family

Holidays can be hard for those without kids

Sue Fagalde Lick Uncategorized , , , , , , , ,

Thanksgiving is upon us again. Maybe, like me, you have already left home and are among the people with whom you’re going to celebrate the holiday. Maybe, like me, you will be seeing people you haven’t seen for a long time.

You may already be facing questions from friends and family that drive you crazy. “Hey, when are you going to have kids? “Don’t you want to have kids?” “Where are my grandkids?” “You’re looking a little chubby. Are you pregnant?” Or, if you are older like me, you hear, “Don’t bother Aunt Sue. She doesn’t do kids.”

Or maybe all the parents are clustered together talking about school and sports and other kid stuff while you feel totally left out.

You could spend the whole holiday sulking. But don’t. Just be honest with people. Don’t mutter to yourself or your partner. Tell people how you feel. “Mom, those questions really hurt.” “We are trying.” “No, we haven’t decided yet.” “My wife does not want to have children, and I have decided to support her in that.” “We’re having trouble getting pregnant.” “I just don’t want to talk about it.” “Please don’t say things like that; it hurts.”

It’s all right to admit, “It’s hard for me to be around your kids when I may never have any of my own” or to say, “I feel left out when you’re all talking about your kids.”

Tell the truth. If people don’t take it well, that’s their problem. If they love you, they will do their best to understand and support you. Maybe next time someone says something hurtful, a family member will say, “Hey, get off her back. She’s working on it.”

There’s always the option to skip the turkey feast and go eat burritos somewhere nobody knows you. Or stay home and watch Netflix. But why miss the good parts of the holiday? I know there are things you are thankful for. If you get to hang out with other people’s kids, enjoy them. If you like pumpkin pie, enjoy the pie.

Don’t silently fume and run off to cry in the bathroom. Share your burden. It will be lighter if you do.

I know there will be less than perfect moments. My niece’s kids haven’t seen me in so long they won’t know who I am. But I’ll just have to get to know them because I want to shower them with love and be a great Aunt Sue.

If you are grieving, think about a woman at my church who has suffered many losses, including the death of a daughter and her husband and the loss of her eyesight. She allows herself to cry for five minutes a day, then says, “Shirley, get on with it,” and moves on. Take your five minutes, then let it go for a while.

A few more suggestions:

  • Stay off social media. All those happy family photos will kill you.
  • Skip the holiday celebration if it’s really too much.
  • Volunteer to feed the hungry. Helping others helps you.
  • Fly off to another country that doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for you. Together, we can do this.

How are you dealing with Thanksgiving this year?

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How Will It Be for the Childless Under President Trump?

Sue Fagalde Lick abortion and childlessness, childfree, childless, childless not by choice , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It has been a week since the man who said childless cat ladies were miserable and didn’t have a stake in the future of the country and the man who helped shut down abortion access to millions of American women were elected as our incoming vice president and president.

I don’t usually talk politics here, and I will delete comments debating what’s good or bad about Donald Trump or Kamala Harris or dissing me because I voted blue or anyone else for voting red, but I am worried about what this means for all of us.

As Democratic vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz said about abortion, IVF, and other reproductive concerns, “it’s nobody’s damn business.” I agree. It’s between a woman and her partner.

Since the US Supreme Court voted down the national right to abortion in the Dobbs decision in 2022, numerous states have outlawed the procedure, forcing pregnant women to travel long distances or do without the care they needed. As is frequently testified in the liberal press, these are not all women who simply don’t want to have a baby. They are victims of rape or incest or have medical issues that require ending much-desired pregnancies.

While Trump has said he won’t outlaw IVF or birth control, his administration could make it more difficult to access reproductive assistance. It might limit insurance coverage for contraception. Will it be more difficult to get a vasectomy or a hysterectomy? I hope not.

It’s possible we’re crying “the sky is falling” when nothing will actually change from the way it is right now, at least not legally.

