Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

It Got Me Thinking…About the Dark Side

 

“I’m pregnant!” my friend gleefully announces.

And I think, Well, f*ck me six ways to Sunday, but I instead I jump up and embrace her and say, “Congratulations!!! I am so happy for you!”

Yup, another one has gone over to the Dark Side. My playmate, my buddy, my date for tea and chick-flicks will soon switch discussion topics from the last great novel she read to the merits of cloth versus disposable diapers and the challenges of getting into the “right” preschool/private school/ballet studio. While I bravely continue to pursue political movements, investing options, and the hottest new tapas restaurant this side of the Bay, she’ll be focusing on PTA politics, college funds, and how to get her kid to eat green vegetables.

Before long, the excuses for missing lunch dates (sick baby, sick kid, soccer games) will grow tiresome. She’ll kindly include me in the first few get-togethers with her new friends from the mommies group. I’ll make polite conversation when I’m invited to baby showers and first birthday parties. But eventually I’ll get lost in the mist as she gets sucked into more and more “family” events and senses how much more she has in common with the other reproducers. “Whatever happened to your friend Kathy?” they might ask. “Oh, she never had kids.” “Ohhh,” they will say knowingly. Or so I imagine. This is worse than being the last kid picked for teams. This is being told you can’t even play the game, but if you want, you can watch from the bleachers.

And I’m pissed. But mostly I’m lonely. It’s really, really hard to make new friends when you’re over the age of 40 (and don’t have kids who make making those regular interactions easier). You have to make a determined effort to get out, try new classes, start new groups, and hope to find a connection. It’s not unlike dating, and it can be really exciting, but mostly scary and discouraging. But you carry on, remembering the closeness you once shared with old friends who, over time, could read your thoughts and finish your sentences.

Within the first three years after I moved to my current home city, several of the women who I thought could become part of my new posse became first-time mothers. I didn’t know they were trying; we hadn’t known each other that long, so the topic never came up. A couple had been trying for years, and became pregnant shortly after meeting me. Lisa (our LWB Lisa) found this hilarious and suggested I offer myself out as a fertility icon: Become friends with me, and you’ll be knocked up within 3 months—guaranteed!

After the fourth announcement, I broke down and told my husband how crushed I was, how broken-hearted, how devastating this was to my developing social life. He laughed at me, pointing out how ridiculous I sounded for getting so overly dramatic and self-pitying. And he’s right. Because, really, I was happy for my friends.

But for a short while, I need to lose my perspective and my sense of humor, wallow in self-pity, mourn the loss of my friend, and spend some time on my own Dark Side. Because underneath my happiness for her, I still hurt for myself.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods recently signed up for a 6:00 am Pilates class. She’s hoping to meet other working non-moms there.

Whiny Wednesday: Infertility Amnesia


A friend of mine went through infertility hell a few years ago. When we learned of one another’s journeys, we were both glad to have an empathetic shoulder to lean on.

Then she became a mother, and developed infertility amnesia.

I’m not begrudging her the celebrations, the constant Facebook posts, or the incessant parenting talk. I get it; I’m sure I’d do the same in her situation. But the final straw came last week.

A group of us gets together about once a year and we’re starting to plan for this year. We usually go out for dinner, or bowling, or drinks and dancing. Several of us in the group don’t have children and those who do are always glad for a childfree night of adult fun.

This year, the new mom suggested we change things up and do something family-oriented and include the kids. “Maybe a beach picnic or Disneyland.” I kid you not.

Thankfully one of the other parents shot the idea down, but I had to wonder how she would have felt five years ago, in the thick of her infertility hell, if someone had made this same suggestion.

She would have felt excluded and she would have been upset. Which is just how I felt when I got her email.

Today is Whiny Wednesday. Who or what has done you wrong this week?

What Do You Wish You’d Known About Life Without Children?

By Lisa Manterfield

I try not to drag regrets around with me. It doesn’t help to dwell on how things might have turned out differently when it’s too late to do anything about it. But sometimes, there are things I wish I’d known before I’d hung my heart on the idea of having children.

I wish I’d know how common fertility issues are.

I wish I’d known what questions to ask at the very start of our journey.

I wish I’d known where to find real support.

I wish I’d known how valuable that support, once I found it, would be.

I wish I’d had a wise mentor to help me see logic when my poor emotionally-addled brain couldn’t make sense of anything.

I wish we had talked more about how long we’d try, how far we’d go, and what we would do if it didn’t happen for us.

And I wish I’d known that we would be okay as a family of two.

What do you wish you’d known before the start of your journey?

Whiny Wednesday: Being Lonely Without Children


Some years ago, a young relative asked why I didn’t have children. I gave him an explanation that was honest, while also being appropriate for a young boy.

And then he asked me, “But won’t you be lonely?”

To this I responded that I had Mr. Fab and that I’d be fine. But actually, I think he may have hit a nerve, because even though I value the quiet time I have, sometimes it can feel a little lonely.

It’s Whiny Wednesday, what truths have hit a nerve with you?

It Got Me Thinking…About Half-Truths

My friend Kim* is an amazing pediatric dentist. Not only is she highly skilled, but she is passionate about what she feels is her calling. I have always admired her and, quite honestly, have at times been envious as I see her in action, see how her patients L-O-V-E her, see how energized she is by her work. In fact, it doesn’t seem appropriate to call it “work” because she glows when she is in her element and even outside when she talks about it.

