Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About the Death of a Childfree Friend

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods

Before I even get into this post, I need to alter my title. It should read “The Death of a Friend (Who Happened to be Childfree).” Okay, that’s better.

Earlier this year, a friend of 20-plus years lost her battle with cancer. Mercifully, her fight wasn’t prolonged and the end came quickly and with little pain and suffering. My grief, on the other hand, was debilitating. I slept at odd hours, I burst into tears at the grocery store (spotted something I knew she liked, realized she’d never enjoy it again), I read something that made me think of her, went to call her, and remembered all over again that she’s gone.

As I told friends who are moms about her passing, what surprised me the most was how often the first question was “Did she have kids?”, to which I answered “No,” to which the response was “That’s good.” This exchange always left me feeling yucky; did this mean that her death and my loss had less of an impact because she wasn’t a mom? I get that it’s good that young children were not left motherless, but I can’t quite agree that it’s good she never had any, yet I know she didn’t feel that her life was lacking in any way. She had an extraordinary life—full of travels and adventures and loving friends—one that wouldn’t have been possible if she’d filled her days with parenting duties.

I wallowed in my grief, and I wallowed in the anticipation of what I perceived will be my own inevitably lonely passing. But before I could start hating all reproducers for their insensitivity, I got a call from another long-time friend, a stay-at-home mom. Even though she had only met the other woman a few times, she cried with me over my loss. She listened to my memories, she shared a few insights, and before long she had me laughing so hard that I was crying again.

In earlier posts I’ve complained about the comments made after tragedies in which children are lost, such as “Only a parent can understand.” I’ve argued that compassion isn’t exclusive to people who happen to be parents. So this experience was my lesson in reverse. In my vulnerable state, I so easily could have locked myself away with my childfree friends. Many friends offered their condolences, yet the one person who really understood, who was able to reach my heart and truly comfort me, is firmly established in the mommy club. Compassion isn’t exclusive to anyone, it’s a human trait. And aren’t we lucky that, when we really need it, it comes to us from many different sources.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with being childfree.

 

BFF Until Baby

People at beach drinking having a party

 

By Maybe Lady Liz

My college roommate and best friend cried her eyes out the day I told her I was moving to California after graduation, more than 2,000 miles from her final destination of Chicago. We’ve done a relatively impressive job of keeping in touch over the last 8 years, and I think our bond deepened even more when we discovered we were the only people we knew who weren’t sure we wanted to have a baby. The topic dominated our phone conversations for years until I got the call that many of you probably remember receiving from your own best friend as they delivered those two fateful words: I’m pregnant.

Everything changed, of course, but after blogging on these sorts of topics for over a year now, it certainly wasn’t unexpected. She did an admirable job of giving me the non-sugar-coated truth about her unplanned life as a mom and carrying on conversations that weren’t interrupted every 10 seconds with baby cooing. I had high hopes that she’d be one of those parents who remembered and appreciated Life Before Baby, so I waited a respectable six months and planned a trip to meet the latest member of the fam in her new house in Nashville.

This was not an easy affair. Drama at work and sky-high plane tickets ($624 each!) made actually pressing the purchase button on Expedia a real knuckle-biting moment. But I was committed to making sure that my cheapness and laziness wouldn’t be responsible for our friendship not persevering through major life changes and cross-country moves.

Despite having discussed the trip for months ahead of time, my friend’s entire response to the forwarded itinerary was: “Yay! But you do understand that this isn’t going to be like old times, right?” Oh, you mean we’re not going to bong Bud Lights between breastfeeding sessions and subsist entirely on Taco Bell cheesy fiesta potatoes? What have I done?! Of course I knew it wasn’t going to be the same, nor did I want it to be. I’d have some serious concerns about her parental fitness if it was. But this mantra persisted throughout every conversation and email leading up to the trip (“You know we’re not going to be out till all hours, right?” “You know we’re not going to be livin’ it up like before, right?”). Yes, yes! I’ve received the memo, in triplicate!

