Choosing to be Childfree After Infertility

Part Two: Reflections

            

                I was in the military the first time I contemplated having kids.  It was exciting but it wasn’t the right time.  I didn’t start trying to get pregnant until I was almost out of the military.  We spent about a year trying not including the months we stopped so I could deploy.    I was pregnant less than 90 days after my separation.  The plan was that I would stay at home until the baby would go to school because it would be cheaper than child care. 

                When my husband told me on April 3^rd that he will never want to adopt or try to have kids in any way I was devastated.  He told me to stop hoping he would change his mind.  The physical, emotional and mental cost was too high after our other losses.  He told me he couldn’t meet the requirements above.  He can’t be charismatic or convince people to give him cash.  Neither of us is social.  He wants stability that raising kids can’t give him.

My reaction at first was shock.  I sat there staring at the wall.  I barely registered anything happening the next few days.  I haven’t wanted to eat, can’t sleep.  I keep crying.  It sucks.   Everything reminds me that I will never raise children.  I spent over $100 on used books to cope with infertility and being “Childless by Chance.”  I even spent $50 on Fannie May because I haven’t fully accepted that chocolates don’t make everything better. 

The worst thing is I wanted to talk but when the opportunity arose I was ashamed, upset and scared so I didn’t share with many people what I was experiencing.  I want to be seen as a strong capable person and this makes it hard to be that way.  It was days before I even spoke with my own Mother.    When you are in the middle of infertility it’s impossible to see any happy ending that doesn’t involve bringing a baby home.  I didn’t want pity but I needed support. 

In the last few days I’ve begun asking new questions.  Why did I ever want kids?   At the time I knew I was getting out of the military and that was scary.   I’d worked so hard to get where I was.  I didn’t want to start over but I knew I couldn’t last much longer on my current path.  I wanted to hide and being a stay-at-home Mom gave me enough reason not to face the world.  I didn’t want to try because I didn’t want to fail.  In not trying I have met even more failure than I ever would have imagined back then.  I found out that physically having kids is not easy.

Everyone knows its hard being a parent.  You can’t be a selfish person when it comes to your kids.  We have programs to help parents.  We even have the famous line from Hillary Clinton, “It takes a Village to Raise a Child.”  You can’t go outside without facing their reality.  I know and accept that I will never comprehend what it is like to raise a child.   There are a million blogs and forums for parents.  People often go out of their way to be considerate to the needs of parents.   We have whole days set aside to thank our parents.   

We have a kid-centric culture.  It’s normal to grow up, get married and have kids.  I realized that I wanted to be a part of something like that.  I want to go to church on Mother’s Day and stand up with all the other Mom’s but when I do I feel like a fraud because I’m not living that lifestyle.  They don’t ask for all the women who have kids, are trying to have kids or have lost pregnancies and young babies to stand up.  They ask for Mom’s and generally when you think of Mom it’s that person who raised you even if that person wasn’t technically your Mother.  I wanted to experience that positive reinforcement; to have some recognition for something I had worked so hard to accomplish.  I saw Motherhood as the most normal way to do that.  

I never wanted to lose my kids.  When I did I wanted to share them.  When I got mad it was never my fault.  I can see now I didn’t want someone to think I was less than them.  I don’t like believing I’m not good enough or capable enough.  I really don’t like failure.  I’ve spent years hating people who say the wrong thing because what they say is coming from a place of pity, assumptions they couldn’t know about or because they are repeating a platitude.  To pity me says that you think I haven’t got something vital.  I don’t want that.  I want recognition for accomplishments.  But to this day I’m still afraid to try.  The difference is that I do try.  Sometimes it feels like it’s never enough but I do it even though I fail over and over again.  Failure is a big part of who I am; a good part.

I wanted to be normal.  Everyone I knew that was normal had kids or was having kids.  I’ve never liked being odd.  I learned that doesn’t get you far because people notice.  You become an outsider.   At a certain age not having kids makes you unrelatable.    We all conform to the culture we are raised in.  You are supposed to want the white-picked fence in the suburbs with 2 ½ kids.  If you meet a new acquaintance the topic of kids is as bonding as talking about the weather.   It’s hard to connect with people who have nothing in common with you.

I was afraid of what would happen to me without kids.  I’m afraid I’ll be old and alone but that's no reason to have kids.  After pregnancy and infant loss people’s fears become magnified.  A common grief reaction for anyone is to become socially isolated.  I barely left the house.  I was so vulnerable to any comments made by anyone that I buried my loss with all but a few.  That is a tough habit to break.  If I don’t break it I really will end up old and alone so I have to work on it a bit at a time.  Like most people I want to be remembered.  You need to impact people’s lives to be remembered; you have to earn that not give birth to that right. 

But when I think of adoption I want to be fair.  I don’t want to adopt just because I can’t have a kid naturally.  I don’t want them to be a replacement for my kids that died.   I want them to see me as their Mom and not just a caregiver.  If I say I would do anything just to have a kid am I really giving that child all the respect they deserve? 

It’s very hard for me to think about never trying.  This is a lost dream.  When my son was stillborn there was nothing else that was as important.  I waited years between each pregnancy to make sure I wasn’t trying to replace one child with another.   I wanted to know the feeling of breast-feeding and nurturing.  I wanted to scold and keep them safe.  I wanted the sleepless nights and midnight trips to clean up sick. 

I know what that connection to your child feels like.  As soon as my kids were born I knew that there was no bond stronger than that of a mother and child.  Yet,  I had to let go.  That feeling never went away.  But here I am letting go for good. 

The dream will end when I can see that not all happy endings result in kids.  The fairy tale is not always the best way to judge your own success.  Those who are different are the ones who make a difference.  I don't have to be a Mother to do that.