You know what it’s like when you go to the grocery store and see a person buying some lettuce, and then you go up to them and say, “you don’t want salad! I just had steak, and it was SO good! You want steak, too. Everyone wants steak. It’s very selfish of you to have salad, you know“, and then they look at you and say, “but I want salad“, and you reply with, “maybe you do now, but just wait. You’ll want steak. Everyone wants steak“?

No? You don’t know what that’s like?

Of course you don’t, because that would be stupid.

So, that’s kind of how I feel when people tell me that my decision not to have children is not the right decision. That I don’t know what I’m talking about. That I’ll change my mind. That I just need to HAVE a child, and then I’ll get what *real* love is (There’s a grand plan, eh? “Look, I know that you think you want salad, but just take this lifetime supply of steak home instead. Try it, you’ll learn to love it!“).

Sometimes, it really takes everything I’ve got not to drop a hip, flip my hair, bat my eyelashes and giggle, “tee hee hee! I’m just a girl! I can’t make decisions! Tee hee!” Because when someone tells me that I really don’t know what I’m talking about when it comes to making a decision regarding having children (because I don’t have any), it’s incredibly condescending. I’m fairly certain that I know what I want for my own life, and I have pretty decent trust in my decision-making skills (unless I’m intoxicated – then all bets are off). I’m going to assume that the person making those statements is just trying to say, ‘oh, it’s so fun and rewarding!’, and not, ‘you’re warped if you don’t want kids, because EVERY woman wants kids, and I don’t want to be associated with a warped person, so goddammit just squeeze out a puppy and let’s make a play date!

…or something.

I think my favourite thing is when I tell people that I don’t want children, and they respond with, ‘but you’d be such a great mother!‘ Because really, not wanting children should probably be their first clue that my chances of being a good mother are starting off mighty slim. “You know, I don’t like steak, but I’m going to eat it anyway, just because you think my chewing abilities would be top-shelf”

I made the decision to not have children a long time ago. I’ve never been a fan of children. I think I’ve babysat twice in my life, and that was more than enough. Do I like my friends’ kids? Sure I do. They’re mini versions of my friends, of course I like them. I just don’t have any desire to have a mini version of me wandering around the planet, you know?

(You’re welcome.)

You had kids, and that’s great. Good on you. Bravo, and all that. But wouldn’t you be kind of miffed if someone told you that your decision to have children was the wrong one, and really, you were too young to make that choice in the first place, and you just needed to wait for your biological clock to stop ticking to really know for sure what you wanted? Of course you would.

I want a salad. You have steak. Let me eat my salad, and I’ll let you have a steak. Your crying, pooping, puking steak that blasts an extra large hole in your body, then gnaws on your boobs until you want to tear them off and heave them over a cliff. That steak that will love you unconditionally until you don’t let them sleepover at Jenna’s house because she’s a bad influence, and YOU’RE SO MEAN I HATE YOU WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE OTHER MOMS, and slams their bedroom door in your face as you stand there with a wooden spoon dripping spaghetti sauce all over the floor that you just cleaned earlier today so that you could have time to slave over a hot stove and make dinner for tonight, and 12 dozen cupcakes for school tomorrow just because your steak asked you to.

Mmmmm… salad.