THE KID QUESTION

My religion is one wherein the culture is frequently more obvious than the doctrine, a perpetual point of annoyance and vexation for me. Yet despite my contempt for much of the socially manufactured culture, I have found myself unwilling to turn away; for I am unable to deny core dogma the church is built on. If I left my religion because of issues I take with culture, I’d be in what I consider some rather serious moral difficulty, for I would be denying doctrine that I believe to be true.

I was raised Mormon (LDS). I have chosen to remain as such. Though I know my family's sorrow would be tangible to say the least if I elected to leave the church, I have no doubt that they’d still love and accept me. I am not a Mormon for the sake of my family.

That being the case—my remaining a Mormon out of belief, not love of the culture or social habit—I stick out like red on white. I'm seven years married, not infertile that I know of, and feeling no moral, physical, or intellectual hurry to get pregnant. There are very few of me. And because that’s the case, others of my faith (and even those outside it) feel they have some sort of prerogative to ask.

Whether or not I have kids is none of your business. Despite that, I'm about to address the subject. Why? Why indulge outright nosiness? Simply because people aren't perfect.

In an ideal world, no one would ask When? Why? and Why not? regarding progeny. But this isn't the ideal, and for years those who have no right to seek answers have poked their snouts in between our bedsheets.

I'm not irritated with the politely curious. I'm irritated with the moral ramrods, delving into my choices with the aim to correct direction or lambaste for what they believe are poor choices. People aren't perfect, so in spite of the fact that it's without social propriety, they're going to keep asking and judging on the kid front.

Propriety is a high priority for me, and that being the case, I've been existing in contradiction. For when I've responded to the socially inappropriate questions regarding my reproduction I've given answers designed to make the inquirer feel uneasy. I've felt that they deserve it. That's not in accordance with the inherent Me. Thus I've decided that it's time to work through some more clear and mild talking points on the subject.

•••

I'm not a fan of kids. I have never pined for them. Not ever. I have never envisioned myself as a mom and liked what I saw. I don’t get googly over babies. I don't itch to hold 'em. I don’t yearn to be pregnant. I consider my IUD the best kind of friend.

However, the belief system I subscribe to makes very clear that the job of humanity is to make babies and raise 'em up right. Fortuitously, the time frame on which that is to happen is not designated nor mandated. I have been married to The Husband since September of 2002, and according to the Mormon standard, this means that we've been morally permitted to work on stickin' a bun in my oven for seven years. And within the LDS culture—a culture unfortunately often dislocated from its guiding gospel tenets—under common circumstances, we’d already have one or two miniatures.

But I am not now—nor do I believe I’ll ever be—common. The aberration is not by intention or design. It’s by makeup. My ideas are different. My desires are different. My trials are different. And they always have been.

Granted, every soul skipping, wheeling, and walking upon this planet is given a unique set of things to learn and overcome. No one person will live the exact same life as another. However, within the world I inhabit, a world wherein my religion is a generous dictator of my actions, my dislike of children and simultaneous belief that I ought one day spawn some are a contradiction that could be considered a trial. A unique one.

What makes me divergent from others of my kind—Mormons married for more than just a few years and kidless out of choice (yes, I know more than just one of me)—is that I don't like kids. I've no yen at all to have my own. The other Mormons I know in a similar situation are fans of children, are looking forward to having them, but believe that the time isn't right for them just yet. Not me; for, as a general rule, I don't want much of anything to do with the little ones.

Does this mean I want no part of my niece and nephews? 'Course not. They're my family, and if you've paid any attention at all to my writings you'd know that my family is of supreme importance to me, and I'll gladly mar beyond recognition anyone who desires to do them harm. Jack, Van, Addison, and the two baking within Whit and Cat fit into that special subset of humanity for which I'd do just about anything. Of course I love them. It's a key ingredient of who I am—a reflexive love and tenderness for mi familia.

I have made certain promises throughout my career as a Mormon that, should I heed what I've said I would, mean that I will lend a hand to multiplying and replenishing the earth—adding to bits and pieces of humanity growing denser on this planet. Means I’ll one day have kids.

One day.

This is not that day.

One day is not today.

And, believe it or not, good people—of my faith and otherwise—that is just fine.

Is my dislike for kids a poor reflection on my parents and upbringing? No. I cannot scream that loud enough. I was raised well. I have a strong set of values. I have a number of useful talents my parents cultivated and encouraged. I was raised what I would say is rightly. The way I feel about kids and motherhood is a part of me. It's my own challenge to work through and figure out. For though, throughout the world, it is becoming more common to go kidless by choice, for the most part—religion aside, we inhabit a society where having children is the norm and going without is the deviance.

Clinically, I'm fascinated (and completely grossed out) by gestation and birth. Watching my sister eject her second born was an experience unparalleled in this life so far. But I didn’t cradle her new-to-oxygen son and wish for my own. I never have wished for my own. I’m not sure I ever will.

At this point (a key phrase, for I have iron conviction in the human capacity to change without warning), I believe that when I finally have a kidlet or two it won’t be because I’m baby hungry or because I want so badly to experience motherhood. I believe, like some before me (more than you realize, trust me), I will at last be amenable motherhood because I will feel that, despite my personal distaste for the profession, it's the next step in my eternal progression. I'll put faith in Lord that it's the right thing to do and jump off one hell of a cliff.

While still on the solid ground of a childfree life, I am enjoying myself. Another conviction I hold to securely is the concept that whatever station in life we find ourselves, within it we ought to seek out happiness. I have so much to be happy with in my current stage, and I take advantage of all that I can. I sleep late on weekends. I spend hours learning design programs. I go to yoga when I please. I relish the silence of my home. All this and so much more are benefits I savor and glorify in my life without kids. They are a part of a stage. A stage I'm unsure how long will last. But no matter how long, it's a place to seek enjoyment and recognize unique felicity.

When you read me extolling the many wonders of being without kids, don't make the mistake of thinking that I feel some kind of disdain or sorrow for you who are in the throes of raising. I respect your choices as I'd expect you to respect mine. There are bits of life to love no matter where we're landed, and I plan on living up this present part.