I love my friends. And by friends here I’m being specific. Because although y’all rock, these are very specific friends I’m talking about for one very small, but ultra-important reason: they don’t think everyone should love children just because they do. And by everyone, I mean me.
Folks don’t understand why I’m opposed to be a parent. And it’s because I’m not. It’s not something I oppose; it’s just a choice. It is as conscious of a choice for me to NOT become a parent as it is for many of you TO become one. I don’t judge those who decide they want to be one…yet, somehow, I am judged for deciding not to be.
Why exactly is that? Why don’t we honor those who make this choice as much as those who do? I mean, it’s not as if we have a population problem and I am needed to carry on the race. (Granted, I’m so gifted and gorgeous that it may be my duty to….haha!) ;-) I’m sometimes told, “oh but you’d make such a great Mom!” And I think: Um…really? How do you know that? Or there’s the “just wait. You’ll meet someone special someday and want it.” And I wonder if their magic ball might could tell me tonight’s lottery numbers along with that bit of prophesy as well. I find it amusing that these people seem to think that they know me better than I know myself, that they could say something so inane.
I also get questioned why I think twice about dating someone who has kids not in their home. This one is a little trickier: I wouldn’t discount them, but it would take a lot to get past that. And it’s simply because I’m a realist. A part-time parent can become a full-time parent in the blink of an eye when that car pile-up happens on the interstate or a routine doctor’s check-up turns up a terminal illness. Knowing what I know of myself, wouldn’t it be naive – even wrong – not to consider these things before getting into something serious with a man with kids?
But, as usual, I digress. Back to the present. A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of spending time with friends who have three darling little girls. What I love about them is that they are parents, but also people. And though their girls are adorable (as, I admit, most kids are), after a few hours, I’ve had enough. I was pooped. Seriously pooped. And instead of having to make up some lame excuse to leave, I was just honest with them: I had had just about as much kids as I could that day. And God bless ‘em, do you know what they said? “We totally understand.” They did not make me feel bad – intentionally or otherwise. They did not try to convince me to stay. And I honestly think they were not insulted, did not take it as a slight, or did not judge me a bad person for feeling the way I did. Gotta say it again: God bless ‘em!
So, folks, I guess what I’m saying is this. Love who you are and what’s right for you. But let’s stop judging us non-breeders for what we are and what’s right for us, too. ‘K? Peace out.