But attitudes seem to have changed. We hear more people insisting that those of us without children are defying the laws of God and nature. They don’t understand that most of us didn’t choose not to have children. For many different reasons, the parenting path was not open to us, and it breaks our hearts. To have to defend ourselves on top of that painful loss against people who just don’t get it does not seem fair.

Then again, is that any different than it was before?

I have been watching “The Golden Bachelorette” on TV. The finale was last night. I won’t spoil it for you if you haven’t watched it yet. At last week’s “Men Tell All” episode, every single “bachelor” had his children in the audience. Joan, the 61-year-old bachelorette, is very vocal about her devotion to her children and grandchildren. And that’s great, but I wonder if childless applicants were intentionally screened out of being on the show?

If I were on the “Bachelorette,” I wouldn’t have any offspring in the audience. I probably wouldn’t have anyone. They wouldn’t choose a chubby old writer like me, and I wouldn’t do it anyway, but still, the lack of childless people is noticeable.

We can second-guess the election results. Maybe Harris talked too much about abortion and not enough about the economy. Maybe she just didn’t have enough time after President Biden withdrew from the race. Maybe our country is still not ready for a woman president, especially one who is a stepmother but never gave birth to her own children. Maybe voters just like Trump better. Maybe Americans really do want to go back to a more traditional time. I don’t know.

I don’t want to talk about who voted for what, but I do want to ask: How are you? Are you worried about being childless in this new America? Did your childlessness have anything to do with how you voted? Did the US election spark fights between you and your partner or others close to you? Let’s talk about it, lovingly please.

Photo by Nesrin u00d6ztu00fcrk on Pexels.com–She looks happy!

Further reading:

“People around the world are appalled by Trump’s win, but women have been gripped by a visceral horror” | Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett | The Guardian

“What Trump has said about birth control, and what he could do as president” – Good Morning America

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If you like Childless by Marriage, consider reading my “Can I Do It Alone” Substack at https://suelick.substack.com.

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As non-parents, are we still kids at heart?

Sue Fagalde Lick Chatty Cathy, childless, childless on Halloween, childless women playing with dolls, playing with dolls , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I was dressing my Chatty Cathy doll the other night when—

What? Are you surprised a 72-year-old woman is dressing a doll from the 1960s? Well, I was. She’s more of a vintage artifact these days, but she’s still with me, watching over my office from atop a tall storage cabinet. This was the doll who spoke when you pulled the string behind her neck, saying things like “I’m hungry” or “I love you.” Now she just says “aaaaarrrrgh.”

Unlike most of the dolls my family bought me, she wasn’t brown-eyed and black-haired like me. This girl’s a blue-eyed blonde, about eighteen inches tall, pudgy-kneed and rosy-cheeked. She’s one of the few my mother didn’t give away when she decided I was too old to play with dolls.

I have an authentic Chatty Cathy storage chest loaded with clothing for all seasons and all occasions. We bought some official Chatty Cathy outfits, but my mother made most of her extensive wardrobe one summer while I was away visiting my grandparents on the coast. She must have sewed night and day on my grandmother’s old treadle-powered machine to make so many little dresses, pants, aprons, hats, and coats in such a short time. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me, and I still treasure them, along with the letter she wrote to me, talking about what she and Dad were up to and how much she missed me.

Photo shows a vintage Chatty Cathy doll, blonde and blue-eyed, wearing a red and black plaid coat and a matching cap.

Back to 2024. Here on the Oregon coast, the rainy season has begun, and Chatty Cathy was wearing only a thin summer dress. As I put on her red flannel coat and hat, slipping them over her plastic arms, I thought about how this was like dressing a child, the child I never had. I thought about how my mother would never get to make little dresses for a real daughter of mine. That daughter might play with my old dolls and destroy them. Or she might shun them for the newer dolls that are softer and do more things. Maybe she wouldn’t play with dolls at all.

My brother does have a daughter, but they lived at a distance, and Mom never got to spend much time with her. Cancer took my mother too soon for her to enjoy my brother’s three beautiful grandchildren.

