Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Whiny Wednesday: [Bleep]ing Hormones

Three words today – or rather, three letters: P.M.S. (or P.M.T. for some of you.)

After having a complete and utter meltdown over a missing phone headset yesterday, the ONLY thing that could restore me to a dignified human being was a bag of sweet potato fries and a can of lemon soda. Salt, sugar, and carbs. That, plus sending myself to bed early, like a cranky toddler.

It’s amazing the power of hormones. They can reduce an otherwise rational, level-headed woman to a blubbering illogical mess, and they can prevent a healthy young woman from producing viable, fertilizable  eggs.

It is Wednesday today, and I am SO whining about this today.

It Got Me Thinking…About What Makes Me Crazy

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

You think you’re finally okay with being childfree, then your best childfree girlfriend announces she’s EXPECTING! and you find yourself sobbing hysterically over a carton of Haagen Daz. You turn on the six o’clock news thinking you’re going to hear actual news, but instead you get bombarded with baby bump status reports and profiles of unnaturally gorgeous celebrities who reveal secrets for losing all their pregnancy weight in just 4 weeks. You attend an important conference, all excited to focus on building your business, and get stuck in the middle of a passionate discussion about the struggles of working moms.

Is it just me, or is the Universe trying to make me crazy? I thought I was just being oversensitive, but then I got a new cell phone. In order to set up the apps, I needed to read the manual, which was only available online. In order to get online, I needed to register my phone. In order to register my phone, I needed to get the serial number from under the battery, inside the back panel. To open the back panel, I needed to refer to the manual. (Warranty be damned, I finally pried the thing open with a screwdriver.)

Once I got the manual, here’s what it said about organizing my apps: “Icons that have the * symbol cannot be removed. Only icons with the * symbol can be removed.”

I give up. Clearly the world has gone mad and is taking me down with it.

Pass the ice cream, please.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She’s mostly at peace with her decision to be childfree.

Measuring Progress Via the OB/GYN

Mud Dancer Wearing a Mask ca. 1990s Solomon Islands, Melanesia, courtesy MS Images

Reader Katy contacted me recently about the overwhelming experience of visiting her OB/GYN and being inundated by all those pregnant bellies. I’m sure many of us here can sympathize with her.

I got to thinking back about my own experience with those dreaded visits and was interested to see how they ultimately provided a measure for my progress.

When I was trying desperately to get pregnant, I remember looking at all those pregnant bellies and baby pictures posted on my doctor’s wall. I’d fantasize about making my first pre-natal appointment and glowing proudly in the waiting room. Then I’d imagine my baby’s picture up on the wall of fame.

As I continued on my journey and it became apparent that pregnancy wasn’t going to come easily for me, those annual visits became harder. My eyes would turn longingly to the bellies and the babies, but at the same time, I wanted to look away. I couldn’t bear to see what I didn’t have and didn’t know if I’d ever have. It was just too painful.

It didn’t get any easier after we made the decision to stop our quest for a family. I think that first visit after we stopped was the hardest of all, as I had to look at the mommy pictures and try to reconcile the idea that I would never join their ranks. To make matters worse, the Nurse Practitioner, a woman I’d been seeing for my annual exam for years, came in with my chart and started asking the usual slew of questions.

“You’ve never been pregnant?”

“No.”

“Are you using birth control?”

“No.”

“Are you trying to get pregnant?”

[Pause] “Not any more.”

There was another longer pause as she tried to piece all this together, so I saved her the trouble and explained our situation and that we’d decided to move on. She went on to tell me about a friend of hers who was 46 and had just had her first child via egg donation. I remember mumbling that it wasn’t for us and hurrying the conversation along to the real reason I was there.

Interestingly enough, it wasn’t until much later, when I was replaying the horrible scene over in my mind for about the hundredth time that I realized she wasn’t telling me the story from an “It’s a miracle and it could happen to you, too,” point-of-view. There was lot more to her friend’s story than I’d given her the chance to tell me, and she was in fact showing her support for my decision to draw a line in the sand. In hindsight, I wish I’d been in a place emotionally to have a conversation with her about her friend, as an understanding ally was exactly what I needed at that time.

At my last appointment earlier this year, I found myself studying all the birth announcement photos more carefully. I formed opinions about people’s choices of baby names, looked for families I recognized (and found one), and fabricated histories for those I didn’t know. I did this without sadness or envy or remorse.

Looking at those pictures was almost like browsing the pages of National Geographic and seeing photos of some fascinating tribe who had this strange ritual called “reproduction.” I felt that I was not of their tribe. I didn’t feel superior or inferior, not less than or more fortunate than, just different. I’m from another tribe. I will never be like them, and just as similarly, they will never be like me.

Coming to terms with being childfree takes time and some days you may feel as if you’re making no progress at all, but sometimes the thing that can be the hardest to face can turn out to be the thing by which you’re finally able to measure just how far you’ve come.

