Last week, I wrote a post about my conversation with a friend who doesn’t want kids. I talked about how when she told me this it was like she was speaking a foreign language. One that I barely understood. No kids? Never? Never ever? No kids. Ever, she confirmed. Okay. I was a tad anxious about publishing the post because I am well aware that this kids/no kids topic is a thicket of controversy. Thankfully, my anxiety didn’t paralyze me (this time). I published. And waited (like we bloggers do) for the comments to roll in. (Or not roll in. Sob.) And roll in, they did. Amazing comments. Diverse voices. Strong opinions.
I was thrilled at the participation, but more than that I was thrilled at the continuum of reactions. I was heartened by the gentleness, the unanticipated diplomacy, the conspicuous open-mindedness. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of people who chimed in who: (a) are not parents; and (b) do not plan to be. Don’t get me wrong. I love parents. I am a parent. This is my world. But. These comments from members of the human species who do not have wee ones (and do not crave wee ones) underscored the fact that this blog, however young and sprightly and scattered, appeals to an audience broader than moms. Yay. This blog is not just reaching clones of Aidan! This is exactly what I want. Depth. Diversity. Grays.
But something struck me about the content of these comments. Something upset me. That something? The vast majority of those who declared that they do not want kids also stated that they are constantly asked to justify this life choice to others. I can’t imagine this. Frankly, I am quite the mainstream cliché. I went to college, then law school, then started my career, then married, then popped out a couple of (freakishly cute) kids. No one has asked me to justify my path. Ever. (Wait, not entirely true. A few people asked me to justify the whole novel writing dream. You know who you are.)