If I had given birth on what was the expected schedule back in the 1970s, so much would have been different. By now, I might be the grandmother or even great-grandmother making or buying little garments and slipping them over pudgy arms and legs, talking to the little ones as I did it.

Did I talk to Chatty Cathy as I dressed her? Of course. I talk to tea kettles and slugs, pine trees and blue jays. I probably wouldn’t be talking to everything like a crazy person if I didn’t live alone, but as it turns out, I didn’t have children, and Chatty Cathy outlasted ten homes, two marriages, a divorce and widowhood. Tough doll, that one. So, I told her about how the weather folks were forecasting a cold, wet winter and she needed to dress warmly. She just blinked her eyes at me.

I often think I’m still able to play like a child because I didn’t have a child. I didn’t age through the generations the way mothers and fathers do. I’m a motherless and fatherless daughter with no one coming up behind me, just great-nieces and nephews off to the side. When I have the chance, not often enough, I’m happy to get down and play with them as if I weren’t the aged aunt.

Meanwhile, Halloween is this week. It can be difficult watching parents dress their little ones in costumes and take them out trick-or-treating. If we can’t hitch on to someone else’s kids, we don’t get to play this time.

Social media will be filled with pictures of children, babies, and maybe a few dogs and cats dressed as ghosts, witches, superheroes, or something else I don’t know about. If you can join in the fun somehow, go for it. If it hurts too much, stay off the Internet and go to the movies until all the kids are snug in their beds.

This week at my Substack, I talk about comparing our lives to other people’s lives. That certainly applies here, too. When we look at others having babies and doing things with their growing kids, we can feel left out and sad, even when we feel all right most of the time. It’s normal. Allow yourself to feel jealous for a little while, then shake it off and move on. Everyone has both hardships and blessings, whether they have children or don’t.

Meanwhile, if you still have your old dolls or other toys, you don’t have to share them. But don’t play with them in front of other grown-ups. They might not understand.

Do you feel younger than your peers because you don’t have children? Have you saved remnants of your childhood that you take out from time to time?

How are you dealing with Halloween?

Button up; it’s getting colder, and next week’s U.S. election is coming like a hurricane.

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Does Your Partner Step Up When Childlessness Hurts?

Sue Fagalde Lick Uncategorized , , , ,

Reminders that we don’t have children are hard to avoid.

  1. Friends and family gathered in a rented hall in Yachats, Oregon at tables laden with flowers under hanging “90” banners.

The seemingly ageless woman who ushers at Saturday Mass was turning 90. Her family had gone all out to surprise her. Friends and cousins had flown across the country. Children, grandchildren and a 14-month-old great grandchild were there.

I sat with friends from church. We chatted and nibbled on cannelloni, fruit, rolls, and crackers until we got the word to hush.

In she came, too shocked to speak for a minute. Her daughter wrapped a beauty queen banner around her and we continued the party. There were pictures, stories, a fancy cake and champagne. Photos under a flowered arch.

I was happy for the guest of honor—and so jealous. Who will throw me a 90th birthday party, if I live to that age? The older people in my life will be dead by then, and I have no children or grandchildren.  

Maybe I shouldn’t assume. Maybe my niece and nephew and their kids, grown up by then, would be thrilled to honor me. Maybe I’ll throw my own party.

2. From the party, I drove to church. It was Mother’s Day weekend. I would hide if I could, but I play the piano at the Saturday Mass, so I can’t avoid the mother mania.

A wonderful woman who volunteers for everything interrupted choir practice with a box of floral corsages. Real flowers, very pretty, all different colors. I said, “I am not a mother.” She pished that away and pinned a yellow corsage on my blue sweater.

By the time Mass started, all the women had corsages. You could not tell the mothers from the non-mothers. Maybe that’s good.

