Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

You’re Not Alone: The Things People Say

shhhBy SparklingRain

Much as I wish to be able to say that I am my own best advocate, sometimes other people’s words would fly into my ears and get lodged in the corners of my heart. There are also times, when against my logic, I would lie awake and think of each of these words, trying to figure out why exactly they hurt so much.

You see, I married the love of my life exactly two months before I turned 34, and this alone was enough for some people to judge me “too old to start having children”.  In the subsequent 5 years of our marriage, when it was clear as day that no child was on the way/on the floor/in our arms, I built a collection of bizarre comments, proof that people can be ruthless with their words.

Here are some of the comments I have collected so far:

  1. From a 53 year-old female colleague:  “Those not blessed with children simply do not have the capacity to handle such big responsibility. You just have to realize that and count your blessing.”
  2. From a 40–something brother-in-law: “So, what’s the deal here? When are you having a child? I know; you’ll wait until your hair turns white, right?”
  3. From 73 year-old mother-in-law (who already has 9 grandchildren from husband’s 4 siblings), on the day I got my PhD: “Of course she can finish school. She does not have children.”
  4. From a 33 year-old female colleague to whom I regrettably confided that we might have male factor infertility: “So have you really accepted the fact that you’ll be childless forever? Why don’t you persuade your husband to get some treatments? Oh I know, you two are too old anyway, right?”
  5. (Same person as no.1): “Having children at your age is just so risky; you’d better stay childless unless you want children with severe ailments.”
  6. From a 60-something female ob-gyn whom I saw once for a regular check-up unrelated to infertility: “Are you sure you don’t want any children? I’ve known people who, in their old age, regret not pursuing fertility treatments.”

My husband, bless him, has the clear logic not to process these kinds of comments in his brain.  I have been trying to follow his example, but I don’t always succeed.  I am a naturally happy person and I certainly don’t carry the world’s burden on my shoulders.  However, comments like the ones above sometimes creep too far into my brain and darken my world.

I know it is up to me whether or not to let others’ ruthless words to affect me.  What I didn’t know was that it might take years before I can gracefully let rude comments slide. I also suspect people will comment without thinking 99% of the time, so I will be in a dark place 99% of the time too, unless I can truly make peace with our childlessness. Which, unfortunately, is not so easy in reality.

Therefore, as for now, whenever a rude comment is thrown my way and I can handle it without punching the offender in the mouth, I allow myself to celebrate.  Celebrations have so far include buying myself new lipsticks, and um, nice clothes.

Please tell me that it in time the comments will disappear/ I will grow a nice thick protective hide/ things will be okay. Meanwhile, somebody just asked whether my marriage was still intact despite the years of childlessness; I think I ought to go and buy myself a nice new bag.

SparklingRain lives with her husband and several outdoor cats in Indonesia. She blogs at  “As Fictional As the Truth.”

 

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It Got Me Thinking…About Labels

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I play a lot of roles in life: friend, sister, writer, daughter, gym rat, wife, aunt, citizen of the world. They are all important to me, but I would argue that not one, on its own, defines me. I think maybe that’s why I get irked when I hear people trying to pigeonhole others by saying things like, “She’s your gay friend, right?” Um, no. She would be my friend, period. The fact that she happens to be gay is only part of who she is. (And, by the way, from an editor’s point of view, I have many friends who happen to be gay, not just one.) It’s like saying someone is an Irish cop or that fat actress or a Catholic conservative. It smacks of bigotry and it feels demeaning, whether the comment is spoken consciously or not.

That’s why I think it stung when someone recently referred to me as “circumstantially infertile.” Have you heard this term? It means a woman who has not had children due to life circumstances: hasn’t met the right guy, opted not to be a single parent, ran out of time on her biological clock. This in part describes my life path, although I’ve become more comfortable with the term we use around these parts, “childfree,” which I’ve now been informed means someone who has “chosen” not to have children.

Po-tay-toes, po-tah-toes?

I suppose labels help people better understand me, possibly be better able to relate to me, but it feels like they are used more often to separate and isolate us. I am a human being who happens to be circumstantially infertile. Emphasis on “human being.” There’s so much more to me than that one little label, and I hope people will take time to look beyond that and get acquainted with all the other parts that make me, well, me. I promise to do the same.

Meanwhile, I’d like to hear what you think about the whole label issue. What, if any, label do you use to describe your status and how do you feel when you hear others use it to define you?

