procreation

My husband and I do not want to have kids.

Gasp! I know, it’s like I just broke the Golden Rule. I don’t know what the Golden Rule is, but I do know it has something to do with biological clocks and a woman’s desire to decorate bedrooms with teddy bears and diaper genies.

Up until about a year and a half ago, I was sure I did want kids. Since I’m unable to physically bear children, my husband and I planned to adopt (as my sister and I were adopted), and I’d already vetoed these terrible names my husband wanted to inflict upon our child.

Then my sister had a baby, the most precious little boy in the entire world, and I fell in love with him the moment he was placed in my arms. I was amazed by the ease and speed with which I could feel such responsibility for another human being. I’d only known him for a few minutes, but with undeniable certainty, I knew I would do anything for him.

Since that time, I’ve taken care of my nephew quite often, and I love him more with every passing day. However, I also realized that I although I loved being an Aunt Sam more than anything in the world, I didn’t want to be Mama Sam.

For one thing, I’m a worrier. This past weekend, my husband and I went over to my brother-in-law’s house to baby-sit my nephew for a few hours. He was starting to get over a cold, so crap was leaking out of his nose every five minutes. Unfortunately—and this is something that fathers should TELL their babysitters—he also harbors a great aversion to Kleenex.

So he’s sitting on the couch watching Cars, and I notice that a bunch of yellow junk is oozing out of his nose. So I grab a tissue from the box in the kitchen and go up behind the couch to wipe his nose. He catches one glimpse of that Kleenex and LAUNCHES himself off the couch, FACE-FIRST onto the floor.

He, of course, starts, screaming, so I rush around the couch to pick him up, telling him it’s going to be alright, for GOD’S SAKE, it’s going to be alright. Then I notice a trickle of blood running from his lip down the left side of his chin.

I’m thinking, OH MY GOD I BROKE THE BABY.

I start crying, the kid is crying, and my husband rushes in from the other room, thinking someone must have a bashed-in skull. But no, it’s just inept Aunt Sam trying to calm down the poor baby with tears streaming down her face.

I’m lucky I escaped the entire episode without a heart attack, and for the rest of the afternoon I’m watching my nephew like a hawk, certain he’s going to eat something poisonous or perhaps encounter a rabid coyote on the back porch.

Everyone says that parents get over the insane protectiveness with their own children, but I know myself well enough to realize that motherhood would be a non-stop stroke waiting to happen.

There are other reasons why I don’t think I should have kids. I’m very routine-oriented, set in my ways, and I’ve grown to like my life the way it is. I like that my husband and I can make last-minute vacation plans or sleep in late on Saturday mornings without any obligations. I enjoy the relative lack of stress in our lives, the comforting predictability that comes with a childless existence.

But apparently, if you decide you don’t want to have kids, other people (mostly mothers) believe that you are the SPAWN OF SATAN. How can I be so selfish as to not want kids? Why am I shirking my responsibility as a woman? My husband doesn’t have to tolerate that kind of criticism from his male friends, but in a circle of women, I’ve become a pariah when the subject turns to parenting.

Why is that? Why are you expected to procreate? I figure, it’s better for me to say up front that parenting isn’t for me than to adopt children out of some sort of misguided responsibility and find myself inadequate.

If I had kids, if I suddenly got pregnant (although it’s impossible), I would welcome the challenge with open arms. If my nephew was suddenly orphaned, for example, he would find a loving and nurturing home with my husband and me.

However, I do think it is my right to decide I don’t want kids. Are you a mother or a father? If so, have you always known you wanted kids? And if not, do you face criticism from others for your decision?