Mass proceeded. I sang, I played, I warmed up and took my sweater off. At the end, Father Joseph invited mothers to stand. I sat. “Stand up,” Martha hissed. I shook my head. No. People need to know that some of us don’t have children. In a Catholic parish full of elderly people, we’re a minority, but we exist, and Mother’s Day is difficult. To pretend to be just like everyone else feels wrong.

I may not be a mother, but I’m keeping that yellow chrysanthemum until it falls apart.

3. As a guest at a book club meeting last night, I answered readers’ questions about my novel Up Beaver Creek, which features a childless woman as the main character. One person was curious as to why PD’s childlessness was emphasized. Did I, the author, have children? No, I said, I don’t. I could have said so much about how not having kids can affect a person’s whole life, but I was busy trying to explain that my character is NOT me, that she is someone I made up. I also noted that it isn’t easy to find fiction featuring people who don’t have children. I’m not sure she understood.

Question: All of this led me to wondering. Do the partners who who deny us children understand how it feels at times like Mother’s Day or any gathering where people are surrounded by their kids?

Are they sympathetic? Do they offer any comfort? That’s a big question. I knew my husband was aware and that he cared. At least once, he gave me one of those, “You’re not my mom, but Happy Mother’s Day” cards, and that was helpful.

This shouldn’t be your problem alone. You need to help each other get through the bumpy times. It might not be Mother’s Day. It could be your niece’s christening or the birth of someone else’s baby. It could be a birthday party or a baby shower. It could be an ordinary day when you see a happy family and suddenly burst into tears.

Your partner could suggest an outing far away from the festivities. A hike instead of brunch. A movie that has nothing to do with the holiday. A just-because-I-love-you gift. You should support each other rather than one of you crying in the bathroom and the other doing whatever he or she usually does on that day. Isn’t that what love is about?

I’m just saying if your partner is the reason you have this hole in your life, he or she needs to help you on the occasions that make it hurt.

It should work both ways. Mother’s Day is over for another year, but Father’s Day is coming. Or as frequent commenter Tony says, “chopped liver day.”

What do you think? Does your partner comfort you when the lack of children gets to you? Is this a sore spot between you? Is there someone else you can go to for comfort?

I look forward to your comments.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

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Four simple words that can end a conversation

Sue Fagalde Lick awkward childless moments, childless on Mother's Day, I don't have children, I want children he doesn't, Mother's Day, questions about having children, telling people why you don't have children , , , , , , , ,

“I don’t have children.”

At the reception after my father’s funeral a few years ago, I was sitting with dad’s neighbors. Such nice people. We were exchanging the usual pleasantries—nice service, he was a good man, etc.

Then they asked about my children. The Mrs. pointed to my niece. “Is that your daughter?”

I wish.

“No, she’s my brother’s daughter,” I said.

“Where are your children?”

“I don’t have any children.”

Thud.

They didn’t know what to say after that. I don’t remember what I said. Did I talk about my work, boast about my niece and nephew, or discuss the music at the funeral? I excused myself soon after and threaded through the crowd to the company of cousins who already knew I was widowed and childless.

The next day, after I sobbed through the process of settling Dad’s ashes into place next to my mother’s at the mausoleum, the adults gathered their kids and drove away. They were too busy wrangling the little ones to realize I had no one to be with.

The question and the conversation-exploding answer of “I don’t have kids” happens all the time, especially among women. Generally men chat more about work and sports, but not always. They ask, too. It’s understandable. When your life revolves around raising children, and most of the people you know are also parents, kids are the one thing everyone has in common.

Folks skip right past “Do you have children?” to “How many children do you have? “How old are your children?” “Do your children go to X school?” or “Do your adult children live nearby?”

If I have a choice, I usually don’t mention my childless situation. Why set off that bomb if you don’t have to?  

The question comes most often during those years when you’re of an age when you would be raising children if you had them, but it still comes up in later years. Substitute “grandchildren.” You can’t have grandchildren if you never had children.  

Saying you never had children confuses people. It leads conversations to dead ends. It leads to one of you suddenly needing to get another drink, use the restroom, or go talk to someone on the other side of the room.