I’m not sure what bothered me more: the fact that she thought I truly couldn’t process what a monumental life change she’d made and that it might affect our fun levels, or the fact that she didn’t even seem to want me to come or believe that we could now have fun in a different way. I would have been just as content to stay in and play board games while the baby slept, but instead we went out to dinner where my friend propped her cell phone up and touched the screen literally every 5 seconds to see if the sitter was calling until her husband told her she was being rude and we shut down the whole night.

And you know what? That’s okay, I get it – she was nervous leaving the baby with a sitter. I don’t think I would have even blinked about it if she hadn’t spent the month leading up to the trip promising me how much fun we weren’t going to have. I know she was just trying to temper expectations and make sure I wasn’t disappointed. Nobody likes to over-promise and under-deliver. But a little bit of faith in our friendship, a little bit of hope that that we could still have a great time under any conditions, would have left me with a better taste in my mouth, no matter what the outcome. Was that too much to ask?

Maybe Lady Liz is blogging her way through the decision of whether to create her own Cheerio-encrusted ankle-biters, or remain Childfree. You can follow her through the ups and downs at MaybeBabyMaybeNot.com.

It Got Me Thinking…About Nurturers

Girl ThinkingNote: This post originally ran on May 8, 2012 

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I can bitch with the best about how much I loathe the holiday that’s coming up this Sunday. I’ve spent past years avoiding church, restaurants, flower shops, TV ads, and, well, people who brightly wished me “HAPPY (you-know-who’s) DAY!” It was easier to hibernate than face painful reminders of what I am not.

But this year is different. This year I am embracing the second Sunday in May because a wise friend has transformed it for me. This year I am pulling out all the stops and celebrating because I am…drumroll, please…a Nurturer!

Here’s the message my friend sent out last May, and it is my message to you.

To the nurturers in us all: For helping friends in need, for compassion for strangers in pain, for helping children to learn, and for being good stewards of our world…Happy Nurturer’s Day!

If you are an aunt, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a coworker, a coach, or a listener. If you’ve comforted another person, if you’ve offered support or encouragement, or if you’ve shared a hug. If you’ve read something on this site and responded with kind words or sent up a prayer for a sister in need. If you’ve been any or all of these things, then it’s time you acknowledge yourself.

You’ve been there for me, in our forums, in your comments, in your presence here with us on this site. For that I say, Thank you! and Happy Nurturer’s Day!

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

 

It Got Me Thinking…About Hug Deprivation

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

I had a great life. I’d started and was running a successful business. I had a tribe of smart, funny, and supportive women friends. I was healthy and fit. Furthermore, I was coming to terms with the possibility that I would remain single and childfree, and I was becoming more confident that I could create a fulfilling life for myself, by myself. I had everything I needed and I was happy.

Until.

During an extraordinary two-week period, I took care of my 15-month-old nephew, Jake, while his parents traveled. We danced, we laughed. He threw tantrums, I stressed about keeping the house together and keeping him from getting hurt. Everything was somewhat under control. Then one night, while I was in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes, he came up behind me, threw his arms around my leg in a tight hug, kissed the back of my calf, then toddled back to the living room.

“Thanks, Jake!” I managed to get out before tears locked up my voice. A current of love surged from my leg and throughout my body as I sobbed into the soapy water. I was struck by the realization of how touch deprived I had been for so long. Sure, friends greeted each other with a light hug and peck on the cheek. It wasn’t even the passion of a romantic relationship that I longed for. It was the daily human interaction, the hugs and kisses, the gentle caresses, the genuine affection, the skin-to-skin contact, something moms get (and have even been heard to complain about).

At that time in my life, I had none of that in my home. What made me a bit scared was that I hadn’t even noticed. It had become my “normal” and I hadn’t thought anything of it until Jake reawakened the need in me.

When I got back home, I brainstormed how I might create more physical affection in my life. I ruled out engaging in one-night stands and, well, hiring male escorts, both of which lacked the “genuine” aspect I needed. I thought about scheduling more frequent massages. I lavished my dog with belly rubs, which helped some. Was it enough? Would it be enough?

The one answer that made sense to me was that in order to receive, I needed to give. I could visit elderly residents of retirement homes, providing them with conversation, attention, and gentle touches. I could become more huggie with my friends, especially my single friends. I could offer to babysit, giving my mom-friends breaks they needed and getting some cuddling time with the children who inhabit my circles.

