I received a request from a friend of mine to blog about the Childless by Choice movement that is becoming a bit of a trend in some of the wealthier countries. Because I like to know what I'm dealing with, I decided to do a bit of digging, and came across this and several other similar sites that tout the benefits of not raising a family.
Now, my readers should take into consideration that I've been writing this on a day when Gutsy is home "sick" (he is so going to school tomorrow) which means the boys have been fighting almost non-stop, and Spawnling managed to throw a 45-minute-long tantrum over not getting any candy. My mommy morale is low, and no amount of caffeine seems to be able to give it a pep talk.
Living childless by choice: It's an interesting concept to me, as I was always of the mind that I wanted my own little band of gremlins to tame. I came from a larger family - there were four of us - and it shaped my perception of what "family" means: kids, chaos, and calamity. And, as a stay-at-home-mom to three boys, I'm living the dream, baby. My house is full of all of those things and more. It's loud, it's unpredictable, and the place is nearly always messy. There are days when it's downright condemnable, or at the very least, looks like a runner-up for an episode of Hoarders (I admit I watch the show just so I can feel better about my own mess. It borders on pathetic that I need to see something that extreme in order to excuse the disaster in my kitchen.)
Yesterday, I visited good friends of ours who just had their fourth baby. I held that little guy, patted his bottom, kissed his crown of downy dark hair, inhaled his newborn scent and wondered how I might bottle it for resale -- and gladly handed him back so his mom could nurse him. Did my uterus twitch? A tad, sure. He reminds me of my own little creatures before their horns grew long and claws grew sharp. So innocent and sweet.
But I didn't want to rush home and have one. Why? Because I'm done having children and happy about it, thank you very much. Just over two years ago, I drove Geekster to the vasectomy doctor and followed him in doing cartwheels and throwing confetti to mark the special occasion. For, within a few short weeks of that appointment, I knew that sex could be sex again, without the threat of morning sickness and more college tuition to save up for.
Look, parenting is hard. It's not some fun, whimsical journey through Magic Happy Land filled with little gnomes who say 'Will you be my mommy?' and traipse gaily through the tulips along side you as your heart swells with joy. Childbirth brings pain of many kinds, and that's only the beginning. In parenthood there is vomit, poop and pee in copious amounts. There are tantrums, lies and broken teenage hearts to deal with. There is an overwhelming amount of laundry.
No, for real. There's a lot of laundry, dudes.
And no matter what you do - what lengths you go to in order to raise happy, healthy human beings - they will likely resent at least some of what you did. More seriously, there are the concerns over raising a child with special needs - be they physical, mental or emotional, that can take your life in a very different direction than planned. Taking on the role of parent may not be what you think you signed up for in the first place.
Then, there are the parents who probably should have given more thought before signing a birth certificate. There are the obvious people - the drug-addicted, abusive, neglectful types who remind us of the unfortunate reality that you don't need to pass any exams to get this job. But there are also the more subtle bad parenting types - the ones who treat their children like accessories. They have them because they figure they should, for one reason or another, then resent the hell out of their lives for doing so. They're obviously miserable, and try as they might, can't seem to make their offspring a priority. Those kids are the ones who know more about what's on television than what's going on in their parents' lives, regularly get sent to school or daycare when they're obviously too sick to be there, and end up getting into a great deal of trouble later on because they figure nobody cares anyway.
With those things I mind, I'm all in favour of someone deciding they don't want to take on that role. Maybe they don't think they'll make good parents, or maybe their idea of enjoying life does not include pacing back and forth at 3AM with a teething baby. Maybe they want to travel, or throw themselves into a job that isn't conducive to having a family. Whatever their reasons, I give them a giant high five for not only recognizing what will make them happy, but not bending to the pressures of community, religion, or society as a whole. They've just saved a potential child from growing up feeling unwanted.
My tree hugging side also understands the environmental impact of having one less potential human on the planet. Fewer carbon emissions, less waste, one less consumer. We're not exactly an earth-friendly species, and I see nothing wrong with having fewer people to share limited resources.
Furthermore, I understand how exhausting this parenting gig is. I know firsthand how much time it takes and how much commitment is involved in boarding the S.S. Embryo. There is a large chunk of one's social life and relationship that walks the plank the minute that first cry is heard. If you're lucky, you'll find it washed up on shore in a few years and can reclaim what's left of it. But in the meantime, it's an all-encompassing, loud, smelly thrill ride. As someone who has spent thirteen years swabbing the parental decks, I'm happy to know I have some shore leave in my future. It's nice on the beach. Maybe some folks don't want to leave it - can I blame them?