People respond in funny ways. Oh, I didn’t realize. Oh, there’s still time. Lucky you. I’ll give you mine. I just assumed . . . They rarely ask why—unless they are also without children. Those who are childless by choice may answer, “I never wanted any either,” leaving you to protest, “I wanted them, but . . .” Or maybe you just smile.

It depends on where you are, of course. In a gathering of writers, “What do you write?” is the big question. Classic car collectors will ask, “Are you driving that blue Chevy over there?” Gardeners may ask, “How are your tomatoes doing?”

But in the general public, especially among families, you’re going to get the kid question.

Mother’s Day is coming, a day when our lack of children may make us want to stay in bed with pillows over our heads. The advertisements have already begun: gifts for “Mom,” brunch for “Mom,” special Mother’s Day concerts. Schoolchildren are making craft projects to honor their moms.

For those of us without children, it’s just another Sunday, but one where we’re even more likely to hear those questions. How many kids do you have? How many grandkids?  Are they taking you out today? Here’s a carnation, MOM.

Until you’re forced to say, “I don’t have any children. I’m not a mom.”

Then you get the look: slacker, freak, cold-hearted selfish person. No flower for you.

Let’s talk about this. Where and how do you face questions about offspring? What happens when you say, “I don’t have children”? Why does it feel like a confession when we haven’t done anything wrong?

I look forward to your comments.

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Childless Not by Choice: The Grief is Never Completely Gone

Sue Fagalde Lick "get over it", childless grief, childless not by choice, grandma grief, grief over childlessness, grief triggers, Jody Day, never going to be a mother , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Red-haired woman crying. She's wearing wedding rings, has red nail polish and red lipstick, and is holding a tissue. No one is comforting her.

All it took was one word to break my heart again.

That word was “Mama.”

I was down in the dumps anyway as I took my usual walk down Cedar Street. A migraine had dogged me all weekend. I missed a music jam I was looking forward to. I was tired of being alone.

A German shepherd standing in a driveway reminded me of Annie and all the dogs I have lost, including Heidi, the German shepherd I lost along with my first marriage.

Then I passed these two little brown-haired boys, one maybe two years old, the other maybe six.

As the little one stared at me, the big one shouted, “He might call you ‘Mama.’”

And then he did. “Mama!”

Gulp. No one has ever called me Mama.

I smiled and waved. “I don’t mind,” I assured the older boy as tears threatened. “He’s cute.”

What? Like a puppy? It was a dumb thing to say.

I let the tears fall as soon I got out of their sight. The pain of never having children was just as bad 20 years past menopause as it was when I was 35.

That scarred place in my heart breaks every time this happens.

A couple weeks ago at church, I was playing the piano at Mass. The family close to me in the front row included an adorable toddler happily squeezed between her mother and grandmother. Black hair, brown skin, big eyes, dimples. If I had had a little girl, she would have looked a lot like this one, maybe not as brown, but she’d have the same black hair and brown eyes.

Grandma held a big cloth book while the child turned the pages.

Oh my God, I wanted to be one of those women. I wanted to hold that baby. But I never would. I had no claim to her.

All I could do was keep playing the piano.

Back on my walk, I was visiting a neighbor’s dogs a little later when the boys came down the street with an older girl. In trying to keep up, the little guy stumbled and fell. He was not hurt, but he looked at me and cried “Mama!” I kept petting the dogs while the girl scooped up her little brother. She was already a mother-in-training. I missed that class.  

I belong with the dogs, I told myself. I’m a dog person. I’m going to get another dog soon. I will feel better.

Why do I share this today? Because it still hurts. Because I want you to know that while you will feel okay most of the time about not having children and will build a good life without them, it’s still going to hurt when you least expect it. That scar is there, and it’s brittle.

As Jody Day, founder of Gateway Women and author of the book Living the Life Unexpected, likes to say, our pain is an unacknowledged, disenfranchised grief. When someone dies, it’s awful, but everyone sees and understands your loss. They hold you while you cry. They bring casseroles. They know it hurts and give you a break. When you get a divorce, lose a job, or crash your car, everybody sympathizes.