Are you aware of this need in yourself? If you’ve come up with creative solutions, please share them with us in a comment. Meanwhile (and I know this is just a tidbit), please consider yourself cyber-hugged.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is wrapping up her memoir about being a temporary single mommy and how it helped her come to terms with being childfree.

 

Whiny Wednesday

Whiny_WednesdayWelcome to Whiny Wednesday!

If you’re new here, this is the day you get to whine, groan, and complain about whatever’s on your mind, on or off topic.

Another baby announcement in the family? Whine. We get it.

Working late again because you’re the only one who doesn’t have kids so everyone thinks you have no place important to be? Let it all out here.

Neighbor got his leaf blower on a 7:00 on a Sunday morning…again? Ok, well, that’s my whine.

The great thing about this party is you get to bring your own whine.

Whiny Wednesday: Dependents

Whiny_WednesdayI just filed my taxes and once again put a big fat zero on the line for dependents.

My whine (surprisingly) isn’t that people with kids get a tax break and I don’t; it’s more to do with the IRS’s definition of “dependent.” My definition differs greatly from theirs.

That’s all I’m saying publicly on that topic, but know that I’m whining on the inside today.

It is Whiny Wednesday. What’s on your mind?

 

What a Difference Three Letters Makes

Maybe BabyBy Maybe Lady Liz

Coming to the end of my three and a half mile torture session on the treadmill, I found a final burst of energy when what I thought was going to be an incredibly uplifting commercial came on. It was for Walt Disney World (hey, I watch soap operas – I’m just glad when it’s not a diaper commercial) and featured a mid-thirties-ish couple having a real blast by themselves. It went through a litany of things that people without kids can enjoy when thinking about planning a spontaneous trip to the Happiest Place on Earth…

No homework to check…

No school vacations to work around…

No photos with Mickey…

It finished by introducing them as “Mark and Natalie with no kids…” over an image of them looking madly in love at a romantic dinner. Just as I’m thinking, “Whoa, Disney – way to go on representing the childless and the Childfree!”, they drop their three-letter bomb:

YET.

*Sigh* I went from being totally jazzed about how such a mainstream company had the forethought to be inclusive of the 20 percent of us who don’t have kids, to being totally bummed by the realization that we’re probably a long ways away from that.

Needless to say, I hopped off the treadmill and immediately made myself a martini.

Maybe Lady Liz is blogging her way through the decision of whether to create her own Cheerio-encrusted ankle-biters, or remain Childfree. You can follow her through the ups and downs at MaybeBabyMaybeNot.com.

It Got Me Thinking…About Story Time: Part II

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

Last fall I shared with you that my nephew’s first grade teacher had invited aunts and uncles to be “mystery readers” for the students. (Read the original post here.) The big day has come and gone, and I wanted to tell you that it was everything I’d expected…and less.

I ended up choosing one of my favorite stories, “Atalanta” by Betty Miles. Since the book I have only has two pictures, I decided instead of reading to them, I would invite the students to act out the story with me. Together we posed like the proud king and clever princess, ran in a great race, sounded the trumpets, and cheered with the crowds. I’m not sure the feminist theme of the story got through to anyone (it’s about a princess choosing for herself who she will marry—or if she will choose to marry at all), but I think they all had fun.

I had fun. I practiced for weeks, perfecting my lines, working out character voices and sound effects, pausing for dramatic effect. My husband helped me rehearse in the car and in our living room till I had every beat memorized, because my greatest fear was that I’d get caught up in the performance, lose my place in the story, and muck it all up.

Actually that wasn’t my biggest fear. I’ve had a lot of experience with public speaking and live theater performances, so I knew I’d be fine once I got started (and I’m pretty sure I nailed every bit). What I actually feared the most was that I would be a bucket of weepy emotions. All those sweet faces looking up at me, all the innocent questions and funny comments. The rush of painful reality that I would never have a cute 6-year-old of my own with whom to share my favorite stories. I imagined getting teary-eyed in the classroom or curling up in the back seat of my car for a sob fest afterwards or going home and drowning my sorrows in a bottle of limoncello.

I was fine. One cute thing asked “Are you Jake’s mommy?” and I answered, “Nope, I’m his Aunt Kath.” That was easy.