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

 

The Universal Assumption of Eventual Parenthood

Maybe BabyBy Maybe Lady Liz

At the tail end of a pretty stressful week at work, I picked up a call that I really should have let go to voicemail. It was a colleague – let’s call her Chelsea – at another university, wondering if I might be available to act as a panel speaker for a last-minute student event she was throwing that Saturday. Luckily, it coincided with my volunteer work at an animal shelter and I didn’t have to scramble for some bogus excuse. Chelsea then asked if my newly-married co-worker Evelyn might be available. I said I wasn’t sure of her weekend schedule on such short notice, and that’s when she dropped this little gem into the conversation about my boss:

“I’d really love to have Nancy there, but I know she’s got a toddler at home and I feel bad asking someone with kids to give up part of their weekend for work, so I thought I’d at least try you and Evelyn.”

What?

Did that really just happen? Stunned, I gave a polite laugh and said I understood as she went on to complain about missing her own daughter’s soccer game for the event. But you know what? I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all how not having children of your own somehow makes your free time less valuable, open to being taken advantage of.

I don’t think Chelsea said what she said because she’s insensitive to those without children. The truth, I think, is a little more unsettling: that Chelsea saw me and Evelyn as those who didn’t have kids YET. Who would someday join the ranks of the protected, but needed to pay our dues now while we’re childless. Perhaps an okay system for those who DO go on to have kids and later reap the benefits, but what about those who choose not to? Or worse, those who desperately want to, but can’t?

The universal assumption that everyone will go on to become a parent can be a dangerous one for those of us who won’t, for whatever reason. It can mean, at times, that we’re paying into a system that’s distributing unequal rewards. And some of that is just life: unfair by nature, and often unchangeable. But it doesn’t do us much good to just come home and complain to our spouses or cats (or glass of wine) about it. I’m sure we’ve all done enough of that. Which is just one of the many reasons I’m glad there are sites like Life Without Baby that allow us to share our stories and connect with one another. The further along we can get in the conversation, the more likely we are to take it from the digital world out into the real world – with our friends, our family, our co-workers – and hopefully, someday, springboard towards real change in understanding that everyone’s life has equal value, regardless of how many tax dependents you claim. [Speaking of, does anyone know if the aforementioned cats count as dependents in the eyes of the IRS?]

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 Parental Complaints

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

“I have to spend all day Saturday at soccer games. Gag!”

“I hate wasting weekends at my kid’s swim meets.”

“Wanna trade places with me?”

I’ve heard every variation of the above from friends who for whatever reason think it’s okay to complain to me about the “burdens” of being a parent. My responses have ranged from “Sounds like fun to me!” to “Dogs are so the way to go.” to “I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

I don’t use that last one very often because it pretty much shuts down the conversation, but when I do, I hope it makes them think. It’s bad enough that this person is complaining about something s/he had to know about before signing up for the whole parental gig, and don’t even get me started if this ding-dong complains in front of their sweet child. Most of all, I wish they’d think for a moment about their chosen audience: childfree-not-by-choice woman who loves kids.

I loved playing sports as a kid, I was thrilled when my parents were on the sidelines cheering me on, I have great memories of those years, and I looked forward to the day when I could create similar memories with children of my own. Girl Scout leader, Team Mom, 3rd base coach—I woulda been all over it!

Maybe I don’t understand because I’m not a busy mom, but I do understand how much it hurts to be on the receiving end of a busy mom’s thoughtless complaints.

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

Guest Post: Un Blog en français (A Blog in French)

journalingBy Catherine-Emmanuelle Delisle 

Je m’appelle Catherine-Emmanuelle Delisle et je suis une femme infertile de 36 ans. Je réside au Québec,  province du Canada à majorité francophone.

Depuis quelques mois, j’ai entrepris une démarche personnelle de deuil dans le but d’accepter mon infertilité.

Si vous êtes un jour confronté comme moi à l’impossibilité d’avoir des enfants de manière naturelle, vous constaterez qu’il existe à ce jour très peu de ressources littéraires et virtuelles en français. Sans compter la quasi absence de groupes de soutien.

Heureusement, quelques cliniques de fertilité québécoises offrent de l’aide psychologique afin de soutenir leur patientes et patients. Qu’en est-il ailleurs dans le monde ?

Donc, à qui peuvent s’adresser les femmes ayant décidé simplement de tirer un trait sur la maternité pour diverses raisons ( médicales ou personnelles).

