: Lots of people make decisions like this for their kids. There's nothing wrong with it.
Me: AND I have to deal with their father having his own desires about how they should be raised. If I have to agree to things I'm not comfortable with, will I just end up miserable?
Best Friend: You figure this stuff out as you go! Seriously. You are so damn serious and afraid. We love you anyway. She laughs at me, sympathetically.
Best Friend: You'd be an amazing mom.
This, ladies and gentlemen is why you don't want weirdos having babies! (Just kidding. I have to laugh at myself for being so overly analytical and computational when I regularly accuse others of being robotic and losing their humanity.)
But, seriously. I don't want to raise cute little consumers. I want to raise warriors. I want a five year old who can grow his own food, set up his own tent, and find his way out of a forest, unharmed. Hell, I'd probably leave him in the forest just to see if he could do it. That would make me a proud parent. Not how “polite” he can be in a classroom full of sugared-up dickheads. Not how well he did on some standardized test based on regurgitation. Not how “cool” the car is he picks up his first date with.
Plus, if I had a baby, I would commit 100% to raising him. I don't feel comfortable with the “baby as accessory” I see with so many couples. You bring this person into the world and then throw it into daycare? And when it's not in daycare, it's sitting in front of a screen with all kinds of colorful, loud lunatics bouncing around, forced to consume ads for plastic, squeaky garbage?
That means my career would drastically change...something else I've worked very hard for. Not that I'd be the sole breadwinner...both parents need to be equally involved. I don't like the thought of one parent working all the time and one raising a child. So there would have to be some financial challenges to overcome. I can live incredibly simply and cheaply, and think a child could, too. But, traveling, my friends ain't cheap. Unless you are willing to ride a bike (or walk) and camp every night. Wait! Did I just prove myself wrong? We're back at the baby bike adventure again!
I have to go, but there's lots more to explore here. Including how my best friend may not be so far off in her predictions about this trip.