In the Company of Children When You're Child Free

I never planned it this way. It just sort of happened. The years drifted by and I could no longer imagine being someone's mother.

My generation benefited from those early-70s bra-burners fighting for equality. I knew I would work but I had my illusions about meeting and marrying a good loving man and raising good loving children. How wrong I was and how far I've come.

It's not that I didn't want to be a mother. It's mostly that I was never with the right man at the right time to start a family, and I did not have the luxury of raising a child on my own. More importantly, I realized that if I had to search for a reason to have a child, I probably shouldn't have one. Two marriages to the wrong men have proven the wisdom of my choice.

When I was 28, I married a Montana outlaw with his own children and a fresh vasectomy scar. It was a tumultuous union, fraught with drama and frequent scrapping for the next dollar. So I became a stepmother. At times, I was even called the "wicked stepmother" by husband, stepchildren, ex-wife and in-laws. After five years, I left the father to his demons and his children, convinced that I could find my own man and make my own children.

That ticking-clock thing really got going during my mid-30s. But I needed a bigger gene pool, so I moved from Montana to Colorado to seek the future father of my future children. Thought I found him once or twice, too. Again, poor timing and poor judgment took their toll and more years passed. There was an ex-married boyfriend who tried to convince me to go off birth control so we could make a little cowboy love child. Being a 38-year old unwed mother of a child by a married man in a small Western town was not on the list of fulfilling my potential.

My second husband was a musician who simply could not imagine being a father and told me so early in our relationship. Though he loved his various nieces and nephews as much as I loved mine. I thought he would have made a good father, but as our relationship deteriorated, I realized he lacked the ability to give unconditional and absolute love. His passion went to his music and we divorced.

After 15 years of on-and-off birth control, my body needed a rest. I took the final step toward being child free by having my tubes tied. Though it wasn't a decision I took lightly, my doctor did not try to undermine my resolve by patronizing me. I'm glad I did it and I do not regret the finality of my decision.

A number of years ago, I read an article about the growing number of women who recognized that motherhood was a choice, and they were not going to make it. The article used the term "child free" to describe our status instead of "childless" and it made good sense to me. How can we feel "less" if we've never felt the "more" of being mothers? We have nothing to compare it to so don't presume we are missing out on something.

As women who have chosen to remain child-free, we are suspect. We are envied, snubbed, pitied, accused of all sorts of maladies, and generally misunderstood. Because we are not mothers, it is assumed we don't like children. In my case, nothing could be further from the truth. I have three nephews and a niece and I adore them. There's a huge difference, though, between enjoying being around kids and raising them. As an aunt, I take my role seriously, but I'm not Mom and I don't want to be.
Over the years, I have met a number of women of a certain age who also are child free. Perhaps we unwittingly attract each other. We all have a story to tell. My own aunt, who has worked for Social Services most of her adult life, chose not to have children. She realized there were too many unwanted and unloved children in the world and wanted no part of it. Auntie insists that her second husband is enough of a child for her anyway. And she has cats.

One child-free friend told me that a prospective online date asked if she was a lesbian. Even men are suspicious of women who are child-free. I recently ran into an old college chum who has no marriages and no children. She seemed sad about that but her time to resolve the situation was dwindling just as fast as the eligible men. When she added that she would have made a great mother, I was quick to agree. Her enthusiasm, unfailing sense of silliness and compassion certainly would have carried into motherhood as well as it did in her career.
I recently saw a neighbor who was pregnant with her second child. Ripe triumph written all over her face, she urged me to have a baby, emphatic in her conviction I would not be fulfilled unless I did. Her opinion of me and my failed state was so obvious it was embarrassing. I was dismissed as pathetic and reduced to that group of childless women who waste their lives yearning for something they can't have.

Give me a break. I never needed something or someone else to make me complete. That has to come from inside and it's a work in progress. A small human being looking to me for its every sustenance is not my idea of fulfillment. Nurturing is meant for those who have an abundance of self-esteem. Now, if I'd found a man who was worth a spit and we had a satisfying relationship, a child borne in love and raised in love would have been automatic and irresistible.

Recently, I rekindled a relationship with an old friend who also is child-free and I asked her about it. Her husband is 50, she is 38. They lead an active life with a canine "child" who is the source of much joy and love. They travel, have great adventures and are so in sync with each other, it's breathtaking.
Another friend stated she just never felt the need to have a child. Her children "are four-legged ones." Her days are full and she has reached a level of achievement, satisfaction and happiness in her life that didn't require child-rearing to get there.

There's probably an element of selfishness to our child-free lives and we recognize that. But who are we hurting? Isn't it better not to bring an unwanted child into the world and risk damaging another life than to do what's expected just because it is? After all, bearing and raising children is a privilege, not a requirement. Look at the dire consequences of bringing a child into the world for the wrong reasons. Just because a woman can have children doesn't mean she should.

I have the utmost respect for those who tackle the modern-day boondoggle of motherhood. From my observation, it's frustrating, scary and hard-ass work, 24/7. Yet, I delight in the joy on my sister's face when her child says, "Mama, I love you." I only briefly felt the need to hear it myself and it soon passed. I'm grateful it never returned.

As child-free women, we are left out of the most dominant topic discussed wherever two or more women are conversing. Sooner or later, no matter how educated, sophisticated or refined the company of women, conversation inevitably turns to children, theirs or someone else's. And as non-participants, child-free women are prohibited from venturing opinions or judgments about any aspect of child-bearing or raising. Aunts and stepmothers carry little weight with a real mom. We can profess all the love in the world for our small relatives but we aren't allowed to express any thoughts on breast versus bottle feeding, eating habits, or whether little Johnny is a prodigy. And do not utter a single word about discipline unless you want to alienate every woman in the room. Instant freeze and undisguised disdain are the only result.

I've never been able to figure out why intelligent, educated, dynamic women inevitably end up talking about the mundane habits of their offspring. Frankly, I'm a little tired of hearing those gruesome stories about whose head tore what. But just try bringing up a different topic like Oprah's book club or the same sex marriage controversy. Oh yeah, mothers don't have time to read or watch the news. It's a cruel downward spiral.

So I aspire to be the best "Annie Dar" I can be. One sister-in-law wouldn't let anyone baby sit her kids but me. It pains me when my sister is sometimes hesitant about asking me to baby sit my nephews. I love those boys and I embrace the opportunity to be around them. They are happy, well-adjusted and pretty gosh darn entertaining. I revel in having even a tiny space in their worlds and hearts.

On my sister's 40th birthday, I had the privilege of putting my youngest nephew to bed. Eddy was very tired and fretting about the disruption in his nightly routine. He tolerated my attempts to quiet him because I sound like his mother. Though I lack her mom-cushioning in front and that probably confused him a bit. I rocked him, cooing and babbling, waiting and watching for his eyelashes to rest on those precious cheeks. As he fell asleep at last, I realized that though I didn't carry him or give birth to him, I would gladly give my life for him, just as his mother would.