. . . and not because I never had my own

The novel I just finished ended with the birth of a baby. 

Of course it did. In this type of feel-good fiction, even the people who think they can’t have children end up having them, and everyone is delighted. Just as people fall in love, overcome various obstacles, and end up happily ever after, surrounded by friends and family who adore them. 

To be honest, I want that. Don’t you?

Too bad it’s fiction. I won’t name this novel for fear of spoiling it for you.  

I will give credit to the author for bringing a childless woman into the picture. The new mom tells her childless sister-in-law, “My daughter needs a guardian angel, mentor, teacher, friend, a role model. Someone who is her strength. Someone she can always depend on and look up to. . . . Will you be Elizabeth’s godmother?”

Of course she will.

As I savored the ending through my tears, I cursed the author for making me cry. Baby-happy though she may be, at least she recognized the pain of those of us who don’t have children.

I suspect this “childless” godmother will marry her true love and miraculously become a mom in the sequel.

Moms and non-moms don’t always get along that well in real life. So often, they make wrong assumptions. A mother friend I’ll call Jo and I were talking about how misunderstandings arise between friends over having or not having children. One of her close friends assumed that when Jo became a mom, she would not have time for their friendship because moms’ lives are all about their kids.

“There was so much more to my life,” Jo protested. “I was still me.” 

At the same time, mothers make the mistake of assuming those of us without kids hate children and don’t want to be around them. That’s not true. I would love to be a godmother.

Kids are magical in the way they see everything with fresh eyes. Their excitement and their honesty are refreshing. Sure, they’re messy, noisy, tactless, and sometimes a pain, but so are we. Yes, seeing yours might remind me that I’ll never have my own, but does that mean I have to be kept apart from ALL children? Let me in.

It’s not only parents and non-parents who fail to communicate. People who are at different stages of life also misunderstand each other.   

That’s one of the reasons I’m planning to stop writing new posts for this blog after a couple more. My 900 posts will remain here for you to read whenever you want. I’m even going to create an index.

As a baby boomer who came of age in the late 1960s and early 1970s, I’m just not in the same place as young women struggling with the realities of childlessness now. I’m way past the possibility of having children. I’m not married or dating. My peers aren’t having babies; they’re welcoming grandchildren.

With menopause 20 years in the past, I feel as if I have already shared all I had to share about my childless journey. There are other, younger writers doing a better job of it now. 

That does not mean I don’t feel sad when I see families doing things together and know I’ll never have that. It does not mean I don’t feel grief and a bit of regret for how things turned out. It doesn’t mean I don’t see other women making the same choices I made and want to scream, “No! Don’t give up your chance to have children so easily.” 

It doesn’t mean I don’t feel like a slacker sometimes because I was physically able to reproduce, unlike women who are unable to conceive or carry a pregnancy to term. Unlike couples who go through hell trying to have a baby and still come out with empty arms. Compared to someone who bought a crib, chose a name and felt a baby kick, then lost that child, what have I got to complain about? 

I chose men who didn’t give me children, that’s all. I should have known better than to marry my first husband, but I was young and naive. My second husband, Fred, was too wonderful to give up. I believed his three children would give me all the motherhood I wanted. They didn’t.

Still, there is pain. There will always be pain.

When a friend brings her daughter to open mic to sing a duet and I know I will never do that, when a daughter rushes to the hospital to help her ailing mother or father and I don’t know who will come for me, or when couples post pictures of their kids and grandkids while I’m posting selfies, I grieve my situation. 

But do I think about it every day? 

Not anymore. Nor will you eventually. Age makes it easier to accept how life has gone. It really does.

As for the blog, you need someone who is dealing with it now in today’s world. So much has changed since I lost my virginity in 1972. I will offer you a list of other blogs and Substacks that will more than fill whatever vacancy is left by my lack of new posts. I will also beef up my resource page so you can find whatever you need in one place.  

Back to the novel: I wish I had played a bigger role in the lives of my stepchildren, nieces, nephews, and young cousins. I lived far away, and I was always working. Care for my in-laws, my parents and my husband in their final years took all of my energy. Now, these young family members barely know who I am. 

I regret that as much as I regret not having children. 

I appreciate the new mother in the novel making the childless aunt feel welcome and included.  

This is fiction, but I hope we can be more understanding of each other in real life. 

How do you feel when you read books where people are having babies?

Additional reading

“Bridging the Gap Between Parents, the Childfree and the Childless“

“How Moms and Non-Moms Can Come Together | Psychology Today“

To find books where people aren’t all having babies, visit the NoMo Book Club, https://www.instagram.com/thenomobookclub

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If you want to know what I’m up to these days, visit my “Can I Do It Alone?” Substack at https://suelick.substack.com or friend me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/suelick. 

Thanks for reading Childless by Marriage!