But not having children doesn’t seem to count. How can you grieve what you never had? Besides, they say, unless you were physically unable to bear children, you made the choices that led to this situation. Right? So get over it.

It’s not that easy. It will hurt sometimes. It’s okay. Cry, stomp, curse, whatever you have to do. Talk about it with people who might be sympathetic. Try to explain: When I hear the word Mama, it kills me.

It will pass. You’ll go on with the other wonderful things in your life. But it’s never gone.

Listen to Jody Day’s talk on Disenfranchised grief and know that those of us who experience this kind of grief are aware of your tears and your pain and acknowledge that it is real.

Are there words or situations that trigger your emotions? Do the people around you understand why you’re upset? Let’s talk about it in the comments.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

**************

I have a new Substack titled “Can I Do It Alone?” Since my first post on April 1, it has taken off like wildfire. See what all the fuss is about at https://open.substack.com/pub/suelick/p/introducing-can-i-do-it-alone?r=ejjy9&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

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Would you rather be childless than single?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless widow, choosing a childless life, choosing between love and children, divorce, husband doesn't want kids, living alone, wife doesn't want kids , , , , , , , , , ,

Are you terrified of ending up alone?

It’s okay to admit it if you are. Most people feel that way. I’m not as afraid as I used to be because I have been on my own for many years, but I know people who absolutely can’t handle it. No need to feel bad about that. Animals hang together for safety, and we’re hardwired to do the same.

In June 2021, I published a post titled “Do we commit to less than perfect partners because we’re terrified of being alone?” It’s still a good question.

I suspect I married my first husband because I was afraid no other man would want me. As I wrote in 2021, no one asked me out until I was in college. Too nerdy, too fat, not social enough, parents too strict? I don’t know. I was already wondering if I’d ever find anyone, if I’d be like my Barbie doll without a Ken.

I was afraid no man would love me when everything in my world told me a woman needs to get married and have children. So when someone finally wanted to date me, I didn’t ponder whether I liked him; I said yes. And I continued to say yes through a first marriage that failed and a series of unsuitable boyfriends between marriages. When I think of all the garbage I put up with just to hold onto a man . . .

By the time I met Fred, I had come to believe I would be single for the rest of my life. What if he hadn’t come along? I hope I wouldn’t have married another dud just to have someone. I know people who have done that. Don’t you?

When we want and expect to have children, when we are physically able and have no reason not to, and our partner says, “Nope. I don’t want to” or “I’ve already got my kids and don’t need anymore” or “maybe someday, definitely not anytime soon,” why do we stick with them anyway?

Is it love or fear of being alone? I knew my first husband was not a perfect match. I saw red flags all over the place, but I still married him. Because that’s what women my age were supposed to do. I had visions of domestic bliss and babies and a happy family life. None of that happened. What if instead of moving from my parents’ house to the apartment I shared with my husband, I had created my own grownup life first?

My second husband, Fred, was definitely a keeper. Such a good man, so in love with me, dependable, the kind of guy who puts up with your relatives and sits with you at the hospital when you get sick. But he had three kids from his first marriage and wasn’t willing to have any more. Should I have said no to him? I was 31 and fertile. I should have fought harder. Shoulda woulda coulda, right?

By the time Fred came along, I had been single for several years. I could have carried on by myself. But I chose to marry him. I chose to accept his kids as mine and not have my own. This time, the love was enough to make up for the rest.

I never expected Fred to be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in his 60s and die at 73, leaving me alone, probably for the rest of my life. I did not choose this. But here I am, alone in the house we bought together on the Oregon coast. Even our dog has passed away. It has been 15 years since Fred moved into a nursing home, 13 years this month since he died.

If I made different choices at the beginning when I married the man who seemed to be my only choice, would my life be completely different now? Would I be surrounded by grown children and grandchildren? I’ll never know.

