There, I said it and it feels good to get off of my chest. I am now at an age where having them in the future isn’t possible. I have passed the point of no return and it’s a relief.

It seems that lately I am being asked more and more if I have kids. Over the years I have answered that question in a myriad of different ways (from a simple no to a more humorous, no that I know of), depending on who was asking, how they asked and the look of expectation on their face. Usually I try to answer in such a way as not to invite more questions, unfortunately that rarely works.

I don’t understand why people think it’s okay to pry into my reproductive life upon first meeting me. Let me take you on a little trip through a typical conversation upon meeting another woman who does have children.

Her- Do you have kids? (or the alternate, How many kids do you have? because she can’t fathom a grown woman not having any)

Me- No (or none)

Her- Why not?

Me- It just wasn’t in the cards for me. (but I’m thinking, none of your damned business)

Her- You know you can always adopt.

Me- Yes, I know.

Her- Or there’s in vitro, or surrogacy.

Me- Yes, I know.

Her- But you have kids in your life, right? Like Nieces and Nephews?

Me- No.

Then I politely change the subject so as to get that puzzled look off of her face.

I know that it would be more honest to just say I don’t have kids because I don’t want kids, but this seems to invite hostility from women who do have children and there’s no need to push those buttons. Women who are mothers tend to feel that I am somehow negatively judging them if I say I never wanted children. Honestly, I think it’s great that you had kids and that you are loving being a mother. I’m just not that kind of woman, so I chose not to have children.

I don’t like children. Even when I was a child I played with older children. I never played with baby dolls, instead playing with Barbie dolls and dreaming of the day when I would be a big girl. I never dressed my cat up as a baby. I dressed him up as a groom and married him weekly (poor Softie), but that’s another story. I had very little interest in my little brother when he was a baby. The one memory I have of any intrigue I had surrounding babies was when my Mother was breast feeding my brother. I was about 4. I recall just staring and trying to figure it out. Finally I had a eureka moment and said, “I get it! One is for milk and the other is for orange juice!” Even just a couple of years ago, I was walking down the sidewalk and almost tripped over a stroller while I was noticing a cute dog.

I am just not meant to be a Mother, that’s my choice and that’s okay.