Bipolarlawyercook wrote an insightful blogpost about not wanting to have kids, a sentiment that I echo fiercely. Here’s my comment:
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To the beyotch who persisted in asking if I was pregnant yet, I finally replied, “No, just fat.” She stopped asking.
I sometimes respond, “I can’t,” when posed this insane question. Because I. Can’t. Be. Without. Medication. Having recently spent one of the longest months of my life off meds in order to go on a new med, I simply cannot imagine spending over a year off meds.
“But you could adopt.” Yeah, that’s a sticky wicket. I, like you, like my life the way it is, fairly uncomplicated and as sane as possible. Kids are like the anti-sanity to me. I’ve got a brand-new nephew and 2-year old niece and all my husband’s nieces and nephews to dote on and be “Cool Auntie Lyly” to, and knit for, what could be better?
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When I was growing up, I had decided that I would go to college, get married, have three kids, the dog, the house, and the two cars, just like my mother did. Difference being, when my mother did all this, it was the Viet Nam War era and I was conceived to keep my daddy from the draft. No fucking lie. So I came along rather earlier than planned (1 year, 1 month, 1 day from the day they got married) and that made for some interesting living. Especially being misdiagnosed (schizophrenic) for so long, mismedicated, and living with others’ psychotic depression.
Fast forward to 2007, where I’m married for the third (and final) time to a wonderful, loving, understanding man who gets me. No dog, nor kids, but a big, beautiful house to share with my man and our three cats. I can’t fathom that some people don’t love their pets as much once the kids come along; those people are plain crazy, and not the good kind. How can you forsake the love of an animal simply because a human comes around? Others have said that the child has completely replaced the pet in their lives, and they are simply waiting out time with the animal. That animals are good starter kids but nothing compared to a human baby. That they “…would lie around in bed wishing only half-jokingly that maybe if she really loved me, she’d kick it soon.” As if my relationship with my cats is anything but real. These are people (I’m not naming names) who I think ought to reexamine their relationships with their pets, and perhaps not take on any more feline (or canine, lupine, or bovine) responsibility in the future. They just don’t deserve the love.
Least of all, I’m 39, not a terrific age to be thinking about starting to have children. We have three wonderful cats who are immeasurably spoiled (but are pretty well-behaved), and that really is enough for us. Dayenu!