This raises multiple questions for me, and I would love to know what you think.

* Do we commit our lives to someone less than ideal because we’re afraid of being alone?

* Are we willing to leave a partner who won’t give us kids and risk ending up alone if we don’t find someone else who does want to be a parent?

* What if this relationship ends in divorce or widowhood and we are left alone anyway?

Our world is set up for couples and families with children. It’s not easy when your “family photo” is a selfie. But we can do it.

I have started a new Substack series titled “Can I Do It Alone?” The answer to that question is, “Heck yeah.” Apparently, a lot of people are worried about being alone. The subscriptions and comments are flooding my inbox. If you’re interested, take a wander over to suelick.substack.com and see what that’s all about.

Meanwhile, here at Childless by Marriage, let’s talk about it. Did we settle for a childless life out of fear of being alone? What if this relationship ends?

Thank you so much for being here. I treasure you all.

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Obsessing Over Dogs vs. Obsessing Over Children

Sue Fagalde Lick Annie the dog, fur babies, parenting pets, pets instead of children, treating pets like babies , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Photo shows gorgeous all-white puppy with black nose asleep between a wooden chair and a beige wall on a brown hardwood floor.

The tiny dog in the flannel jacket put her paws on my knees. I bent down. “Hi, I’m Aunt Sue,” I said. She licked my face with her tiny tongue. Aww, said everyone at church choir practice.

It was all about dogs last night. I’m not complaining because I adore dogs, and my idea of heaven is to roll around in a pile of dogs. This dog, a puppy, is the newest addition to our church choir family. Her owners don’t feel comfortable leaving her home alone yet.

All of the singers have or have had canine family members. My Annie passed away in September, but I have plenty of stories to contribute. We talked about chewing, biting, barking, random things they have eaten, and places they have snuck into. Earlier in the day, our director’s dog destroyed a box of Q-Tips and scattered them from hither to yon.

Eventually we got around to practicing our songs while the dog continued to flit from one singer to another until her “mom” pulled her up and snuggled her in a blanket in her lap.

As a dog mom, I don’t mind dog talk. But what if I didn’t have dogs? What if I couldn’t have a dog? What if I was a cat person? A few months ago, a singer quit the choir, partially because we were always bringing our dogs to practice and talking nonstop about dogs. She not only didn’t have a dog; she was terrified of them, due to a bad experience when she was younger.

Isn’t it the same way when everyone at a gathering is talking about their children? Maybe they bring a baby or toddler with them, and you sit there feeling left out. We’re always tensed for the questions: How many kids do you have? How old are your children? Do you have any grandchildren yet? You don’t have children? Why not?

Most of our choir members are grandparents, but their families live far away. Besides, we know them, so we can share in the conversation. It would be different if they were in the midst of raising their children instead of dogs.

The National Association of Realtors recently shared census statistics that showed there are more American households with pets than with children. Way more. As of 2022, 40 percent had kids in the home, down from 48 percent in 2002. The Pet Products Association reported that 70 percent of American households own a pet, up from 56 percent in 1968. (The World Animal Foundation says it’s 66 percent.) You can read the whole article for more details, but wow. Birthrates are going down; pet ownership is going up.

Why? For all the reasons people are having fewer children: marrying later if at all, more divorces, easy access to birth control, finances, concerns about the state of the world, physical or emotional challenges, infertility, etc.

Dogs are a big commitment but not as much as a baby, especially once they grow out of the puppy stage. You cannot leave a baby in the backyard and go out to dinner. You can’t take them to a kennel and go on vacation. They need you 24/7. Dogs will never become teenagers who tell you they hate you. They will not grow up and leave you with an empty nest.

Pet ownership has changed over the years, not just in numbers but in how we treat our “fur babies.” Many people I know share their beds with their dogs and cats. In my father’s day, people wouldn’t even let them in the house. They were animals. Now they’re family.

