I wore a maxi dress to work today. The frequency in which I
wear dresses to work is about once per month. I am more of a jeans and blouse
kind of girl. So on the spontaneous day that I wear a dress like I did today,
people notice and sometimes talk about it in the same way they might if I
showed up with a tattoo on my face. Most days I don’t mind this. Today was not
one of those days.
It was mid-morning and I was chatting with a
coworker about my decision to go to 7/11 last night for a glazed doughnut (or
two) at 11:00 p.m. I ate the doughnuts right before bed (I had had a
day, okay?) and this morning when I woke up the first thing I saw was my
crumpled up 7/11 doughnut wrapper on my nightstand staring at me, shaming me,
and reminding me of my choices from the night before. While I described this
narrative to a coworker, we laughed and I put my hand over the middle of my
belly and said “oh well, it was worth it.”
A
few seconds later I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind. I turned around and
there was a middle-aged woman from another department standing there with a big
grin on her face.
“What
are you hiding under that lovely dress?” she asked. She looked at my coworker
and winked. I snickered and replied: “Doughnuts.”
She
didn’t think it was funny.
“Well,
that’s not what I was hoping to hear,” she went on to say.
Not
again, I thought. It was the hand over the belly. And the dress. Here it comes…
“I
was hoping you were showing off a baby bump and you never wear dresses… I got
excited,” she explained.
“Haha,
sorry, no babies here. Not for a long time. Or ever,” I said, even though my
coworker already knew this. She has been asking me about my plans for
procreation since I started my job four years ago.
“Well
that just makes me sad…” she said solemnly as she walked away.
Right.
I forgot. Whether or not I am pregnant should be directly related to how you
feel about my being pregnant.
I
did not say this out loud. But I should have.
Her
sentiments reminded me of something that happened a month ago while at church.
An elderly woman with whom I have known for a couple years walked up to me
amidst a conversation with a visitor in which I had stated that my husband and
I would be celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary this upcoming summer. Upon
hearing this comment the woman stated: “Five years already!? Oh honey, you
better start popping out your babies now!”
The visitor I was talking to let out a giggle. Before I could say anything the
woman continued, “Pretty soon it’ll be too late for you.”
And with that she strutted off to her seat in a
pew.
It is time for those who view it as socially
appropriate to make comments or jokes about a woman’s plans for child-bearing
to understand that it’s not okay. It is also not okay to ask when she’s going
to have kids or her reasons why she’s choosing not to. I don’t care who you are
— unless you are my husband, doctor, or my best friend of fourteen years, do not
ask me or make jokes about my pregnancy status. Or lack thereof. It’s not
funny, cute, or kind. In fact, it’s the exact opposite, and depending on
whatever my circumstances might be that you likely don’t know about it could be
absolutely devastating.
A
few months ago I went out with a girlfriend who is consistently one of the most
positive and visibly happy people I have ever met. She never seems to have a
bad day. I pointed this out to her as a compliment and said I admired her for
it. The conversation went deeper and she revealed to me that she’s not always
happy, and that her greatest source if sadness comes from not having had kids
yet. She explained that she is constantly asked about it and it pains her. She
struggles with depression in part because she’s wanted a baby for years but
isn’t in a situation conducive to making it happen.
I
know another woman who has been married for seven years and trying to get
pregnant for six of them. She was told she likely can’t conceive so she has
been to infertility treatment clinics for years and had no luck. It crushes
her. She never knows what to say when she’s asked about children but confided
that the question almost always makes her want to cry.
If
someone says they don’t want kids, there is a good chance that there is a
reason why that you are not entitled to or need to know. Because that reason is
likely not something the woman enjoys discussing.
My
husband and I have had the talk and agree that having kids is not a priority
for us. Not now, not in six months, and if we so choose, not ever. My
plans to give birth to another human life line up perfectly with my plans to
work as a back-up dancer for Justin Beiber’s intergalactic tour through
outer-space. So as it stands, that equates to never. And you know what?
Alongside every other woman who also shares these feelings, we do not need a
reason as to why.
Yet
all too often, we find ourselves stuttering to justify or explain to other
people how we could possibly not want to do the thing you are supposed to do
after you get married, that is, make babies, which is a decision that doesn’t
fit the favored life script that so many ascribe to and expect of others.
Furthermore, when we do try to explain why we don’t want children, it often
snowballs into an even more demeaning, presumptuous, and ignorant conversation
on behalf of the other person when they say things like “Oh, you’ll change your
mind someday,” or, “Sure, you say that now… just you wait a year or two!” But
unlike the type of car you drive or whether you wear glasses or contacts or
sleep with one partner or five, having kids is not necessarily a choice that
you can change your mind about on a whim. Particularly if, like my two
girlfriends, it is not a choice you can control.
This should be a no-brainer. But sadly, it’s become a part of the package that
is Westernized marriage. If you’re a wife, you’re expected to also be a mother.
And if you’re not…well than, what are you doing with a husband and a house and
a fresh-out-of-college career if not preparing for your flock of future baby
ducklings?
For women, there is hardly anything as
inappropriately invasive and ignorant as comments or questions posed to her
about her baby-making abilities or parts or plans. Nothing outside of asking
her why she isn’t married or why she is overweight, or underweight, or how her
menstrual cycle is coming along. I wonder whether people would ever deem it
acceptable to ask a woman those intimate and deeply sensitive questions in
public. My guess is no.
The
reality that such people seem to have failed to recognize or consider is that
the process of getting pregnant can be the greatest and most painful source of
agony and grief that a woman ever experiences. That’s because she may miscarry
— multiple times. And money, an unstable marriage or family, mental or physical
illness, lack of support or career decisions could also be factors — the
list of reasons goes on.
But
the list doesn’t matter. Because the reasons are nobody’s business.
My
coworker has no idea whether or not I had a miscarriage last month. She has no
clue about the state of my marriage or health or where I am in my life journey.
But for women who have dealt with obstacles in conceiving, her comment could
have triggered intense sadness and depression and feelings of inadequacy.
Most
women understand the intention might be sincere and possibly one of excitement
about the possibility of getting to hold your future baby and buy cute clothes
and crib accessories for them. But even so, having a baby isn’t about that.
Being
a parent is hard. I have incredible amount of respect for parents. I
believe the act of child-rearing is among the most honorable and wonderful
things someone could choose to dedicate their life to. Parenting requires
courage and selflessness and an impossible measure of patience and grace
because having a baby is HUGE deal. A lot more so than things like your credit
score or sex life or your views on gay marriage. Yet, I doubt a woman from work
or church would ask me about those things in public.
My
coworker’s comments inspired me to come up with a solution to this problem that
works for me and may also work for others who share these sentiments. And the
best solution I can think of to get this point across when we are asked about
when we will have babies or why we don’t want them is to answer with this
simple question: Why do you ask?
If
they have the nerve to answer, it’s unlikely the answer has anything to do with
the woman who made the choice and is more about them.
Kids
are not a foreseeable part of my future. And I don’t need to give anyone a
reason why other than because that is a part of what makes me, me. In the same
way that motherhood shapes a woman’s identity, so does her choice, involuntary
or not, to remain child-free. Period.
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