I admit I don’t want it all.
Sometime in the last few decades, American society decided women should want to do everything under the sun: marry, raise children, have careers, participate in their children’s activities and take time for health and exercise, among other things. I’ve heard this idea referred to as being “Wonder Woman.” Didn’t anyone ever notice that Wonder Woman didn’t have children?
I’m 42 years old. I am unable to have children of my own. I have no wish to adopt. Somehow, this makes me either worth pity or selfish and in need of feeling guilt. I ask why?
I have a fantastic husband, a dream job with a great company, good friends and family nearby. We have a mortgage and car payments, but no credit card debt. We can travel when we want. We spoil our nieces and nephew. We donate to charity. I feel fulfilled. This life, to me, is the definition of “having it all.”
My husband and I tired of hearing “when are you going to start a family?” about fifteen years ago. We ordered special license plates for our cars that read NO KIDZ in response. That did stop a lot of people from asking but it didn’t stop the pity, nor did it stop the guilt trips.
“You don’t know what you’re missing until you see it through your child’s eyes.” Maybe. However, I know I’m not missing dirty diapers, crying tantrums, the colds that pass around the family non-stop or always being tired. I don’t doubt there are many rewards when you’re a parent. I see it with family and friends. I still don’t believe that being a parent is for me. I resent the implication that I’m less of a person or that I’m selfish because I don’t want children.
My husband is not pitied for being childless, nor is he made to feel guilty for choosing not to be a parent. All I ask for is the same respect for the choices I’ve made.