The small towns on the Oregon coast where I live are full of dogs. A little black one “works” at the Waldport library. A poodle named Ruby works the waiting room at my hearing aid place in Newport. A little fur ball greets customers at the Nye Beach bookstore. Our pastor, Fr. Joseph, has two poodles, Allie and Bailey, and is frequently seen walking them on the streets of Waldport. On my walks here in South Beach, I say hello to the neighbor’s Great Pyrenees, Lumin. On the next street, Winnie the Corgi and Bobo the chocolate Lab come running out to walk with me.

I love dogs, and I’m aching to get another one. When I do, I guarantee it will be all about the dog. But I’m beginning to realize we don’t all have and love dogs anymore than we all have and love human children.

What if I was not a dog person and people were incessantly talking about their dogs? Change the language. What if I was not a mom or dad and people were incessantly talking about their children and grandchildren? That’s something most of us have experienced. It hurts.

How about you? Do your pets feel like family? Like children? Like friends? When you’re in a group of people, are they talking about pets or children? How does it make you feel? Let’s talk about it.

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Do You Ever Pretend That You Have Children?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless stepfathers, childless stepmoms, mothering stepchildren, pretend you have children, pretending to be a mom , , , , , , , , ,

I have to confess something: I faked it.

No, not sex. Never.

In journals, essays, and newspaper articles from the ‘80s and ‘90s (yes, I’m that old), I wrote about my life as if I were a mother. I talk about school lunches that I never packed. I wrote about PTA meetings, soccer games, and our teenager driving my car. For years, I wrote for a parenting newspaper, Bay Area Parent, covering all kinds of topics from the cost of having a baby to how to make a kid eat healthy food to juggling work and parenting. When I did interviews, I let my mom and dad interviewees think I was a parent just like them. Sometimes they asked questions about my pregnancies and my kids that forced me to admit I didn’t have any, but most of the time I got away with it.

I was parenting in a way, but it was “parenting lite.” My youngest stepson moved in with us when he was 12. Before that, he had stayed with us on weekends, holidays, and summer vacations. We enjoyed his company; then he went home. His older brother and sister were already off on their own so we saw less of them.

The live-in stepson could pretty much take care of himself. Although I was the one the school called when there was a problem and I was the one baking cookies for his Boy Scout meetings, most of the time I was free to work, sing, and socialize. Yet, when it was to my advantage, I let the world think I was a mom.

Was I really? More like a mom wannabe. We all got along, but it wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. It was very clear my husband’s children already had a mother and her name was not Sue. In “family photos,” this short, olive-skinned brunette obviously did not come from the same gene pool as these tall Nordic kids.

What if I had just said, “I don’t have any kids?” Was I afraid to declare my childless state and be kicked out of the mom club? Was I hoping step-parenting was close enough? Did I convince myself I was a mom? What about all those tears I shed as my fertile years dwindled away with no babies for me?

What stories do we tell ourselves? What stories do we tell other people? Why not just be honest?

I don’t have children and I wish I did.

I don’t have children and that’s all right.

I don’t have children. Sometimes I’m sad; sometimes I’m happy.

I have stepchildren, and I love them like my own.

I have stepchildren, and we don’t get along.

I have stepchildren, and I’m trying, but it’s hard.

I wrote those motherly essays and articles years before I started writing about childlessness. I don’t fake it anymore. When my husband died, his children stepped away. I would like to have them in my life, but I’m afraid it’s too late. Maybe I sucked at the whole motherhood thing because I’m obsessed with my work. Maybe they were as confused as I was about how to manage a stepfamily and they had no idea how much I wanted to be a mother.

So the question sits there: Was I pretending? Was it okay? A quick search online shows stepparents do not have the same legal rights as biological parents. Check out this piece, “The Harsh Realities of Stepparenting.” But we’re there, and we care. Doesn’t that count?

How about you? Are there times when you would rather people not know you are childless? Do you ever let the world think you’re a parent to your stepchildren or your pets or . . . ? Is that okay?

I welcome your comments.

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