I'm So Happy I Didn't Have Children

Imaginary babies are just that.

This could be my baby, but it’s not. Image courtesy of freepik.com.

I understand there are rules for how we talk about children.

I understand we’re supposed to say they’re wonderful, they’re worth the trouble, we wouldn’t have it any other way. I understand I’m supposed to have a big, gaping void in my soul because I missed the experience of childbirth (uh, thanks but no thanks) and motherhood. I understand the implication of my choice: isn’t my life sad?

No, it’s not. It’s fantastic.

It surprises me too. I thought I’d be wistful and lonely, because exactly no one told me I’d be glad. I’m going to rectify this and holler “It’s great!” from the rooftops.

The amount of freedom I have is delicious. My delight increases with every passing year. I have problems, but I don’t have other people’s problems. Mine are enough. Remaining childless is one of the greatest gifts I’ve not given myself.

I also spared a soul the trauma of having me for a mother. I wanted to be a good mother, but honestly, I’m not cut out for it. I like solitude.

Children aren’t my reason for living, and my life is better for their absence. I just crossed the line, so I’ll carry on.

Please note I freely admit that being a parent is above my pay grade, and genuinely do not understand how any of you do it. I’m not saying I’d do a better job than you. I just don’t think people like me talk enough about childlessness. Nobody needs a child; it’s a choice.

Well, it used to be a choice. I had a choice. There are plenty of women in the United States who no longer have a choice, depending on their economic status and state of residence. If they accidentally get pregnant, they’ll have an unwanted child.

I had more rights over my body when I was eight than I do now.

Our planet is better off without my children. You can’t leave a carbon footprint if you don’t exist. When I was born, there were around three billion people on earth. Now they’re eight billion.

Three billion is better. We really do not need more people. My DNA isn’t so special it needs to continue. I’ll go out on a limb and say yours isn’t, either.

But it’s difficult to get to the nature of why. Why am I glad? Why am I relieved I’m childless?

The closest I can get to an answer is that I despise obligation. Childlessness releases me from metric tons of it.

Here’s the part where parents might object, insisting they don’t feel obligated to their children. Anything and everything they do for their kids is because they want to.

I’m generous, so I’ll admit to believing some of you. But please be aware, I actively listen. I observe people. I remember what you say when you’re not objecting to what I say. I know full well some of you resent your kids.

Now I do have a family, complete with just enough children for my taste. My husband came with two boys.

A lack of obligation is at the forefront of our success. My husband and I try not to put obligation on each other or his two kids. As a result, I’ve got a successful marriage and good relationships with my adult stepsons.

I’m certain they both have valid complaints about me. But they’re not resentful types, and they text me photos of their dog and funny memes. I’ll take it.

None of us own each other. With a very few exceptions, we don’t go anywhere or do anything unless we genuinely want to.

When we invite the kids over for holidays, we tell them not to feel pressured. They have their mom’s family to consider, and they both have partners. That’s a whole other set of parents to visit.

The greatest gift we give them is an absence of guilt. When they do come for a holiday, when they do come for dinner or a birthday, we’re thrilled. We know they want to be there. There’s not a twisted arm in sight.

We don’t own the right to their time, and we make sure they know it.

Now, I’m lucky. I hit the stepparent lottery.

They both graduated from college, are employed in careers they chose, and have their own apartments. They also have partners I adore, so it’s like I hit Mega Millions and Powerball the same week. I love the men they’ve become.

But I like to flatter myself and say my decision to mind my own business has something to do with our relationship. I never pretended to be their mother. That role was already filled.

I required good manners when they were in the house and no whistling in the car. Other than that, I did my best to stay out of parenting.

I didn’t expect his sons to love me. I would have happily settled for civility. I didn’t look to them to fill a need in me. It’s not their job. I’m happy they were generous enough to tolerate me.

Maybe my problem is with parenting, not children. In the history of time, I’ve heard exactly no one talk about having a kid for the child’s sake. What I hear most is the word want.

I want kids. I want a big family. I only want one. I want a girl. I hope the next one’s a boy because I’m stopping at four, I really want a boy.

When we imagine a family, we imagine what we want. We imagine our children before they come into existence, and they exist for our pleasure. With desire come expectations, one of the Four Horsemen of Disappointment.

So far, we’ve got obligation, expectations, disappointment, and ownership. Having kids sounds wonderful.

I do remember wanting to have children. But the children I imagined loving are just that: imaginary. Real children are human beings, not figments of my ego.

