Molly Tumanic

The only problem with not wanting children is that people – usually extended family members – feel the need to tell you you’re wrong. They ask when you and your significant other are having children, and when you say, “When the earth crashes into the sun,” they give you this look, as if you just told them you were flying to Jupiter on winged pygmy rats next Thursday. Then they condescendingly tell you that you will change your mind.

There’s not much you can do about this “change your mind” mantra, except explain you gave your biological clock to Goodwill and inquire loudly about the whereabouts of the nearest physician who performs tubal litigations or vasectomies.

Or you can try explaining your reasons: Perhaps you have the maternal or paternal instincts and skills of asphalt, or wish for a disposable income and the time to spend it, or perhaps you feel the world is already well-stocked with resource-guzzling humans. The most concrete, irrefutable reason you can give, especially as a woman, however, is pain.

I have heard childbirth is a wonderful and empowering experience, but based on my vast experience of watching TLC and a live birth video, childbirth is only an empowering and magical experience AFTER the child emerges and has been in graduate school for a minimum of three years.

Most of us have been herded into our ninth-grade health class for the birth video, which was named something like “Labor of Love: Agatha’s Agony,” and featured a normal-looking woman and man (except they are from the ’80s and thus have comical-looking hair) who are very excited about the arrival of Little Precious and apparently feel that parenthood is all about naming the child and dressing it up in cute designer garments.

Those of us who have done extensive babysitting know that taking care of a child involves a lot more than cooing at a baby and having meaningful emotional and educational interactions with a child. It involves studying poop for consistency and color, getting into long, drawn-out arguments about the necessity of wearing underwear and it involves solving many miniature crises. In a space of five minutes, you must get Todd to stop eating Saran Wrap and make sure Heather is not sticking a fork in the light socket, all while answering the door and explaining to the religious missionaries that no, I don’t want free literature and I’m not interested in – Oh my God, Heather, don’t stick that fork in Todd – learning about Jesus. Then the phone starts ringing, or the oven explodes, or Todd runs directly, and for no good reason, into the wall and suffers a hairline fracture, and on and on and on, until the only reason you insist on the kids taking a nap is so that you can take one yourself.

They don’t show this part on the video though, because they figure no one would ever have children if they were exposed to the pain aspect and the perpetual exhaustion aspect at the same time.

It was still enough for me. Except for certain reality television shows, it’s the best advertisement for sterilization I’ve ever seen. The action really starts when the woman gets carted off to the hospital while trying to smile bravely at the camera, but clearly wishing that she had never agreed to let herself be taped.

It all goes downhill from there, with screaming, blood, uncomfortable-looking close-up shots and general unpleasantness, up until that Magical Moment that Makes It All Worth ItTM, when she projectile-vomits pea soup at a priest. Oh, wait, that’s The Exorcist. No matter; as far as I can tell, the whole pregnancy process is much the same as demonic possession. The person goes through strange body changes, gets cranky and moody and, I imagine, during the exorcism/labor, develops a deep appreciation for celibate men.

I don’t know about you, but I nearly threw up right there in the classroom during the video. All it was lacking was the Jaws theme music set to her contractions. After the woman did a lot of shrieking and pushing and asking to be put to death, the Miracle of Birth appeared, looking like – let’s be honest here and not mess around with euphemistic descriptions – a howling California Raisin dipped in slime, I wondered what the fuss was all about. Oh sure, you can clean the baby up and dress it up nice and then it’s cute, but you can get the same results with a small dog or an accommodating cat.

Of course, I am not telling anyone not to have children – for so many people, parenthood really is an endeavor in which the rewards far outweigh the negatives, and that’s great. I would never walk up to a pregnant woman and cluck, “Oh, my dear, you’ll change your mind about that in a few years!”

But it would be nice to have the same respect be paid to those of us child-free folks, especially at family reunions.

The pygmy rats won’t be ready for a while.