I didn’t really plan on having kids even though it was
almost a foregone conclusion in my family – women get married, have kids, teach
elementary school or become a nurse.
Unless you married a farmer. Then
you became a farmer’s wife … with a bunch of kids. So while I assumed it would happen, it wasn’t
anything I yearned for.
I had my first son at 21.
I was single and a college Senior.
Becoming a mother put an end to everything I had planned for
myself. I wanted to move to a big city
and disappear. I wanted to travel. I wanted to live alone in a tiny apartment
and learn how the world worked. I had
grown up in a little country town with no idea how to interact with people I
hadn’t lived with my entire life. All of
these things were impossible now … I had a kid to take care of. His needs came first and that meant
sacrificing it all. I went on to marry
and have another son. I mean, in for a
penny, in for a pound, right?
So now I’m 45, twice divorced and my kids are pretty much grown. I love them so much it makes my heart ache. I would do anything and everything for them. Most people say I do too much and they are probably right. It’s the “I want my kids to have a better life than I did” syndrome. And that’s exactly why I don’t want them to have kids. I want them to live for themselves. To explore. To not be afraid to risk losing everything in order to fulfill a dream. I need them to do the things I can only read about.
