I hate children

Let me clarify: I hate the culture of children.

It’s not really children, per se. Granted, I’m not fond of them being around, I don’t want one in my house or very often in my immediate presence. I especially don’t like it if I have to watch one that can’t even talk coherently let alone understand what I’m saying. But all this is because I have no patience and no strong maternal instincts to speak of.

If I’m out in public somewhere and a child looks at me, I will smile at it. If I see a video or gif of a child doing something adorable, I might share it. I don’t actively go out of my way to upset children or even discuss them with most people.

But I hate, with all my being, the culture that surrounds the concept of children.

There’s an overwhelming societal expectation of a person that they must not only have children (usually multiple), but that they must desperately want children, often to the exclusion of all else. It’s tied very much into the notion that everyone is supposed to get married and promptly produce offspring and put themselves neatly into heteronormative traditional gender roles so as to be a good adult and a “productive member of society.” Indeed, the mere presence of breasts and a presumed uterus is indicative that a person’s worth is whether or not they reproduce.

And it’s this idea that infests every conversation about health or future or family. It’s this concept that makes those of us who do not want children (especially biologically) have to constantly brace ourselves for potential arguments when we talk about any of these things.

It’s the reason I had to switch doctors when my first one kept insisting that “the ideal” was for me to “remain a virgin until marriage and then marry a virgin before having children.” It’s the reason people with vaginas require checkups for “reproductive health” to make sure everything is “functioning correctly for reproduction” instead of just to make sure things don’t hurt/aren’t infected/need attention. It’s the reason we see language used like “baby-making” for sex with no stated reproductive intent. Why the term “biological clock” is still exclusively used in regards to reproduction. And why there is an over-emphasis on pregnancy and reproduction language in sex (“baby goo,” “baby batter,” “gonna make a baby in you,” etc.). It’s why there’s still so much debate over who gets a say in pregnancy, why pregnancy is still terrifyingly often referred to as a punishment or as a means to control those with a uterus. It’s the reason why family, friends, and even strangers feel completely within their rights to ask you about your reproductive plans, to make you justify all of your life choices to them at a moment’s notice, to question your thoughts and beliefs as if they know you better than you do yourself.

It’s the reason why the questions are so intensive when someone asks for lasting birth control. It’s the reasons why we are told over and over the rate of regret, the success stories of people who changed their minds, the horror stories of those who didn’t. It’s the reason why, when you state that you have a “phobia of pregnancy” in the hope that it will make people stop asking you without making you explain yourself or justify your feelings for the umpteenth time, the only advice you get is, “Well, that needs to be fixed before anything else.” It’s the reason why “because I don’t want children” isn’t enough. It’s the reason why adoption is never seen as an option because “you’ll want some of your own someday.” It’s the reason why people put such value on “extending the family line” and "continuing the family name.”

It’s the reason I have to say I hate children for people to  simply stop questioning me. It’s the reason I have to monitor my conversations with certain people because they’ll say, “Ah, see, you do like kids!!” It’s the reason parts of my dysphoria kick in hard when I see the sort of things mentioned above. Because, unless something happens to remove or damage a uterus, it is not only expected, but demanded of you to know why you’re refusing “the most precious gift on Earth,” “your womanly duty,” “the greatest love you’ll ever know,” and so forth.

It’s the reason why “I hate children” is rolled off my tongue more and more until finally people just stop talking.

But I don’t hate children.

I hate the culture of children.

I hate the misogyny that surrounds pregnancy.

Most of all, I hate the people who perpetuate this culture, who deny someone else the right to say they don’t want to be part of it, who threaten to make them part of it.

But, you know, it’s so much easier to just say I hate children.

5 things you're never told about your nanny

How much do you think about your nanny? Oh, sure, you made sure of who she isn’t; your crazy neighbor that may or may not be plotting to kidnap your baby, or that creep who used to stalk you on the Internet. You worry that your kids are in good hands everyday. But admit it, you think relatively little about someone who is spending up to a full work week or more, with your kid.

I mean, they’re “just” the baby-sitter. They're "just" the caregiver. They're "just." They’re not really part of your parenting. They’re not part of your family. You don’t want them in your “happily ever after” story. Right?

The person “watching” your kids doesn’t get to just “watch,” and while I admit I’m occasionally tempted to sit on the little girl I nanny, my job is not just about sitting on babies.

And being a nanny is hard. Like, super hard.

I’m not actually trying to compare being a nanny to parenting. I don’t imagine myself to understand what parenting is like. Much more often than not, my job leaves me kind of… in awe, of parents. You guys are all very warped, amazing, sick, sick, wonderful people.

What I do, is clearly not nearly so real, so big, so meaningful, or so hard. It’s… worse. Why?

1. We get all of the bad, and none of the good. Seriously. I get barfed on, screamed at, and spend hours developing a headache while preparing a dinner I have a sneaking suspicion little people will refuse to eat. But at the end of the day, when the little guy has just learned to read aloud on their own, you, the parent, scoop him onto your lap, receive his kisses, and beam with pride. “He gets it from my side,” you think, “it’s because I’ve been reading to him since he was born” then you snuggle down with your baby while I smile weakly, cross “reading “ off my mental list of things I’m partly responsible for were it not a success.