Comment ces femmes peuvent-elles arriver à faire le deuil de la maternité sans être isolées? Comment peuvent –elles échanger avec d’autres femmes vivant la même situation ? Et que dire des hommes ?

Voilà pourquoi j’ai créé un blog en français pour partager avec vous les ressources, livres, sites, groupes d’entraide, interviews que j’ai pu trouver sur la toile pour m’aider dans ma démarche.

J’espère que ces ressources serviront à aider d’autres personnes désireuses d’arriver à vivre une existence satisfaisante sans enfant.

Au plaisir d’échanger avec vous!

Catherine-Emmanuelle Delisle

 

My name is Catherine-Emmanuelle Delisle. I’m a 36 year-old infertile woman and I live in Quebec, a province of Canada where the majority of the population speaks French.

A couple of months ago, I decided to undertake a process of grieving to accept my infertility.

If, like me, you have to face your own infertility, you will soon discover that there are very few resources (books or web sites) in French. Support groups addressing these issues are also very rare, especially away from the big cities.

Thankfully, in Quebec, a few fertility clinics offer psychological support to their patients. But what about the situation in the rest of the world?

Where can women who decide to come to terms with their absence of maternity (for medical or personal reasons) turn to?

How is it possible to accept your infertility when you feel so different and isolated form other women? How is it possible to exchange thoughts and information with other women who feel the same as you do? And what about the situation for men facing infertility?

That is why I decided to create a French blog to share the resources, the books , the web sites, the support groups, and the interviews that I have found on the net or elsewhere.

I hope that this information will help other people like me who want to learn how to live a great life without having kids.

Catherine-Emmanuelle Delisle lives in the region of Montréal in Québec, Canada. She shares her stories and resources at “Être femme sans enfant.”

 

Guest Post: Top Ten Causes of infertility

andrew-head-22-2By The One Hand Man 

Let me preface this post by stating that thousands of men are affected by infertility, in a variety of ways. I am a true believer in laughter being the best medicine, and whilst I do not dismiss my fertility issues as being unimportant, I have come to terms with it, and accepted it for what it is. It has never been healthy to take things too seriously.

I suspect many men will share this view, so don’t pity us or feel sorry for us, support us by laughing along, and sharing this with others – It’s okay, you have my permission.

This top ten list was put together in its entirety with little or no research, it is a by-product of my imagination, with a dash of experience thrown in to explain the big words; I am not arrogant enough to tell you the biggest causes of male infertility, so don’t tell me I am wrong – do your own list.

10 – Exposure to radiation. This one is a double-edged sword. Fellas who have been exposed to radiation treatment have been so, probably to combat cancer. This of course, is not the case for Radiation Man from Superman 4. He may well be able to fly and shoot fire from his eyes. But that is the only shooting he will be doing. That might be why he is so angry, his ill-fated sperm are so illuminated by radiation poisoning, it looks like superman has put some glow sticks down his pants.

9 – Stress. The irony is not lost on me here. The stress of not being able to get your wife pregnant is the very cause of it. It’s okay though, some cretin will tell you to ‘just try and relax’ Thanks Captain Obvious, very helpful.

8 – Alcohol. Now I just don’t believe this. All those teenage pregnancies across the western world didn’t happen because their PlayStation broke. The horny little oiks got liquored up and pounced on the nearest willing participant. Cynical and bitter I may be, but tell me I am wrong.

7 – Cigarettes. Sperm motility and morphology are affected by smoking apparently, this means they are slow and ugly. Your little sperm may think they are looking cool, but just remember, half way up the urethra; they have to stop for a breather.

6 – Fat. If you are a bit tubby, tread carefully – obesity can have an effect on your hormones, so if you find yourself crying at Love Actually, like I do, get yourself down the clinic….. oh…..

Half way through the list now and you can see that a healthy lifestyle is key here, so if you are a fat alcoholic, who smokes 40 a day, you may as well just cut your sack off.

5 – Very frequent intercourse. Your guess is as good as mine as to what this means, but if you can find the time to do it 18 times a day, I say, go for it.

4 – Laptops. Proof that technology is moving forward at a pace that our own testicles cannot cope with. Experts will tell you it is the heat from the laptop radiating your bits, but I think it is that your junk simply cannot put up with you using the laptop to scour the internet for grot – here we go again boys.

