The Childless Mother

Last year I was teaching IB Environmental Systems and Societies for the first time and I was desperate for curriculum. But there was no one teaching the same class in the whole of Seattle Public schools. I found a woman who taught the course for a neighboring district who generously agreed to meet with me at a Starbucks shortly after Christmas. I offered to pay. She waved the offer aside, saying she had plenty of gift cards from her students.

I needed help planning a unit on human population growth and resource use, a particularly tricky unit. A lot of students had the racist notion that the world’s resource problems could be solved if folks in developing countries stopped having babies. She discussed how to combat this notion by showing comparisons of resource use, focusing on the embedded environmental costs of consumer goods in America. Even “environmentally friendly” goods such as Teslas and solar panels have an enormous embedded cost. Moreover, we have an overconsumption problem. The trash we produce is huge. The water we use is huge. We even flush drinking water down the toilet. One child in America typically uses the resources of ten in Bangladesh. Scarcity of resources is an issue that is not simply solved by throwing condoms all over the world.

After planning these lessons regarding overpopulation, she asked me if I had any children.

“Nope.”

She looked at me confused, as if she needed an explanation.

I awkwardly tried to explain, “Um, my husband and I are both climbers so having kids doesn’t really fit in with our life—”

“No, no.” She cut me off. “You have to have kids. It’s selfish not to. I used to be a climber too, and I would give up climbing any day for my daughter.” Tears appeared in her eyes, her voice trembled with anger. “You need to have kids; how can you say that climbing is any replacement for a child?”

I was shocked. My colon reacted the way it always does to a harsh accusation. I excused myself to the bathroom. When I returned, I pretended the confrontation hadn’t happened, asking, “Can you tell me about your unit on aquaculture?”

I’ve thought about this conversation and the many others like it a lot. This bias towards universal motherhood bothers me. Lindy West put a similar issue well, “There are no fat people, just thin people who have failed.”

I am in many eyes a childless mother, someone who is either obstinately or tragically not fulfilling my destiny. I am either fertile or a failure.

I was pregnant once. The change was almost instant. I loved that nugget of a human inside of me fiercely. Even though they lived within my fallopian tubes. Even though they would have burst through my organs, causing me to bleed to death. Hormones are a funny. I sobbed as the nurse pushed the abortion syringe into my backside. Making it hurt so much more than it needed to be.

Fate is a funny thing. You don’t know how you’d act in a role until you are forced into it. But just because if I had to, I might love a child, does that mean that I am obliged to carry one?

“You’ll feel differently when you are older,” I’ve been told. I just turned thirty-three and the window of my child bearing years is closing. My husband and I have decided to lock that window shut with a vasectomy. I tell folks asking about kids about our decision and they immediately get awkward. My family and close friends have said things like, “Congratulations, you made the choice that is right for you.” But most people want reasons. Many want to change my mind, to consider the reversibility of the procedure.  

Having a child is a huge decision. Why would anyone want to try and talk someone into it? A child requires more time and money, effort and love, than a horse. Who would tell someone, “You really need a horse. I know you don’t think you would be into riding, but you will like it once the time comes. Look at your horseback-riding hips, you were made for this!”  

I love my nephews. Having kids is wonderful for the folks who want them. I just don’t feel the need to have my own. And I hope some day, people will stop asking women like me for explanations or trying to change our minds.