Married Without Children
May 2, 2002

Consider motherhood. It's the most labor-intensive, time-consuming, exasperating, rewarding, and necessary job in the world, and I'm in awe of anyone who attempts it, let alone succeeds at it. I've always been close to my own mother (who somehow survived my teenage years without shutting me up in a packing crate and mailing me to the Outer Hebrides). And I have a great relationship with my mother-in-law. As Mother's Day looms on the horizon, I'll be the first one to raise a toast to the mothers of the world.

But I will never be one of them.

As a Baby-boomer, I'm from the first generation of women who didn't have to have children as soon as we became sexually active. The choice was up to me. In those early days of family planning, women were also encouraged to "have it all"—love, marriage, career, success, oodles of money, and, of course, family—but all in good time. But I wasn't sure I wanted it all. I chose to have a few less things that were important to me: I found work I like; I got married. And as the years went by, and my husband, Jim, and I continued to enjoy our lives as they were, we found ourselves making the choice not to have children.

It's not that I don't like kids. I was a popular babysitter in my teens; one of my charges once begged her folks to go out again, the next night, so I could come back and baby-sit her again. Babysitting kept me in cash to buy Beatle albums, and I sat for half the families on my block, and for all my younger cousins. I have no aversion to changing diapers or wiping away spit-up. I've done it all before.

I also enjoy my friends' kids. I've seen them mature, discover talents, and grow into personalities. I've noted the trajectory of parental genes in their looks, interests and dispositions. As a writer, I'm as enthralled as anyone by the romance of seeing family traits play out in succeeding generations. But is that kind of curiosity reason enough to take on the enormous responsibilities of motherhood?

We were at a gallery reception for Jim's artwork in Southern California, a few years ago. Upon learning we had no children, the gallery owner bemoaned "All those great genes going to waste!" It was intended as a compliment—I think—but it's depressing to think that one's "genes" are going to "waste" if one doesn't dutifully hand them over to one's offspring. It's easy to romanticise that your children will be the best of yourselves, but there's also the danger of expecting your own failed or deferred dreams to be realized by your children. And that's an unfair burden to saddle on anyone. Jim and I decided to jump off the genetic merry-go-round and try to realize our own dreams; that's part of the reason we don't have kids
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Another factor is the ol' biological clock; mine has apparently been on the blink since the Johnson administration. In the normal course of events, I always supposed I would succumb to a biological urge for maternity, sooner or later. But I never had the urge. My instincts have always been more creative than procreative; I'm happier channelling my energy into the work I love and the ongoing adventure of life. Never once, in 24 years of marriage, have I ever heard a single tick out of my biological clock. Holistic medicine tells us to listen to our bodies, and mine seems to be telling me I've made the right choice—for me.

So many children are born for all the wrong reasons—their parents want to stabilize a shaky marriage, or grow caregivers to look after them in their own declining years. Or they want to present their own parents with the gift of grandchildren. And let's not forget that popular Paul Anka anthem, "You're Having My Baby" ("What a lovely way to say how much you love me!") Childbirth as a Hallmark card.

Every child born deserves to be the number one priority in his parents' lives, and that was something I couldn't guarantee. My instincts lie elsewhere. Not every woman is born for motherhood, and as soon as I knew that about myself, my choice became a lot easier. If you're facing the prospect of motherhood, it seems to me the first thing you need is the desire for children—ferocious, unquenchable and impossible to resist. The desire that compels singles, gay and infertile couples, and foster parents to bring children into their lives, against all odds. I've never experienced that desire, and I'd never be more than an indifferent parent, without it.

Motherhood is not for the half-hearted. There are already more people in the world than the planet can comfortably support, and if you're going to produce another child, it had better be because you can't imagine your life without one. I just imagined my life differently. Regrets? Sure, now and then, but they are few and fleeting. I may not have it all (I seem to have come up a little short in the oodles of money department). But I have what I need—and I'm grateful that I figured out the difference.