3 – Too much exercise. Again, certain hormones get over stimulated with excessive intense exercise. When the doctor asked me if I exercised too much, he was met with barrel laughter from both my wife and myself.

2 – Trauma. I cannot remember a specific time my brother kicked me in the nuts, so the finger of blame cannot be pointed at him. I have played plenty of sports during my childhood though – just think: one unfortunate ball in the groin may have your mates bent double in laughter, but you could well pay for it later.

1 – Bad Luck. Yes this is a cop out; topping my list is that of lady luck, but I believe it to be true. Whether you believe in fate or not, I am convinced that pure fortune has played its part in my fertility. I may sound bitter and twisted at times, but I can assure you I am not. I have many things to be grateful for, and if infertility is the challenge I have to face throughout my life, I know the hand I have been dealt, is without doubt, a winning one.

I would implore any men having fertility problems to do whatever you can to improve your fertility; if you smoke – stop, if you are fat, try losing a bit of timber, cut down on the booze and definitely don’t get kicked in the balls, but don’t, under any circumstances, let infertility consume you, I am pretty sure that is not what we are here for.

The One Hand Man: Married in 07, sperm test in 08, IVF in 09, another sperm test in 10, adoption started in 11 – still going through the adoption process. Not had any recent sperm tests. Read more at: www.theonehandman.co.uk

It Got Me Thinking…About Why Martha Beck Rocks

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods 

Martha Beck is a therapist, life coach, best-selling author, and columnist for Oprah’s O magazine. Every month she offers real advice for addressing prickly issues, and frequently it feels like she’s been observing my life for material.

In an article titled “Off the Beating Path” (February 2013), she writes about how to “draw up a whole new road map” when you’ve experienced a bumpy ride. Not just those gentle speed bumps (what we can “speed humps” in San Francisco), but bone-jarring, axle-cracking, questioning-why-you-would-continue “rumble strips.” Although the subjects whose stories she shares differ, I felt like she was writing to us: women who had beautiful plans for our lives, plan that were crushed by disappointment and heart-break, who are trying to figure out how to continue with some element of grace.

I don’t want to paraphrase the article because she is so much more articulate than I am, so I encourage you to pick up a copy at the market or newsstand or read it online here. What she does is give examples from her own and clients’ lives, share steps for navigating rumble strips, and offer perspective on how these experience may actually benefit us in the long run. Her advice isn’t sugar-coated, it isn’t simplistic. The line that most resonates with me reads “I wasn’t trying to minimize Dorothy’s pain or plaster a creepy happy face over her legitimate sorrow. I only wanted her to alter her beliefs enough to catch a glimpse of a different road.” Yes! Even as I continue to struggle with coming to terms with my challenges, I can open my mind to that possibility.

Martha Beck has children, so I can’t call her a chero (a hero who is childfree), but I do think she understands who we are and what we’re going through. It’s because of her compassion, her wisdom, and her willingness to share so that we all can thrive that I think she rocks.

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

When Cheers is Not So Cheery

Maybe BabyBy Maybe Lady Liz

Last night, I was in a bit of a funk, so I settled down for a few episodes of Cheers on Netflix. Good wholesome show that can’t help but put a smile on your face, right? Unfortunately, I happened to land on the episode where Sam decides to quit his bartending duties and become the full-time manager/promoter at Cheers. He hires another bartender, Ken, to help Woody out pouring drinks. After just a couple of weeks, it becomes very clear that the management thing wasn’t really working and Sam belonged back behind the bar. Though he feels bad about it, he knows Ken needs to be fired because there’s not enough work (or payroll money) for three bartenders. He’s all set to do it when Ken’s wife arrives with – of course! – their two small children.

Though Woody had become a beloved fixture at Cheers over the past several months (or years?), a good friend, and an excellent bartender, Sam took one look at those kids and immediately decided that the “right thing to do” was let Woody go because he didn’t have a family to support. The episode wrapped up neatly, as they always do, with Ken being offered a better job elsewhere and Woody coming back with a nice raise, but the message left me with a sour taste in my mouth. It seemed to suggest that those of us without children are somewhat expendable. That we’re better equipped to handle life’s hard knocks because it’s just “us”. And that when the going gets tough, those with a family are going to be given preferential treatment.