At the end of the storytelling, I asked the students about the books they were reading, I answered questions about my dog (who so needs his own Facebook page), and then Jake invited me to walk with him to his after-school program. He reached for my hand, and together we crossed the playground. I didn’t feel sad, I didn’t feel lonely. I felt lucky. Lucky to have such a sweet boy in my life, lucky that I live nearby and can be part of his growing-up years, lucky that I have the time and opportunity to do things like be a mystery reader for him and his classmates.

I also am very lucky that Jake’s little brother will be in this class in just two years. I’m already thinking about which story I’ll share with him.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is wrapping up a memoir about how her experience as a temporary single mommy to her nephew helped her make peace with her childfree status.

 

I am Not Made of Glass

broken glassBy Just Jinny

I found out some great news this weekend. One of my very good friends is finally pregnant. She and her husband have been trying and trying. So I was thrilled and over the moon to find out that it has finally happened for them.

The news also brought to light another issue. How others expect me to handle the news of another pregnancy. Dealing with infertility sort of puts you in a position of always “handling” the fact that someone else is pregnant and you are not.

My friend, bless her heart, was nearly in tears sharing her happy news with me. It’s a bittersweet thing. She didn’t want to hurt me. I get that and I love her for it. And when I shared the news with my mom I could see the concern in her eyes as well. It got me thinking about how others might expect me to react to the news that someone else is pregnant. I wanted to help other people understand what it feels like for me to deal with these emotions.

I am not the type of person to cause a scene. I’m not going to fly off the handle in anger, or in a rage, or in a sobbing heap on the floor. That’s not to say that I don’t get angry, or cry like a baby…I just usually do it in the privacy of my own home. Being constantly depressed, sad, or mad about my “condition” isn’t an option for my state of mind. For me, the only option I have is to be OKAY and to keep going. Some people might think that makes me strong. For me, it’s just my reality. I don’t break down. I don’t give up.

But, I’ve been trying to think of a proper analogy to relate how I do feel when finding out about someone being pregnant. I want other people to be able to try and understand. And I found the perfect example!

Finding out that someone else is pregnant is like having a Charlie horse. It sort of creeps up on you, and then for just a few moments the pain gets so intense that you can’t move. You think it will never go away or get better and that your world will never again be anything but you curled up in bed with that pain. But then the pain does start to lessen, and gradually it fades away until finally you feel normal again.

That is exactly what it feels like for me. Of course, I feel a little pinch in my heart. Of course, I may be a little down and pensive for a moment. It’d be weird if the news didn’t affect me somehow. But, this thing, this infertility thing, will never bring me down for good. Childless or not, I am blessed and highly favored. I have a wonderful life, with a wonderful husband, pets, family, and friends. Infertility will never, ever beat me. And any pregnancy will be celebrated as it deserves to be. Every child is a blessing, even if it’s not mine.

Just Jinny lives in the wilds of West Texas in a love cottage with her rockstar husband, two dogs, and two cats. She blogs about her daily musings at A Girl in the Real World.

Silly Dancing and Other Childish Behavior

dancing in fieldHave you ever wanted to dance for absolute no good reason? This feeling has been creeping up on me a lot recently.

Sometimes I feel trapped in my adult body and my grown-up brain. Part of me wants to break free from my stiff ankles and sore lower back and just do a silly dance. Part of me wants to let go of my dignity and decorum and run the risk of being seen to “show off.”

Is this childish or just childlike?

There’s a part of me that’s always been a bit of a rebel, albeit a law-abiding rebel. And lately that rebel inside wants to throw off the mantle of respectability, discard expectations of middle age, ignore the assessing eyes of the well-behaved and the socially compliant.

If I was a parent I would have to be socially compliant; I’d have to be well-behaved. Yes, there are many badly-behaved parents in the world, but nobody thinks much of them. Parents are supposed to be good.

But I’m not a parent, so do I have to behave?

That rebel inside me wants to dance. It wants be a little bit naughty. My rebellious inner child wants to come out to play again, and I’m not sure there’s any reason she shouldn’t.

My inner rebel wants to feel the syncopated rhythm of a life well-lived.

What about you? Does your inner child want to come out to play?