spawnless – You Got Sars!

I feel like lately I have been asked some strange questions that you don’t get asked before you are 40. I’ve been asked if I’m working out more than before, because you know… Metabolism. I’ve been asked if my husband is okay with the extra pounds that forty gave me. I’ve been asked about potty habits and if I’m sad because I’m too old now… To you know… (Hushed voice) have babies.

First of all, NO, I don’t fucking work out more, I don’t work out at all because frankly, I don’t have time. I actually work. Like a job. You know, that place you go to earn money so you can have a roof over your head, and food on your plate, and blankets on your bed and all the techno gadgets that keep you connected to the people you may not even want to talk to but do anyway because… life! And if you are lucky, you have programmed the gadgets (by you I mean the smart tech peoples) not to tell you what the cheeto said this week that is slowly making you cray-town. Otherwise you may throw said gadget and cause yourself to have to work at said job more than you already do. When I find time to work out, I’ll let someone know, and they will find me on the beach where the cabana boy will be bringing me a series of tasty adult beverages and I will be doing some lifts- of those drinks to my mouth.

Second, I don’t have a fucking husband! I am happily NOT married, for ten years, to an amazing, difficult, handsome, exceedingly intelligent, ridiculously emotionally unkempt, absolutely perfectly imperfect human. He loves me in spite of myself. I love him sometimes to spite myself and other times to keep myself sane because he may be the only reason I am. And (third, if we are counting) he hasn’t pressured me to have crotch fruit. He doesn’t need a fuck trophy to mark the decade he’s put up with my crazy ass. He didn’t ask for one at the 5 year mark even though he may have thought they might be a fun adventure. If he does want a trophy- I will totally allow some breeding with a hot sars stand in. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was handsome. Chicks propo him him on the daily (look at me using current jargon) but he doesn’t even give them a second. He comes home and snuggles up… to his not wife (who doesn’t work out). The not wife who has stayed for ten years of things. The things no one else can know. And that is what matters.

Finally… don’t even fucking start with the potty habits. You have no idea what this bitch has been through. I have been sliced and diced and teased about the the cauliflower and apertures… If you haven’t had your brother and your best girl photo texting you pics of things that may look worse than your ass to make you feel better about the sate of your union, well… you can’t step to potty talk with this bitch. So go get yourself a Squatty Potty and call me when you understand how life changing that shit is (oh, yeah… I said that!).

‘Till we next…

Most times I feel secure, really secure in who I am. It’s taken me so many years to come inch by inch to the place where I am now. I have crawled through miles of abuse of many kinds. But we don’t grow or become who we are without crawling through the shit right? Right. None of this is new and it certainly isn’t a new topic for me. But as Mother’s Day approaches I find myself deeper in thought about well, the shit that made me decide I didn’t want to be an actual mother. There may be times I act like your mother, everyone’s mother, and even a motherfucker but whatever… At this point in my life, I have been with the same man for a decade. He is rather amazing. I don’t bring him up in this forum much as he is a private person and I respect that. Yes.. more than I respect you. He fosters a feeling of confidence that lets me know that no matter what choice we make about our future it’s okay- it’s ours together, fuck everyone else.

Speaking of decisions, children… It’s kind-of a big deal. I have never borne children – that I did not drop off at the pool. (That’s for my brother… he loves me extra right now and if I call him drunk, like my own personal Uber he might not complain- might not.) And I have never been pregnant, no, really, I promise… yes I’m in my forties and have been married and divorced and in a ten year relationship and I still promise I have never been pregnant. (Also I am capable. Yes, I promise. I have had this checked as well even though I did not want to have children. Maybe we’ll talk about that some other time.) Yet I act like everyone’s mom. In her oh so kind and loving way, my sister likes to remind me – I have never “birthed a child through my loins”, thus I cannot know what it is like. But then I question the “what”… What “what” is like??? To be parental? To be responsible? To take care of a persons’ physical, emotional and financial needs? Because I do and I have and I am… But yet, I have to chosen remain childfree, childless, sans-children, without offspring, spawn-less, barren of crotch-fruit… winless of fuck trophies. Yes. I, just said that. I have never been accused of being politically correct and don’t think I’m trying to start a trend here. I’m also not saying to my real life friends with fertility issues (who know who they are- and probably reading this laughing) that I don’t empathize with their struggle. This is not about them and they know it. And that is my point… it is their struggle, it is their hand to play . We each go through our own struggle. We each have to play the hand we are given by the fucked up clown of a dealer called life. That douche is laughing at ALL of us without mercy. They (It?) give(s) zero fucks whatsoever whether we call it childless, childfree, spawn-less, barren, spoiled-fruit-of-the-loins, loser-of-the-fuck-trophy or just plain winner of the money train… There are zero fucks given by that dude. As far as he’s concerned, it is initially up to us. Maybe not every single one of us, but most of us. I know that there are some.. but duh, exception to every rule.

I read an article that reminded me that I am lucky to have a friend circle that includes very few that give me shit about this choice… Childfree? Or just me? It was in Bust Magazine- unashamedly feminist but sometimes so poignant that I save the bookmark, share and even print the article… like ‘childfree’. When you are in your forties and have been saying you don’t want kids since you were fifteen… this is a badge. People have been trying to convince me since I was sixteen that I was going through a phase. I would change my mind when I met the right man (and if they weren’t sure – like in my late twenties, the right woman) but always they were certain I was wrong and they were right. Very few people had the courage to sit and have the conversation with me… to ask me why I didn’t want to have children, why I was so certain. Those few people walked away with a different perspective and most understood, whether they agreed or not, why I made my choice.

So whatever your choice this Mother’s Day, embrace it. Be strong in the choice and give zero fucks what anyone else thinks. They don’t have to live your life.