When I was 17, I had a conversation with my brother while we hung out in my room. I told him I didn’t want kids.
"What? Why not?" he asked. He sounded disappointed. Not in a rude way that people might ask me now that I’m 37, but more in an "it would be cool to be an uncle" type of way.
At that time, I felt suffocated in my house with my strict parents sucking the fun out of my life. The thought of freedom and university and career thrilled me. I saw how my mum gave up her artwork to be with us, and I just didn’t want to sacrifice anything for my passions.
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Of course, at the time, I didn’t know that there might be other options for parenting. Plenty of women have a full career and raise children, and I fully support that lifestyle.
But I still don’t want kids.
Though, I did for a little bit. While I was married, I gave in to my husband’s desire to have children. Like I did with most things in our relationship, I convinced myself that I wanted kids because if I did, our marriage would be secure. But I was scared, as most mums are. Would I be ready? Would I be a good mum? What if they become a drug addict? What if what if what if...
But I was most concerned about sleep. Would I ever sleep again?