Wednesday, February 13, 2008


I guess I’ve always known I didn’t want children; hell, at age twelve, when the other girls were asking their moms if they could get their ears pierced, I was asking mine if I could get my tubes tied.

The screaming. The drooling. The pooping. The helplessness. The responsibility. Children have always been a turn off. But it wasn’t until recently—thanks in part to The Childless Revolution—that I thought seriously about children, and decided, with some certainty, that they are not in my future.

The sheer prospect of hoarding money solely for myself left me giddy, and dreaming of, gasp, spending it on luxurious vacations and extravagant home remodels, instead of braces for some ingrate teenager, brought me an indescribable feeling of joy. I could finally bask in my selfishness with confidence; children were not for me.

But as I laid in bed last night, with visions of Amsterdam and early retirement dancing through my head, it hit me, I was wrong all along; not about not wanting children; but about the reason why. It wasn’t my inherent selfishness that brought me to the conclusion; it was something much deeper, and it deserves its own run-on sentence:

I think the reason I really don’t want children (aside from all the obvious reasons, i.e. peace, sanity and happiness) is because some subconscious part of my being knows that I have an aggressive form of ovarian cancer; that I will never see thirty, let alone have the opportunity to procreate, and am therefore unknowingly “protecting” myself from more disappointment then my early, painful and unexpected death will bring.

Ahhh, the mind of a hypochondriac.


Miss A said...

I had to, had to, had to comment on this.

Unlike you, I desperatly want children in my life - I somehow picture an incredibly lonely life ahead of me and without children I'd be lost. My husband will leave me... my house will fall down... my job will be given to someone else... but by God, I'll still have my kids to look after me.

It's probably disturbing I think like that.

I used to refrain from making plans for the future because I'd think - 'by that time, they'll know what I've got...' or even better 'by that time I'll be dead'.
But I'm starting to believe that by actually making the plans I might well be making myself feel better... like I don't believe my own lies.

redbench said...

Amen, sister!

Jobthingy said...

Happy Love day from a lurker :)

Leila V. said...

Miss A:
I think it's a tad disturbing on both our parts. ;)

Is that an amen at me or Miss A?

If it's pointed at me, then here's to a life filled with fruity umbrella drinks.

Crappy, I mean happy Valentine's Day to you. And just for the record, I HEART LURKERS!

The Maven said...

New lurker here :)

One of the positive things about having children (and I didn't think I'd ever have any - not by choice, but because my body would fail me) is that they've encouraged me - no, FORCED me - to deal with my hypochondria and other anxiety issues. I have no choice because I have someone who needs me to be healthy and sound of mind.

There are a lot of other reason why I love my kids, but that's a gift they've given back. When my firstborn becomes an ingrate teenager (in about two years - ACK!) I may be eating my words. But I really do think they've helped me grow in ways I wouldn't have been able to otherwise.

Samantha said...

After my husband and I stopped using condoms last April, I briefly melted down about getting pregnant. He's only 2 years out from his chemotherapy, which wasn't supposed to affect his fertility. I kind of relaxed about the idea of being a mother, but still no pregnancy so far. One thought that still haunts me, though, is the "certainty" that if I do get pregnant, that's when his cancer will recurr. Isn't that sick?