I’m not saying that I don’t understand Sam’s actions. When I was in HR and we had to do cutbacks, the person I remember most vividly was the one who’d just bought a house for his family and now had no idea how he was going to make his payments. Should he have been given special consideration over his peers who were still renting, or didn’t have children? Of course not. Did it make it any easier to watch, or sleep that night? No.

So I get it, I really do. But it was just another reminder of where those of us without children fall in the rankings when important decisions need to be made. And that, my friends, is a very scary notion in these difficult economic times.

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 http://www.MaybeBabyMaybeNot.com.

It Got Me Thinking About…What I’m Worth

Girl ThinkingBy Kathleen Guthrie Woods

A friend took me out to dinner recently (a nice treat!) and I ordered a cobb salad with grilled chicken breast. Simple enough, but as I sliced up the chicken and took a bite, it was clear that the meat was not quite thoroughly cooked. Here’s where it gets screwy: I ate half of it anyway.

On a normal night I would have waved down our server and politely requested that the meat go back on the grill for a few more minutes till it was cooked through. But this particular night came at the tail end of a long week of self-loathing. I’d spent days focusing on business failings, financial failings, and personal failings (among them, feeling like the only childless woman among my überly-reproductive peers). I risked getting violently ill because at the time I thought to myself It’s not worth it. Which, if you haven’t already guessed, translates to I am not worth it.

I thought about this a lot in the days that followed, and after I stopped beating myself up, I remembered something someone taught me long ago. If I were a mother lioness and my baby cubs were at risk, I would be fierce about protecting them. If I’d paid good money for an expensive meal for my family, I would insist that it be served to my satisfaction. If my child was served a plate of raw meat, I would immediately return it to the kitchen. So…isn’t it time I start taking care of my inner child?

Much of my life I was groomed to be polite, not make waves, keep the peace. And there’s a place for that. But as I work through this process of grieving and healing, I think there’s also a place for standing up for myself, speaking up, being fierce on my own behalf. I can start with something as little as refusing to accept bad chicken. Because, as the classic L’Oreal campaign has tried to imprint in us, I’m worth it.

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

 

Fruit of the Tree

OrangenBy Amelia Ricardo

Several years ago, I began researching my family history. I began the process for the same reason many of us do: Curiosity. I was curious about genealogy because I wanted to prepare a proper history to pass down to my own children. The more I began researching and the bigger my family tree grew, the more excited I became about what I was learning, and how proud I would be to one day pass down my findings to my children.

Except I’m not going to have any child to receive this information.

A few months ago my husband and I came to the realization that parenthood isn’t going to happen for us. Financial woes and health issues have choked out a chance to continue the family tree, to bear new fruit.

Over the years, as I did my genealogical research, I always tried to expand the tree’s limbs and branches as far back as possible. No matter how distant the relative, I always believed that every branch mattered, and therefore every fruit from them also mattered. How disappointed I was when no children were had by an ancestor, and that his or her branch did not continue.

I’m going to be one of those dead-end branches. In decades to come, will the branch of my husband and me be overlooked? Will we be non-important because we didn’t produce any fruit?

Yes, I grieve for not being able to buy baby clothes, for not being able to comfort a crying child, and the other gazillion reasons.  But what I seem to mourn the most is not being able to be a growing part of my family tree. I grieve for being a branch that doesn’t extend. I grieve that the stories I’ve collected and the heritage of which I’m fiercely proud will not be shared with my own children. I’m still struggling with this realization.

A few weeks ago as I pondered this realization, I thought of my great-aunt Annie who died single and childless. Almost 50 years after her death, she’s still remembered fondly by all in my family, remembered for her courage, altruism, and strength. And among all of her 13 siblings, she is probably the most memorable. Was it being single and childless that helped mold her into this individual and leave such an indelible legacy on our family?  I don’t know.

Some of history’s most influential women never had children. Florence Nightingale, Susan B. Anthony, Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, and Julia Child are just a few. Their branches of the family tree did not bear fruit. Yet they still managed to influence countless others—including those who are of no relation. They are important limbs in a larger tree, and their fruits are in forms other than offspring. Their fruits are their writings, their culinary artistry, their caring for the sick, and their advocacy of women’s rights.

Does this realization erase all the sadness I have? No. But perhaps it’s worth reminding myself that not all-important branches must bear fruit.

Amelia Ricardo lives with her husband in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. As she tries to accept a life without baby, she keeps herself busy with freelance writing, blogging, and many other projects. She blogs about her unabashed Olympic obsession at OlympicFanatic.com.  

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