While I'm sympathetic to the choice of the purposely un-knocked-up (or un-knocking-up, depending on one's gender), I would also like to point out some of the potential drawbacks of couples who decide not to combine their genetics. For one, as much as much as they may love each other, it's important to know that the love is conditional. Trust me: it is. Don't kid yourself (pun intended). I love my husband like crazy, but I couldn't possibly compare that love to what I feel for my boys.
What does conditional love mean? Well, it means that, as smoochy-cutesy-wootsy as you might be right now, there's still a half-decent chance you'll find yourselves on opposite sides of a courtroom in the future. Or, one of you may pass away prematurely, leaving the other one quite alone. There's the whole unfortunate aging bit, too - you'd better hope you have enough money to have good care when you're older, and that you have people concerned enough about your well being to make sure nobody is hurting you, or stealing from you.
What? Did The Maven just imply that one should have children for the soul purpose of not being alone later on? No, but I'd be lying if I didn't count that as a distinct advantage. My children don't owe me a thing because I chose to bring them into the world, but I would hope the unconditional love we share will continue throughout the years.
That love; that unconditional, incredible bond one has with a child. That is the gift that minimizes the resentment of any unpleasant parental task. It's indescribable to someone who hasn't held their own baby. But you know it has to be good, because it has been, in large part, what has kept the species going for a very long time.
Well, that and sex feels really good. But I digress.
Tonight, after a very long and exhausting day of breaking up fights betweenItchy and Scratchy Gutsy and Spawnling, my husband knew I needed a break. He booked the babysitter - that would be Intrepid - and took me out for a late-night dinner on the cheap at a local Italian restaurant. We drank water out of wine glasses and had food that would make our gremlins gag. We laughed and talked and stuffed our bellies full of deliciousness.
Meanwhile, this post was sitting half-finished in one of my many Firefox windows. I brought the topic up with Geekster and we both agreed that, while we love the freedom of nights out like tonight, we wouldn't trade the kids, chaos, and calamity for anything else. Nothing brings us more fulfillment, happiness, and a sense of partnership than raising our boys.
All those things like attending social gatherings, dinners out, vacations, careers - they can all be quite enjoyable. But once you see your child for the first time, everything changes. Those things lose some of their vibrancy, because the new palette of parenting is so much more vivid in comparison. That's the beauty of unconditional love, and the bottom line for me. It's what made my choice to become a mother so damn easy.
But your mileage may vary, and once again, I respect that. Even if you don't have kids, we can hang out and stuff. And you can pay, because you likely have a lot more expendable cash than I do.
See? I can be very PC-like and inclusive. Isn't that nice of me?
Now, my readers should take into consideration that I've been writing this on a day when Gutsy is home "sick" (he is so going to school tomorrow) which means the boys have been fighting almost non-stop, and Spawnling managed to throw a 45-minute-long tantrum over not getting any candy. My mommy morale is low, and no amount of caffeine seems to be able to give it a pep talk.
Living childless by choice: It's an interesting concept to me, as I was always of the mind that I wanted my own little band of gremlins to tame. I came from a larger family - there were four of us - and it shaped my perception of what "family" means: kids, chaos, and calamity. And, as a stay-at-home-mom to three boys, I'm living the dream, baby. My house is full of all of those things and more. It's loud, it's unpredictable, and the place is nearly always messy. There are days when it's downright condemnable, or at the very least, looks like a runner-up for an episode of Hoarders (I admit I watch the show just so I can feel better about my own mess. It borders on pathetic that I need to see something that extreme in order to excuse the disaster in my kitchen.)
Yesterday, I visited good friends of ours who just had their fourth baby. I held that little guy, patted his bottom, kissed his crown of downy dark hair, inhaled his newborn scent and wondered how I might bottle it for resale -- and gladly handed him back so his mom could nurse him. Did my uterus twitch? A tad, sure. He reminds me of my own little creatures before their horns grew long and claws grew sharp. So innocent and sweet.
But I didn't want to rush home and have one. Why? Because I'm done having children and happy about it, thank you very much. Just over two years ago, I drove Geekster to the vasectomy doctor and followed him in doing cartwheels and throwing confetti to mark the special occasion. For, within a few short weeks of that appointment, I knew that sex could be sex again, without the threat of morning sickness and more college tuition to save up for.
Look, parenting is hard. It's not some fun, whimsical journey through Magic Happy Land filled with little gnomes who say 'Will you be my mommy?' and traipse gaily through the tulips along side you as your heart swells with joy. Childbirth brings pain of many kinds, and that's only the beginning. In parenthood there is vomit, poop and pee in copious amounts. There are tantrums, lies and broken teenage hearts to deal with. There is an overwhelming amount of laundry.
