Somewhere, right around 30, something changed. I still did not want a child, but I realized that if I was unexpectedly pregnant I would probably NOT run right on over for an abortion. My feelings about abortion had not changed – every woman needs to do what is right for her and her life. But my life circumstances and mental health had changed. I had been financially and otherwise secure – notably, secure in my familial relationships – for a number of years. Somehow, the concept of an accidental baby was suddenly something you fit into your life, instead of something that snatched your life away.
And, right around this time, I fell in love. Crazy, outrageously, stupidly in love for the first time (I’m an emotional late-bloomer and don’t trust people). And I wondered, if we had a child, what sort of crazy and exciting experiment would that child be?
He didn’t want children. At all. And that was totes fine! My life was good, and it was full of growth and new experiences, and I was going to graduate and get a fulfilling and financially secure job. We went to Burning Man, we went to the cabin, we went to parties, we had friends, we played games, and considered dramatic cross-country moves without any consequence to anyone but ourselves. We planned to get him a vasectomy and just continue to live our lives – and I was all in on that plan!
If that life had been sustainable with that partner, I would be living child-free perfectly happily and without regret. I did not and do not need a child to complete me. Unfortunately, like so many dramatic and passionate love affairs before, when the new passion was gone, the cold reality of shared responsibilities, paying bills, making sacrifices, and planning a joint life was too much; he left the house, the girl, and our life together. I was emotionally broken again – with the reinforcement that the old unloving me was entirely correct to never let a partner get close.