Married; no kids
I have been married a while – almost 12 years, and we don’t have kids.
I guess that is fairly unusual, particularly as we’re both in our 30s now and “not getting any younger”, as people occasionally say.
The reason we don’t have kids is quite simple. Since her early 20s my wife has ovulated incredibly irregularly. Sometimes years go by between periods. The odds of conception are drastically reduced as a result.
I know there are options, like IVF, but that isn’t an exact science. I know enough couples who have gone through it to know that you can’t put all your eggs in the IVF basket. And even if we did, the medical advice to us is that my wife’s womb may not be ‘suitable’ for pregnancy, anyway.
Frustrating situation
There are two things that frustrate me about the situation. One is knowing things could be different in other circumstances. I have had a test, at the suggestion of my GP, and as far as my sperm goes I’m “producing the goods” (my GP’s words, not mine).
Occasionally I have moments where I wonder if wanting to have a child is a good enough reason to be with someone else. I know my wife has thought that too. She has said ‘If you were with someone else, you could be having kids.’
And that’s heart-breaking because I know she means it, and on top of a horrible medical condition she’s got guilt, which just makes everything worse. And so I reassure her and say ‘Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have you. And that’s not a trade I want to make.’
Other peoples’ business
But then there’s the second frustration: other people. I can understand why people ask if we have kids, but I don’t know what gives people the right to enquire further when I say ‘no’. The number of times I have smiled a glassy smile when someone says ‘Oh, why not?’
What I really want to do is tell them to push off (or worse). Instead, I normally say something neutral like ‘Well, sometimes you don’t get a choice.’ More astute people will change the subject. But other people blunder on, even making suggestions as to what I can do: ‘Have you tried IVF?’ ‘What about adoption?’
It stuns me to think that people honestly think that I haven’t thought about the options. I want to say ‘Wow, no, I hadn’t thought of those things. Thank you for fixing all my problems with your insightful advice. Is there something intensely personal I could help you with – maybe you’re experiencing sexual dysfunction or an embarrassing illness. Let me tell you what I think you should do.’
I’d like to say those things… but I don’t.
Ways forward
The adoption suggestion is put forward as a practical solution to a problem: I don’t have kids. The remedy is obviously – in the minds of the intrusive person I’m talking to – to give me another kid, as if kids are interchangeable.
But adoption isn’t a simple, pain-free process. And sometimes kids who are adopted need more than just ‘parents’. I admire people who can foster or adopt kids and give them a stable, loving home, and transform their lives. But I think that’s a calling, because of all the other practical issues involved – including nurturing them to overcome any emotional or mental trauma they might be burdened with.
So, adoptive parents have my utmost respect, but, for me, adoption doesn’t ‘solve the problem’ of not having kids. An adopted child may become ‘my’ child, but I have this nagging worry that I won’t feel like the child is really mine. I can’t explain why, and maybe that’s a shortcoming in me, but it’s a real fear.
Holding on to what you got
I’ve gradually become reconciled to the likelihood that I won’t stand in the delivery room and have a son or daughter placed into my arms and know that I’m holding my own flesh-and-blood miracle. I’ve learned that even if it feels like someone is twisting a knife in my heart, I can smile and hug someone when they tell me that they’re pregnant. And I’ve learned to ignore the well-meaning patronising suggestions of people who stick their nose into my private world of disappointment.
I’ve even learned to ignore the platitudes that ‘sometimes the people who don’t have children of their own, end up having more children than they ever imagined’. I’m not sure what that means, and as it’s only ever said by people who have their own children.
And I’ve learned that in life you have to hold on to what you have got. You can grieve what isn’t going to happen, and then you have to move on. I’m thankful I’ve found love. I’m grateful every day for my wife and that she is in my life.
Everybody has to sacrifice something in a relationship. Not having kids is a reminder that love is a choice. I make that trade-off every day.
I have yet to regret it.
Posted on 8th January.
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Furl itPosted 08.01.10
