A friend recently gave me this book to read. I was bored senseless from having my internet usage limited by the stupid splint I have to wear on my hand (which I have since beaten into submission, hence my returned typing ability) and wanted new reading material to amuse me. Child Free and Loving It by Nicki Defago had me in absolute stitches and I lost count of the number of times I briefly raised my head from the book to shout at my husband “You NEED to read this!”.

Let me get one thing straight before I go any further. I do not hate children. I do not wish bad things upon them. Granted, I’d rather have an adult in the seat behind me on a plane, but I am not a child-hating grinch. One of my most entertaining and enjoyable evenings recently was spent playing Lego with a friend’s 8 year old son and arguing over whether I could take Obi Wan Kenobe in a fight (I totally could, by the way). BUT…I don’t want children of my own. In fact, I will go a step further and say that I am not having children of my own. My husband and I are a happily married couple, me in my late 20s and him in his early 30s, who are not going to have children.

Anyone who is planning the addition of a mini-me or two to their family soon or ’someday’, or who has already heard that pitter-patter of tiny (or not-so-tiny) feet has no concept of how shocking ‘”We aren’t going to have children” can be. We’ve been told that we’ll change our minds (weird how no-one says that to people who say they ARE planning to have kids) so many times that I’ve given up even arguing with that statement. I have a history of serious depression and anxiety/obsessional schtuff making me a prime candidate for post-natal depression and post-natal psychosis, I have a debilitating medical condition that prevents my body from functioning as a body should and I have this weird thang that involves me going into full-on shock at the slightest thing. I have been told by a doctor that I shouldn’t risk giving birth because it would be dangerous to my body. I have, against my better judgment and in ‘oh my god, why is that stuff coming out of my mouth?’ moments, informed kind-of-acquaintances and virtual strangers of these facts, saying “So I suppose I can’t really have kids, but maybe we’ll adopt one day”. Will we fuck.

It’s actually easier to rhyme off medical issues as a justification for my lack of intention to breed than to stick with the truth (not that the medical stuff isn’t the truth, but it’s not the reason) and say “No, I just don’t want kids. No deep and meaningful reasons, no past traumas, not abusive parents. I just don’t want kids”. Cause people find that hard to take. At 20 years old I knew I was going to marry D and spend the rest of my life with him, a lifelong commitment to one person, a fucking HUGE decision as I’m not an ‘oh well, if it all goes to shit we can always get divorced’ person and neither is he. I have always liked cats and dogs. I still like cats and dogs. I have always been freaked out by wasps and moths. I am still freaked out my wasps and moths. I have always known and still know that I hate two-faced dishonest people, boy ‘bands’, walls painted yellow and tracksuits as anything other than gym attire. These things are all related to my identity, my mind, the person I am. And if that person has never wanted children and still doesn’t want children at the age of 27, I’m pretty confident that I can say my mind is not likely to change on certain important life-decisions.

My child-free existence is not a slight against parents or children. I couldn’t give a shit what anyone else does with their life and would never counter someone’s statement of choice about anything with “Oh, you never know…you’re only 20-whatever, you’ll change your mind”. Women through history have fought to be accepted as equal to men and I’ve never once met a woman who would smile sweetly and agree when some asshole points out her bad mood with the words “It’s probably PMT”. We are more than our biological urges. We, as human beings (not just women), can rise above hormonal activity and apply reasons to the decisions we make (or at least most of us can) so being told by someone, specifically someone female, that I will one day succumb to my ovarian oppressor, shit on a lifetime of reason and intelligent decision-making, and think “Hey, you know what? I’ve decided I DO want to have babies cause my womb tells me I do!”. Some people’s decision is that they do want children. Good for them. I respect that choice. But the thing is CHOICE. My choice being different from yours is not an insult to you or your choices. Cause that’s the point. Choices and decisions are individual things, none are right and none are wrong.

So if you ever catch me wearing a tracksuit, listening to a Backstreet Boys cd, eating tomatoes in a room painted yellow and full of moths and wasps you can safely assume that I’ve hit my head very hard or been possessed by some free-floating spirit who fancied having control of my body…and I’m probably about to get pregnant. Cause that’s the ONLY way it’s going to happen.

And no, I’m not going to change my mind.