When I was a child, I never wanted dolls. (Unless they were action figures that were able to ride my model horses.) I wasn’t into babysitting – I preferred to do yardwork or almost anything else to earn money. I was more likely to be found sitting and listening to the adults than trying to wrangle the younger kids. My sister was the opposite. She was a natural caretaker of babies.

So, when asked, I would say that I didn’t want children. This was never dropped. People never moved on after this like they would if you told them that you weren’t sure what you wanted to be when you grew up. Or that you liked the color blue. Or anything else. This always became a discussion. When I was a child>kid>young adult, I knew that I was young. I learned quickly to say, “Right now I can’t see myself having kids, but I know that I might change my mind.”

Usually this was a more palatable response for people.

I still got follow ups. Here are the most popular:

When you meet the right guy, you’ll want to have kids.
When you’re older, you’ll want to have kids.
What if your husband wants to have kids?
Don’t you think your parents would want grandchildren?
But you’d be such a good mom.
I didn’t think I wanted to have kids either until…

Later, when I was in my late 20s, early 30s, I knew that kids were not a part of my plan. I felt no maternal urges. No need to procreate to leave something of myself behind on this Earth. No desire to create a mini-me.

This is the thing: I like kids.

Teaching kids is difficult but a special kind of rewarding, and I’ve loved every opportunity I’ve had to do so. I love meeting my friends' kids! I love spending time with the kids in my life. I love hearing the funny things they say. I love talking to them. I love playing games with them, getting them birthday and Christmas gifts. Sometimes even just fun gifts from Aunt Mere. I look forward to seeing them and spending time with them and watching them grow up. I’m just perfectly happy not having my own.

I think once you tell people that you don’t want kids, they assume you’re some child-hating curmudgeon.

Once I got older, I stopped with the ‘I might change my mind later’ part of my answer. Instead, I would say, “You know, I used to say that I might change my mind, but at my age, I’m pretty sure that I don’t want kids.”

This was, 99% of the time, met with an argument. From both men and women. I was at the vet’s office once crying as I listened to the screams of my cat as he was catheterized in the other room for a bladder infection. The vet tech said, “Why are you crying? This is nothing, just wait until you have children.” I told her I wasn’t having children. (Now, she had already said some really inappropriate things implying I was a bad pet owner, or I might have just let it go.) She responded with, “Oh, you’ve got plenty of time!” Yes, this is the conversation I want to be having right now.

By the time I was post-thirty-five, I had mastered the following exchange:

Person: Blahblah you having kids blahblah.

Me: I’m not having kids.

Person: What? Why don’t you want kids?

Me: The thing is, I can’t think of a compelling reason why I would want to have kids. And I feel like raising a child is a very demanding, difficult and important job. And it’s not something you should do just because you can’t think of a good reason not to. It’s something you should do because you really, really, really want to do it and do it well.

That usually shut people up.

Also, in my opinion, asking a female about her decision to procreate is an incredibly personal question. It’s interesting to me that we’re so comfortable asking that question of someone we’ve just met at a party, or who teaches a class we take, or works with us, etc. We never say, “Oh, you’re engaged? Are you going to buy a house and move to the suburbs?” “Oh you just got married? Congrats! So what’s next, are you getting a dog together?” “You’re moving in together? Who’s keeping more of their old stuff?” I dunno, it’s just weird and off-putting when you think about it.

People will tell you if they want kids and have plans for kids because they’re excited about it and want to tell you. I will tell you about how I want to get my book published someday and how my kittens are destroying my house and would you like to see a video?

I’d also like to give another perspective on this. I have friends and family who want children more than anything, and for some reason or another are unable to have them. Yes, they either have, or have plans to adopt (or prefer not to for some reason that is none of your business), but can you imagine how it feels to be asked if you’re planning on having children, and you try and try and it’s not happening for you? Or you really want to, and know that medically you can’t? Then all of a sudden, if they answer honestly, you’re in a really awkward conversation. And whose fault is that?

After we got married, people started asking my husband when we were going to have kids. And he said, “We’re not. The wife doesn’t want any.” They would always follow up with, “And how do you feel about that?”

