Getting Knocked Up. Or Not.

I have felt surrounded by kids lately. My co-workers want

kids of their own so badly that I'm privy to everything from
their ovulation cycles to the 'onesies' that they find on sale.
One of my dear friends just found out that she is pregnant,
and some friends are in the process of adopting. I've been
seeing more and more kids and hearing more parenting
stories lately, and I'm not sure why.

(If you think that this is the part of the blog where I'm
going to declare that my biological clock is about to
explode and that I want children and that I have always
secretly wanted them, I'm afraid that you have mistaken
this blog for someone elses. My apologies.)

I don't hate children, okay? I don't even dislike most of
them. Yet, pushing thirty--an age where all of the people
in ones life seem to have or want kids (or more of them),
I can't even claim the desire for just one. Judging by
society's reaction, that somehow makes me a horrible
person.

Why? That stigma has always mystified me. I know in
my heart that right now, having children is simply not a
priority. I know that I don't have the finances that I would
want to have when bringing a new life into the World. I also
know that I have limited patience with children of any age
who cannot articulate what they want and/or need. I am
responsible enough to be cognizant of these factors. So
why does it seem that this self-awareness gives me a
socially acceptable ranking just slightly higher than that
of a known serial killer?

Here's the thing: people of like mind who don't want kids
get what I'm saying. Parents dont. A lot of parents see
the joy and reward in child-rearing and they think that
everyone should want the same. If you don't, you're just
odd and it makes you appear to have some sort of
deficiency in their eyes (I said some parents feel this
way--not all.) Those parents apparently feel that they
have something to prove (I've never understood that,
either.)

My parents were ages 42 and 39 when I was born. My
only brother is nearly ten years my senior. My youngest
cousin is fifteen years older than me. Needless to say,
I didn't have a lot of exposure to babies, toddlers and the
like. Although I had a few friends my own age, it was
noticeable to others that I preferred the company of older
women who were usually married. (It would sound so
scandalous if it weren't for the fact that I hadn't even hit
puberty yet and that most of these women quietly knew
that I wasn't...well...straight.) I wish they had clued me in.

But I digress...

The point is that my lack of exposure to smaller kiddos
did not prepare me to want any of my own. That is no
one's fault--because me not wanting children is not wrong.
Ask my loving, patient partner: I can be a selfish jerk. I
can be possessive of my time and, like most of us, I have
a tendency to be self-absorbed. But I know these things
about myself. And I think that potential parents must raise
themselves by strengthening their gifts and working to
minimalize their weaknesses--before they try their hand at
raising someone else.

I wonder how many infants would avoid being placed on
doorsteps (or worse, in dumpsters) if their parents had
taken the time to think about these things? Would welfare
reform have been such a hot topic had there been more
self-analyzation? Would the U.S. divorce rate be lower if
more couples fully considered their personal levels of
responsibility and commitment?

For now, I am quite content with my sixteen lb. Cat.
I feed him, I clean up his numbers one and two, calm
him when he cries (though not with a pacifier--I'd lose
my hand), and I both cuddle and play with him. Should
pets be considered children? No. But they're decent
training for those who desire responsibility of a mostly-
helpless being who depends on you for food, shelter
and support.

Like all other choices I have made, this one also comes
with a disclaimer: it is subject to change. I am twenty-
nine. At thirty-nine, after discovering more about myself
and figuring out more of my life, my comments could be
altogether different. All I know is this: when considering
becoming a parent, it isn't all about you. In fact, your
wants and desires are a miniscule fraction in this
equation. It isn't about how much fun you'd have. It isn't
about you leaving a legacy. It certainly isn't about
'keeping up' with your friends or the neighbors next door.
It's about what is best for the child--and I refuse to take
that lightly.