Sure, you might think, but at the end of the day, you also don’t have to worry about the children’s education, saving account, general well being… I never said I did. I, believe it or not, have my own little life, education, saving account, family, and health to worry about. But, I’m probably still worrying about your child’s. Because…

2.  Yes, I’m getting paid. But plain and simple, childcare is not something that is done for money. No one goes into teaching, day-caring, or any child-related job for the money. It is, necessarily, an extremely expensive job, emotionally. If it’s not emotionally draining for your kid’s nanny, she’s doing it wrong. Trust me. In fact, drive home right now to check on them. If I didn’t bend over backwards to love and empathize with the kids I work with every day, I would have snapped the cutesy Hello Kitty underwear that I have to wash and fold, right over their snot nosed faces, in the worlds biggest wedgie, and quit on the spot- a LOOONG time ago. Which leads me to,

3. Who do I dump to? You, hopefully, have your spouse for support and commiseration. I could call my friends and say, “Jenny missed the potty three times today and now my shirt is ruined” and listen to them snore, or I could call you and say, “Your kid is being a brat today” and get fired. Both options sort of suck. It’s a weird position to be in, especially because…

4. It’s true you’re the only person who really knows your kid. No one wants to take that away from you. Except… could you fill me in a little more? I know it’s your personal life, but I’m working in the dark here. Let’s say your kid has been treating me like I’m the root of all childhood ills all day, and I punish them. Or even just stop being Fun Nanny and start being Sad Sleeper. I think it’s for no reason. And then I find out it’s because they over heard you and your husband’s violent argument and threats of divorce the night before. Fine. But ideally, I should have some idea of what’s going on with these kids that I’m still getting to know. And I’m gonna be pissed. Just sayin’. So, in summary,

5. There’s no communication or clear boundaries. I have tons of responsibility, and ridiculously little power or control. No matter how hard I try, when it’s wrong it’s my fault, when it’s right it’s your success. The one time I screw something up, your beady little eyes are all over it, when I did 40,000 other things right, and went the extra mile, you’re way to distracted to notice. And what kind of person really messes up something that’s important to a child’s well being? A moron if it’s me, a human if it’s a parent. It's true that part of my job is to fit my schedule to yours, but I'm not trying to mold my life around yours. You forget that I have a life outside of your children. There are friends and family I want to spend time with.

I’m caught in the middle, a bit of a scapegoat, and never get backed up for enforcing your ever changing rules. I’m expected on a daily basis to pull off the things even you can’t get your kids to do. I’m an invasion of your privacy when I’m around, and you’re an invasion of mine when you think “I'm available” means that I can’t really expect to have a life outside of your family. If your kids love me, I’m undermining your parenting. If they hate me, I must be horrible.

But it’s not your fault, and it’s not mine. It’s natural, it’s the nature of the beast, it’s unavoidable and totally tolerable. But worst of all? I’m a 24 year old feminist, and sometimes I think I care way to much if some random middle aged couple is going to notice that I buffed their stupid granite counter tops to a perfect shine, and that’s just sick.

Should I have kids?

I'm going to get back on track with the actual serious posts I was planning on writing. I know the past couple posts have been a little off topic from the things I did want to talk about, but I'm going to get back to what I was talking about now.

This is a touchy subject for a lot of people, women especially. A lot of women feel like not wanting to have a child is somehow wrong. When people find out that I have absolutely zero desire to reproduce, they think that there's something wrong with me, it's a phase or I'm just saying it. I'm not. I have no desire to have kids. For as long as I can remember, I haven't wanted to have any children.

I'm still young. I'm in my early (very early) twenties. I see no reason to rush into having a child. There is more to life than procreating. I'm recently married. I want to enjoy being just married. I have a job. I want to focus on my career. I love shoes. I would rather spend my money on shoes than on a baby. I know that may seem selfish, but I think now is the time in my life to be a little selfish. If my husband and I want to travel or buy a car or something ridiculous, we can. Why should I rush into something as life changing as having a child? A lot of people seem to think that just because we're married, we should immediately turn our focus to children. Why?

And since I've learned more about the world we live in, I'm even less inclined to have a child of my own. When you can read about the thousands and thousands of children that are starving, homeless, abused, neglected and whatnot, what makes me think I should be so arrogant as to assume I should bring one of my own offspring into this world and not try to help these children? Should I not try to focus my time and energy on trying to help the children that are out there currently in the world rather than being so focused on having something that is "mine" out there? If I were to adopt a child, it would be my child. I would raise it. I would teach it. I would care for it. Does this not make the child my child?

I want a puppy. I don't have time for a puppy. I know that a child is much more work than a puppy. So if I can honestly say I don't have time for another pet, what makes me suitable to have a child that I have no time or energy for?

Should I?

Now that we've gotten married, I've had a lot of people begin telling me a variety of things that we should be doing. We should buy a house. We should have children. We should know our life plan for the next ten-fifteen years. I don't know why people feel like I need to have their advice, but apparently they think I need it.

My next couple of posts will relate to two of the biggest things I keep hearing about: a house and children.

I have no intention of buying a house in the next five years. I also have no intention of having children in the next five years. And soon, you will all know why.