So I was stunned when she announced she was letting go of her practice.

“What?! Why?”

“It sucks the life out of me, it takes too much energy, and I’m exhausted,” she said.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. But that wasn’t entirely what I was thinking. See, Kim now also has a one-year-old daughter. Her job hadn’t changed. She’d never found it life-sucking before, quite the contrary. No, it is being a parent that is sapping her energy and making her too tired to continue to enjoy her job. I was saddened to hear that she was choosing to sacrifice her first great love, and also to hear that she was misplacing the blame.

But while I was quick to judge, once I took a step back and looked at the big picture, what I felt was compassion. I realized this was perhaps her way—consciously or unconsciously—of making peace with her sacrifice in her own mind. I do the same thing when people ask me why I don’t want kids and I respond by joking that my dogs take all the parenting urges out of me. Oh, I wanted kids, but I didn’t get to have them, and rather than have a complete meltdown in public, I deliver a half-baked “excuse.” I could easily imagine myself telling one of those strangers, “I just don’t have the energy to be a parent” versus revealing the fully honest and painful reasons for my childlessness.

When I think about it from my heart, I realize Kim and I aren’t all that different. We’ve both lost something we wanted, we’ve both sacrificed big dreams, and we’ve both lied to ourselves in an effort to salve the wounds. It makes me think that if we could be more honest with ourselves, and if we could then better communicate our real feelings with each other, there would be a smaller divide between the moms and non-moms.

We’re all women, doing the best we can with the paths we’ve been given. I hope that by being aware of this, the next time I am at the receiving end of a half-truth, I will bypass judgment and instead model understanding and compassion.

*Her name and details have been changed to protect her privacy.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods, truth be told, continues to struggle with making peace with being childless.

Whiny Wednesday: Parenting is the Hardest Job in the World

Kathleen has been on fire with the Whiny Wednesday suggestions lately. This week’s is a good one, so I’ll just leave it here for you to do with it as you please:

“Parenting is the hardest job in the world”

Our Stories: Infertility Around the World

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I’m fudging things a little bit today, as the writer of the article linked below, Amy McTighe, is not (to my knowledge) a member of our Life Without Baby community. She is, however, one of us.

“War and Infertility: How Losing a Pregnancy in Iraq Changed My Approach to Miscarriage” by Amy McTighe

I invite you to read her story. We can relate to many of her struggles with infertility, while at the same time have our eyes opened to how being childless-not-by-choice is dealt with in different cultures, different generations.

Because Lisa hails from the UK and I am in the USA, we tend to focus on how things work in our cultures. But there’s so much more we need to learn about and understand. We each have a story to tell, and I’d again like to encourage you all to share yours. Check out the Our Stories link for how to do this.

In response to Amy’s last line, today I hope she—and you—can begin to release any self-blame you are carrying. Today I hope you experience some new beauty in your world.

Kathleen Guthrie Woods continues to look for guidance toward healing in her own story, The Mother of All Dilemmas. Coming soon!

 

It Got Me Thinking…About the Slights We Endure

Last fall, my husband and I spent our hard-earned vacation time at a couple of popular amusement parks, taking in shows, attractions, foods and beverages not on our usual healthy meal plans, and rides. Due to an old injury (I’m fine), I couldn’t go on any of the tossing and twisting, dropping and diving, violently fun thrill rides, and I was okay with that. I enjoyed people-watching and reading a good book while my husband took advantage of my pass to experience all those rides twice then come back and give me a play-by-play.

After one such ride, he all but sprinted back to me. “I’ve found a ride for you!”

As he led me across the park to the place he had spotted, he gushed, “It looks perfect for you! It’s like riding a giant swing. It sways slowly as you ride over the park and take in all the amazing views, and I know you are going to love it!”

My anticipation and excitement grew as we waited patiently in the long line alongside families with young children. And then it all came to a screeching, sickening halt. For at the boarding site there was a huge sign that proclaimed:

I’m sorry: What?!

“I HATE this fudging place!” (Um, okay, I didn’t say fudging. It was not my finest moment.)

My husband trailed behind me as I stomped off. “Maybe you could borrow a kid?” he suggested, his own disappointment on my behalf evident in his tone. I gave him a glare that could melt a glacier, and I swear some of those parents in line pulled their children closer.

Even as I write this, months after it happened, my blood continues to boil. Why wasn’t I allowed on this ride? Why couldn’t I have had just a few minutes of childlike glee? Why must so many fun things be the exclusive right of kids and their parents? Why me?!?

I don’t have answers—or I don’t have answers that fully satisfy me. I am certain that the slights we childless women endure are not all intentional, while I am also certain that they feel like they come in wave after crashing wave.

I want to give you a happy or encouraging ending, or some wise insight, but I don’t have it in me. I still had a good vacation. I enjoyed the playtime with my husband, I enjoyed many of the other experiences the parks had to offer. But the slight still hurts, and it makes me want to hit someone, specifically the doofus who came up with the “must be accompanied by a child” rule.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is occasionally not at all at peace with her childlessness.