Grow up, meet the right person, settle down, have kids, then watch your kids do the same thing you did. This is the cycle of life as idolized by the American narrative, driven by our biological impulse to reproduce. But is this the only option?
I have been thinking a lot about kids lately: what being pregnant might feel like, what raising kids might look like, whether I can financially afford to have them, what is the ecological impact of having them, whether I should have them, and whose “should” am I listening to anyway.
As a woman, I am feeling the pressure of that age-old command: be fruitful and multiply. If I choose not to have kids, surely I am going against the essence of what it means to be human, and I am definitely going against what it means to be a woman. Right?
Having kids is a serious decision. For one, there are no returns, exchanges, or refunds for a baby. I cannot just stick the thing back where it came from if I decide I do not like it. Two, I have the power to really mess someone up, and it is not hard to do, based on what I know of developmental psychology. Three, my body, energy, money, and resources will forever go into this one life decision. And four, unconditional love is hard, especially after knowing the first three things.
And yet, we all seem to have kids anyway. It is just what we do. If we don’t, then people ask questions, mostly aimed at trying to understand such a “selfish” decision. But why does having kids need to be so entangled with a woman’s value?
Choosing not to have kids is usually seen as being selfish. Let’s say I choose not to have kids. Now I have disrupted my mom’s cycle of life, removing grandkids from her equation, or at least leaving them up to my siblings to produce. I now have more money to travel and be worldly, if I so choose. And I have taken my right to procreate into my own female hands, which can fall in line with other debates over agency — if the child wants to be made, who am I to stop it from happening, eh?
Choosing to have kids, though, can be equally selfish. I usually think of kids as mini versions of me — well, half of me. Honestly, though, what is so special about passing on my genes in particular? The world is hitting the fan, and putting a human being into it just so I can see how mini-me will fare against the mess feels selfish. Kids get shot at school, or they get bullied and go shoot other kids. Meanwhile, we are killing the planet and sucking up precious resources, waging war, and hating everyone — is this really the kind of world I want someone to inherit?
Saying no to having kids is not as easy as just saying no. Everyone wants to know your reason. Not adding another number to the world’s population, stopping a line of hereditary illness, using resources for community outreach instead, liking dogs better than kids — they all make sense to me, but for some reason, the only one that people can truly understand is: “I am infertile, sorry.”
On the other hand, it is funny how you do not even need to defend saying yes.
Now, I am in no way ready to settle down and make this choice just yet, but when I am, I want my choice to be intrinsically motivated, one way or the other, rather than be pressured by someone else’s “should.” And should I choose the “not” option — grow up, save the world, the end — it better not affect my value as a woman.