Fabulous Friday: Canoes and Medals

Hope your Friday is fabulous today. Did you rekindle an old passion this week? Or try something new?

Mr. Fab and I took a canoe down the Russian River last weekend. It was definitely new for us. I won’t bore you with the entire story, suffice to say, we saw much of the scenery backwards, became intimately acquainted with a couple of overhanging trees, and I lost my prescription sunglasses overboard, so navigated most of the river basically blind. But we survived, and ultimately (in hindsight) we had fun, plus we learned a lot about our relationship, not least of which is that we’re much better in competition (backgammon, dominoes, mahjong) than in cooperation (tandem riding, canoeing, etc.) Information that’s good to know, I think.

What about you? What did you try?

In other totally unrelated new, I’m very pleased and excited to be able to officially announce that my book, I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to Say No to Motherhood, just won a silver medal in the Independent Publishers Book Awards. So, thank you to all of you who’ve been so supportive and especially to those of you who took the time to write nice things about it to me, on Amazon, or on your blogs. The awards ceremony is on Monday in New York City, but unfortunately I won’t be there in person. Rest assured, though that I’ll be raising a glass here in California.

With Eyes of Faith…Charity and Social Justice

By Dorothy Williams


 

“But when you give alms,

do not let your left hand know what your right is doing,

so that your almsgiving may be secret.

And your Father who sees in secret will repay you.”

 

~ Jesus

Gospel of Matthew, chapter 6, verses 3 & 4

 

The virtue of charity is about more than writing a check to a dachshund rescue group.  As I wished friends at church a “Happy Mother’s Day” this year, I realized that this too was a form of charity and a gift worth giving.  Because I gave from my poverty — my lack of children — the gift felt more sacrificial than inking over alms in the form of cash, so that’s why I almost overlooked it as a practice of virtue.

 

Why are these gifts so hard to give?  Maybe it’s because we look for immediate reward from people rather than God; maybe it’s because we get tied up in knots trying to achieve social justice.  A Chinese proverb says: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” Charity is the initial gift of fish, while social justice changes the man’s behavior, to cure the problem requiring charity in the first place.  When I first grappled with the fact that I was childless, all I wanted was social justice.  If I could just change society’s perception of my status, I would not have to be so understanding, so charitable, in the face of such monumental ignorance and insensitivity.  But in a child-centric culture, I was in over my head. Opportunities for social justice seemed to be around every corner and it frustrated me as I tried to correct problems that sometimes didn’t even exist!  I eventually learned that charity is something I could give until I had the opportunity to cure the problem at its root.

 

Nowadays, when I enter a troubling situation where I do not have the capacity or motivation to teach, I give an inward glance to the Lord, secretly communicating my need for grace in dealing with the person who has just crossed a mental boundary. Sometimes my gift of charity is humor, like when I brush off an insensitive comment with a joke.  Sometimes the gift is sacrificial, like when I wish someone a “Happy Mother’s Day”.  Finding balance between charitable and teachable moments is worth the struggle we go through to find it. The reward that comes from God alone is priceless.

 

Dorothy Williams lives near Chicago.  Her favorite pet rescue group is Midwest Dachshund Rescue. You can find them at:   www.mwdr.org.

Editor’s Note: This will be Dorothy’s last “With Eyes of Faith…” column. Please join me in thanking her for sharing her words these past months and wishing her well on her new writing ventures. Thanks Dorothy.

 

Whiny Wednesday

It’s Whiny Wednesday, your chance to really say what’s ticking you off.

This week, my whine is that I could really use a good whine about a couple of things that are rubbing me the wrong way this week, but because I don’t blog under a nickname, I can’t, in case the whinees recognize themselves. So, “harumph!” is all I have to say this week.

You, on the other hand, are free to whine to your hearts’ content. So, please, have a whine for me, too, will you?

It Got Me Thinking…About Tantrum-Free Vacations

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Bonjour! I am back from a bon voyage to the City of Light and I am here to report that it was lovely. I walked, cycled, toured, explored, drank wine, ate pastries, and people-watched till I almost missed my over-extended “real” life.

Among the people I watched were the children. Earlier this year a woman released a book about her observations that French children are better behaved than British (and American, I assume) children. French Children Don’t Throw Food claims the author. Oh, really? Now I haven’t read the book, so I don’t know what she observed, but based on my own completely unscientific research I can report: They most definitely do.

During our brief visit to Paris and a few surrounding cities, I witnessed red-faced, shoe-tossing, hair-pulling, sibling-hitting, throwing-themselves-on-the-ground-while screaming hissy fits in several languages. I watched German mothers, Chinese fathers, and French grandparents try to calm their foaming little monsters into submission, all while my husband and I blissfully enjoyed our childfree vacation.

And the best news is, once we returned stateside, we continued to enjoy the relative calm of our normal life because we are childfree. The only food throwing in this house happens when we’re making pizza dough from scratch.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. Her memoir about her journey to childfreeness is in the works.

Rekindling Old Passions and Finding New

I have a new passion: bird spotting.

