My mother always told me that it was the ones who made your heart skip a little that you had to watch out for. Those were the dangerous ones.
I am sure she meant it in a romantic, Hallmark novel way but such is the way with words. They are not always received as they are meant.
Now, in my young adult prime, her words have translated to kids. Those fragile little humans I am supposed to create as my legacy to human kind. Those little humans I am determined not to.
Now, I didn’t always not want kids. Once a long time ago, I had plans to have several. Three seemed like just the right number. I had their names and genders all picked out like cute outfits waiting to be worn.
I had subscribed to the dream that had been dreamt for me by the ones before me. Nevermind I never liked kids, I am sure I would love mine. Nevermind everyone said it was hard, it would be a breeze for me.
It wasn’t until the possibility of being a mother hit me that it finally dawned on me; I did not want to be responsible for another human being, much less one that had to inconvenience me to exist.
I did not want something I could not change my mind on, walk away from when it did not suit me. I did not want kids. I was wrong, I would not love my kids in the ways they deserved to be loved. It would not be unconditional and I could not promise to not leave them at some random strangers door in the middle of the night and disappear into the unknown.
And I could give a myriad of reasons why; it is too much work, I do not want the responsibility, the kids deserve better, I want to focus on other areas of my life and the list goes on and on but if I am being honest the biggest stumbling block is that I do not understand why people have kids.
Remove the accidents, and the societal expectations from the equation and if the answer is that some people genuinely want to be parents, then we can agree that likewise some people genuinely do not want to be parents. Sometimes it is as easy as a choice. Tea or coffee, wine or whiskey, kids or no kids.