My favorite book as a child was The Melendy Family, a collection of three books by Elizabeth Enright. The Melendys were a family of four brothers and sisters living in New York City with their father and cook, Cuffy. They moved to the country to a Victorian house complete with a cupola on top. They had the kind of adventures children were allowed to have until my generation started raising them.

I was born in 1965. I played with my neighbors next door. I remember every day as an adventure because we were allowed to play without adults peering over our shoulder—the term helicopter parenting didn’t exist in 1972.

And when I look back at my desire for children, what I envisioned was a David Bowie song.

From Kooks, on the album Hunky Dory:

Will you stay in my lover’s story

If you stay, you won’t be sorry

‘Cause we believe in you.

Soon you’ll grow, so take a chance

With a couple of Kooks…

It continues:

And if the homework brings you down

Then we’ll throw it on the fire and take the car downtown.

I wanted half Bowie, half Melendy Family.

A happy home in a big house with enough room to play outside, preferably in the country. At least one dog and hopefully a pony. I’d cook and teach things like manners and ethics, providing clean sheets dried on the line for comfy beds. Our house would be a place of laughter, art, safety, books, discourse. A place to return after the adventures of the day, discovering this beautiful world and who they were.

Doesn’t my imaginary family sound lovely? It also sounds expensive.

It’s difficult to calculate how many millions of dollars I’d need to be a stay-at-home mom in a big Victorian house with plenty of acres and a pony. It’s safe to say I’d need hired help as well.

The amount of money required boggles the mind. And we haven’t even educated them yet.

Here’s what I didn’t envision for my kids: corn syrup, artificial intelligence, plastic toys, Chicken McNuggets, climate change, Donald Trump, people who believe Donald Trump, internet predators, regular predators, iPhones, an absence of critical thinking, arguing about facts, arguing about vaccines, Covid-19, clickbait, TikTok, Instagram, and the overturn of Roe vs. Wade. If I had daughters, I’d like for them to at least know the state doesn’t own their body.

This is not a society I’d wish on any child. America is hostile toward the very ideals it espouses, and parents should be grateful any teacher shows up at work after what we put them through.

When I imagined having children, I imagined a very expensive impossibility.

Parenthood never stops. And I am keenly aware of parents with kids in their thirties and forties, still pining for the kids they imagined. I am constantly biting my tongue, wanting to scream,

Your children belong to themselves now, not you!

I married my husband in part because I knew he’d be a great father. I wasn’t wrong; I’ve reaped the benefits of his parenting skills because I have his kids in my life.

I’m not saying the decision was easy. It was agonizing. But now I know that part of our success as a family was not having kids together.

Many years ago, he and I finally decided the boys were old enough to take to Europe. I wanted to wait till they could get through a transatlantic flight without whining, and I didn’t want any food drama, either. There would be no trips to McDonalds over there.

We sat down to dinner one night and I said,

“We’ve got a big surprise for you two!”

Silence. Both of them looked stricken. Then one of them spoke the words,

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I laughed and said,

“No, no…we’re going to Europe!”

I looked at their faces. One of them fanned his, which had turned red. The other let out a huge sigh of relief and said,

“Thank God.”

Their reaction struck me. They didn’t want me to have kids. I think considering them, prioritizing the kids already in my life, was important.

People who claim to be pro-life do not consider the well-being of children already here. They do not consider how much money it takes to raise more kids. They do not consider there’s only so much time in the day to divide between children.

They’re concerned with the unborn of their imaginations. Imaginary Babies are sweet, innocent, no trouble at all. Who wouldn’t want to save an Imaginary Baby?

I’m so glad I know the difference between an imaginary child and a real one.

Here’s a benefit of not having kids of my own:

Several years ago, my husband’s youngest graduated from college in Amherst, Massachusetts. Several different colleges were graduating in town that weekend, so he thought our best bet was renting a farmhouse about twenty minutes from town. Instead of fighting for hotel rooms, we could bring his mother and father to stay with us.

We celebrated by having dinner there that night and invited his ex-wife and her husband.

After dinner, I was playing Scrabble. I looked up, and realized my stepson was playing Scrabble with his girlfriend and both of his stepparents. Across the room, my husband and his ex-wife were talking with his parents. Everyone was loud and happy.

“I think this is what success looks like,” I thought.

Most of my life has been a mystery to me. I’ve stumbled around not knowing why or what or how. I’m in my fifties, by far my greatest decade, and I’m just discovering what I want and how to live.

If I hadn’t been so screwed up, if I’d felt like this in my twenties and thirties, would I choose to have children as a functioning, happyish adult?

No. Knowing what I know, I’d remain childless. I can barely take care of myself.