Okay, so it’s not exactly new, nor is it the kind of passion that has me twitching in a hide in the middle of a field every weekend, so let’s call it a rekindled interest instead.

When I was young, I knew the names of hundreds of birds. Since then, I’ve moved to another continent with new birds and I’ve forgotten so much of what I once knew.  But on a recent trip to the coast, after squinting at a flock of birds nesting on a cliff face and having no clue what they were, I invested in a pair of binoculars and a copy of Sibley’s Field Guide to Birds of Western North America.

In all honesty, I stink at bird identification, and I’m stumped by more birds that I identify, but I’ve added several species to my scorecard, from the tiny Oak Titmouse that visits the “Bird Café” outside my office window, to the magnificent Bald Eagle that circled above me in the San Juan Islands. I even managed to identify a Western Screech-Owl after an in-depth search for recordings of its call. But most of all, I’m having fun rekindling an old hobby and learning something new.

So here’s my challenge to you on this fabulous (pre-holiday weekend) Friday: What can you learn about next week? Maybe it’s an old passion you can rekindle or a new pleasure you’d like to investigate. Find something new to learn and report back on what you’ve learned, even if it’s just a bit of trivia on your topic.

For now, I’ll leave with a very poor quality iPhone photo of a pair of Common Mergansers (Mergus merganser) that I spotted on the creek in my neighborhood. Happy holiday weekend to those of you stateside, and have fun learning something new!

P.S. Thanks to Kathleen for her suggestion for this post and for her excitement over my very common Common Merganser.

I am Exactly Where I Want to Be

by Tofy

So I’m outside enjoying what is going to be the start of a stunningly beautiful spring morning. As I look all around me, at my home, the beautiful pond with the ducks quacking away, and my dog by my side…  it dawns on me – I AM EXACTLY WHERE I WANT TO BE.  I am experiencing a moment in life when all my successes and all my failures are coming together to afford me this wonderfully serene spring morning.  And I wonder – would I have experienced this moment had I chosen to have children? Could it be that my life is “right” without children?

In the past, I used to wonder; what went wrong in my life, why me? Why did God decide I shouldn’t have children?  

As a rule I am a simple person. I have a very nonchalant laissez faire type personality.  I never truly longed for children, never fretted when at the peak of my fertility I chose to divorce a man I didn’t love, drive across the country to attend university to take up a new career in design. Then when most of my friends were popping out babies, I was popping out logos and print ads for design agencies.  Why?  Because at that specific moment in my life, I was right where I wanted to be.

I can’t say I entered my late thirties without a little angst about being childless.  I had finally found a man that I loved, that had the same outlook on life that I had. And for one short moment in life…we tried.  We tried to get pregnant that is.  But at forty-three, (yes, we started a little late) it was not to be.  There was no reason to look into why we weren’t getting pregnant; after all, I was premenopausal.  Looking back it was probably just because it was the right outcome for both of us.

I can’t recall exactly when it was that I chose to let go, but what I do recall is what it was that I said to myself that sealed the deal.  “What was it about being pregnant that I really wanted?”  And in that very question came the answer.  BEING PREGNANT.  I didn’t want the months of morning sickness, the sore backs and irritable moods.  I didn’t want to change a million diapers, watch my children grow out of all those designer kid clothes, or see them when they had their first heart broken by an unworthy girlfriend or boyfriend.  It wasn’t all that that I wanted, awful as that may sound.  What I wanted, at the ripe ol’ age of 44, was that moment you realize you are pregnant.  I’ve taken numerous pregnancy tests in my lifetime, just once I wanted that darn thing-a-ma-jig stick to have a plus sign!  I wanted it so badly that I even photographed the one single “ovulation stick” I ever peed on. It was so unreal to see a stick that I peed on have a big red plus sign.  It was the closest feeling I ever had to being pregnant.  But as I said, it was not to be. That’s when I realized having children was probably not for me.

So here I sit, writing this article, the ducks are still quacking in the pond and yes, my dog is still lying by my side.  Life is pretty good today. And yes, I can honestly say – I AM EXACTLY WHERE I WANT TO BE.

Tofy is a Freelance Graphic Designer. You can read more about Tofy where she writes about her passion for dogs and design.

Whiny Wednesday: Haters Gonna Hate

According to Urban Dictionary, “Haters gonna hate” is:

“A phrase used to acknowledge individual superiority in the face of negative external accusations. Can be repeated twice for emphasis. Often accompanied by a strutting walk away from offending party.”

I’m adopting this attitude towards the rare negative commenters who find their way to this blog. I’m not talking about those who offer an alternative point-of-view or simply disagree with an idea I post; I’m referring to the random people who drop by once, pick and fight, and then never come back again.

In the interest of creating a positive and supportive community here, I’m now practicing my “haters gonna hate” strut and the judicial use of the “Unapprove” button. I may even adopt this attitude in the real world.

It’s Whiny Wednesday. What do you wish came with a “Delete” button?