You Have Them Then — One Angry Waitress

My eggs are getting dusty, or so it must seem to everyone else. Never before has there been such a fire under my father’s ass to convince me that our children are our legacy—which is ironic really given that a lot of the time I’m pretty sure he thinks that I’m a real piece of work. I have insisted that if he wants grandkids so bad, he can have them himself.

In the days since his last visit I have found out how to tie my own tubes, thanks to Youtube, and have things all set up in the garage with some jumper cables, a pair of pliers and a bit of chicken wire—all things that I’ve found in the trunk of my car. My folks don’t think that I’ll do it, but I’ve been standing of this window ledge for a long time swearing that I’m going to jump. It would be cowardly to go back inside now.

I’ve always assumed that people want you to have children so that their lives can be as miserable as theirs. They’ll tell you it’s a great thing until you decide to take the same plunge and then, a few months into the pregnancy, they come out and admit that actually it’s pretty awful and they couldn’t stand to see you too happy. “But now we can have playdates,” they’ll say cheerfully. Which is why I suppose strollers are so large: to cart around all the booze you need to make it through the day. I go over to girlfriend’s places for coffee and the ones who have kids usually serve me cherry whiskey paralyzers instead. At eleven in the morning.

A close friend of mine, who has three adult children herself, recently told me that she’s impressed that I’ve decided not to have children (I took it to mean because it would’ve been like some sort of accomplishment in the life of someone who floats from one job to another, owns nothing but shoes and is more or less an adult child). “You know,” she said, “Everybody has children so that they can leave a mark on the world, so that they can be a legacy. But lots of the time your kids don’t turn out the way you want. Sometimes you don’t even like them.”

There’s no real way to validate your life to others, and except for in front of my parents I’ve all but stopped trying (meaning that I hide my bank statements when they’re around). No one else is going to understand the decisions you make, especially the big ones. And you shouldn’t have to explain that to anyone except maybe your partner.

So I have a quiet, child-less, selfish life, something that I’ve wanted with another person for a long time. Maybe it’s not for everyone, and maybe I’ll be lonely in my old age. But I wouldn’t give the right now up for anything, and I think that’s kind of the point.