No, for real. There's a lot of laundry, dudes.
And no matter what you do - what lengths you go to in order to raise happy, healthy human beings - they will likely resent at least some of what you did. More seriously, there are the concerns over raising a child with special needs - be they physical, mental or emotional, that can take your life in a very different direction than planned. Taking on the role of parent may not be what you think you signed up for in the first place.
Then, there are the parents who probably should have given more thought before signing a birth certificate. There are the obvious people - the drug-addicted, abusive, neglectful types who remind us of the unfortunate reality that you don't need to pass any exams to get this job. But there are also the more subtle bad parenting types - the ones who treat their children like accessories. They have them because they figure they should, for one reason or another, then resent the hell out of their lives for doing so. They're obviously miserable, and try as they might, can't seem to make their offspring a priority. Those kids are the ones who know more about what's on television than what's going on in their parents' lives, regularly get sent to school or daycare when they're obviously too sick to be there, and end up getting into a great deal of trouble later on because they figure nobody cares anyway.
With those things I mind, I'm all in favour of someone deciding they don't want to take on that role. Maybe they don't think they'll make good parents, or maybe their idea of enjoying life does not include pacing back and forth at 3AM with a teething baby. Maybe they want to travel, or throw themselves into a job that isn't conducive to having a family. Whatever their reasons, I give them a giant high five for not only recognizing what will make them happy, but not bending to the pressures of community, religion, or society as a whole. They've just saved a potential child from growing up feeling unwanted.
My tree hugging side also understands the environmental impact of having one less potential human on the planet. Fewer carbon emissions, less waste, one less consumer. We're not exactly an earth-friendly species, and I see nothing wrong with having fewer people to share limited resources.
Furthermore, I understand how exhausting this parenting gig is. I know firsthand how much time it takes and how much commitment is involved in boarding the S.S. Embryo. There is a large chunk of one's social life and relationship that walks the plank the minute that first cry is heard. If you're lucky, you'll find it washed up on shore in a few years and can reclaim what's left of it. But in the meantime, it's an all-encompassing, loud, smelly thrill ride. As someone who has spent thirteen years swabbing the parental decks, I'm happy to know I have some shore leave in my future. It's nice on the beach. Maybe some folks don't want to leave it - can I blame them?
While I'm sympathetic to the choice of the purposely un-knocked-up (or un-knocking-up, depending on one's gender), I would also like to point out some of the potential drawbacks of couples who decide not to combine their genetics. For one, as much as much as they may love each other, it's important to know that the love is conditional. Trust me: it is. Don't kid yourself (pun intended). I love my husband like crazy, but I couldn't possibly compare that love to what I feel for my boys.
What does conditional love mean? Well, it means that, as smoochy-cutesy-wootsy as you might be right now, there's still a half-decent chance you'll find yourselves on opposite sides of a courtroom in the future. Or, one of you may pass away prematurely, leaving the other one quite alone. There's the whole unfortunate aging bit, too - you'd better hope you have enough money to have good care when you're older, and that you have people concerned enough about your well being to make sure nobody is hurting you, or stealing from you.
What? Did The Maven just imply that one should have children for the soul purpose of not being alone later on? No, but I'd be lying if I didn't count that as a distinct advantage. My children don't owe me a thing because I chose to bring them into the world, but I would hope the unconditional love we share will continue throughout the years.
That love; that unconditional, incredible bond one has with a child. That is the gift that minimizes the resentment of any unpleasant parental task. It's indescribable to someone who hasn't held their own baby. But you know it has to be good, because it has been, in large part, what has kept the species going for a very long time.
Well, that and sex feels really good. But I digress.
***
Tonight, after a very long and exhausting day of breaking up fights between
Meanwhile, this post was sitting half-finished in one of my many Firefox windows. I brought the topic up with Geekster and we both agreed that, while we love the freedom of nights out like tonight, we wouldn't trade the kids, chaos, and calamity for anything else. Nothing brings us more fulfillment, happiness, and a sense of partnership than raising our boys.
All those things like attending social gatherings, dinners out, vacations, careers - they can all be quite enjoyable. But once you see your child for the first time, everything changes. Those things lose some of their vibrancy, because the new palette of parenting is so much more vivid in comparison. That's the beauty of unconditional love, and the bottom line for me. It's what made my choice to become a mother so damn easy.
But your mileage may vary, and once again, I respect that. Even if you don't have kids, we can hang out and stuff. And you can pay, because you likely have a lot more expendable cash than I do.
See? I can be very PC-like and inclusive. Isn't that nice of me?