The thing is, I never kept it a secret that I wasn’t interested in kids. Especially with Dean, because he was so much younger than me when we started dating. In the VERY early stages, I told him that I was not going to hang around and be a girlfriend for years, so if he wasn’t interested in marriage, he should just find someone else, no hard feelings. The next thing I told him was that I was not interested in having children, so if that was something that he wanted, we should break up before things went too far. And yes, I was that blunt about it.

Look at these kids who just started dating. And had already discussed the not having children in the future.

Later, Dean asked both my mom and my dad, separately, how they would feel about him proposing to me. My mom made sure to tell him that I was not having children and that I would not change my mind. (I think my dad was still hoping that I would change my mind. Alas.) Anyone thinking of building another life with someone else needs to have this kind of expectation aligned. So, of course, we had done our due diligence in that area.

I’m now going to go over a couple of things that people hit you with when you’ve made it clear that you aren’t having kids and how I’ve found it best to respond in no particular order.

Who’s going to take care of you when you’re old? For starters, this isn’t a reason to have children. You’re producing an individual with a life and will of their own, not an insurance policy. There is no guarantee that: you will live to be old. Your child, god forbid, will outlive you. Your child will have the means to support you. You will still like each other enough to make this arrangement a reality. And on and on and on. Having someone to take care of you when you’re old would be great, but it’s not a reason to bring a human being into the world.

Who’s going to remember you when you’re gone? One, I hope that I’m able to make an impression upon people beyond the act of creating them. Two, not a reason to make another person. Write a book. Make some art. Build a building. Create a scholarship. But in the end, who cares? Live your life well, enjoy your time here. Eventually we’ll all be memories.

You’d be such good parents. I would also have been a fantastic doctor. I was not interested in medical school and even less interested in the life that I would be living afterward. Yes, being a doctor is lucrative and has much prestige and wealth and good will attached. Not how I want my life to go.

Don’t you think that’s selfish? Yep. That’s a real thing people say! Then I tell them how much I make a year and ask them to do the math on how I would support a kid on that. Then they tell me other things I could do and I tell them how I would rather die. A lot of people don’t get a choice in this. They end up being a single parent unexpectedly or have two kids when they were expecting one, there are a million scenarios. And once you have a kid, your life is not your own anymore. You have other people who didn’t ask to be brought into this world depending on you and you have to make good. I am lucky enough that I had a choice in the matter. I’ve used contraceptives my entire life and been very careful with my partners. There are many children in this world who still want for homes. Thankfully there are nurturing souls out there who want to adopt them. Not enough, but they’re out there. Am I selfish for choosing not to have children? Maybe? But that’s like saying I’m selfish because I decided not to get married in my 20s, or to move far away from home and see other places. It’s just… warped.

You’re going to regret it when you’re older. Thanks, Nostradamus! Can you also tell me the exact date and manner of my death? (No, literally, that’s what I like to say back. Especially if they’re a stranger I just met.) Are there any big choices that we make that are absolved from the potential of future regret? I don’t think so. But we have to make them. And we have to carefully consider them and do the best with the information we have. But that’s like telling me that I’ll regret moving to Chicago when I did. Or I’ll regret moving to Nashville when I did. Or I’ll regret adopting two kittens. Or getting married. It’s just a bullshit thing to say to somebody, so definitely give a flippant and bullshit answer.

What about all the people that can’t have kids? Listen. I know many of these people intimately. If I could exchange my uterus for theirs, I would. Is my having a child going to ease their pain in any way? That’s a big fat nope. I actually think it would make things worse if I was blasé about having a kid, had one, and then they had to pretend to be happy for me. Yes, the birth rate declined this year (can you blame people?), but the human species is far from endangered. I think we’ll be fine.

I think Dean would be a wonderful father. I think I would pull my shit together and be a good mom. I’ve always said that if we accidentally had kids, I know that I would end up loving that child. And it would be the weirdest, most amazing goofball ever created. And yes, sometimes I do think that I’d like to see what it would do if we unleashed it upon the world. But then I get to sleep in on Sundays. Read all day if I like. Change residences and occupations as my inspiration suits. And not worry about all of the things I would worry about if that little being was off somewhere and I was unable to constantly keep it safe.

I’m good. I’m really good. Happy to babysit. (With some notice.)

The Decision to Remain Childless