What if I don't want to have kids? - an update

One year ago, I sat in the back of our white diamond extended pick-up truck, smashed in between my mom, my sister, and my brother-in-law, when an unfamiliar, fearful question entered my mind.  What if I don’t want to have kids? 

This trip, with 6 adults jammed into a 5-passenger vehicle on a desperate quest to find ice cream bars, was the cap to an epic, spontaneous fun-filled day up north. With laughter filling my ears, and a heart full of joy from the unmatchable dynamic of the six of us, I thought, why on earth would we want to add a baby to the mix? [Read more about that here]

And then, one month later, my sister announced that they were pregnant. 

This was not a planned pregnancy, so my initial reaction to the white stick with two pink lines was shock; I was completely blindsided. Honestly, so were they.  I was so excited for them.  I knew they were planning on venturing down this road in a couple months, but I can’t deny that there were also a slew of other feelings bubbling up inside me. 

After a few days of, is this really happening, my emotions shifted to sadness.  Everything that I had just been questioning was happening.  Not to me, but my sister and I are so close that there was no way I could escape the change. I mourned the loss of “just us” and prepared for things to shift. Fears like, what if my sister time disappears or what if our relationship completely changes ravaged my thinking. After a few pity parties, and a couple hard cries, I bucked up.  This transition was happening whether I was ready for it or not, so I entered full on support mode.

The role of supporter comes easily to me – especially in supporting my sister.  I planned the baby shower, helped organize the baby’s room, took maternity photos, stood by her side as doula and photographer as Lola entered the world (coolest experience ever, read about that here), and I was even happy to change Lola’s diaper or swoop in to give my sister and brother-in-law a screaming baby break when they’d reached their limit. 

Much to my surprise, the transition happened so naturally. I was really loving and embracing my role as auntie.  But there was still one looming question that remained unanswered.  Would adding Lola change the overall dynamic?

A week up north

Over the past couple years, my family has started a tradition – spend a week up north together over the 4th of July. This week is often a highlight of the summer, but this year I had a little apprehension.

What if Lola hates boat rides? Then we’d have to say goodbye to our much-loved trips to the Harbor Bar.  What if Lola doesn’t sleep well in her pack ‘n play? Steph and Matt might have to go home. What if she never naps? How would we play games or have any adult time?

Side note: I recognize the selfishness laced in these statements, but I believe there’s value to being honest about the fears and apprehensions involved with change. Allowing ourselves freedom to admit what we’re feeling, as selfish and ugly as it may be, keeps bitterness from taking root and helps us make a healthy and honest adjustment to change.

Here’s what happened during that week.  Each of my fears was obliterated. Lola loved the boat. She slept perfectly. She had solid naps providing plenty of adult time. She even loved the water. The week together was full of spontaneous fun (including a game Olympic extravaganza on the 4th of July), lots of laughter, trips to the Harbor Bar, a welcomed, slower pace, and a new joy of watching my niece experience and begin to love a place so dear to my heart. 

The new dynamic

Spending this successful week up north together felt like the final affirmation I didn’t know I needed. I think I thought having a new baby in the family would make me feel isolated; thus negatively impacting our dynamic of togetherness. They have their family now – it’s the 3 of them, and we’re not a part of it. It’ll be us and them. The new normal. But it has been quite the opposite.

Instead of feeling like I’m not a part of this step in their lives, they’ve tenderly welcomed me in as a support, like an adopted part of their new family. I don’t know why this surprised me when they had already invited me so lovingly to be a part of the delicate place of childbirth.

Has the dynamic changed? Yes, of course.  Some change is inevitable. But it’s changed for the better. Adding Lola to the mix has sweetly enhanced our family dynamic.

Since she was born we’ve had:

• more family time
• more communication – supporting my sister and her new family increased our awareness of each other, helped us ask more questions about how we were doing and how we could best help one another
• more connection with my sister – not working has given us more time to connect, and I’m over there often to visit

Living so close, a mere 10 houses away, I’ve had the unique opportunity of seeing my niece often and being involved – so much so that we’ve built a special bond. And for that, I am so so grateful. 

Do you still not want kids?

The question people often ask me is, “How does having a niece impact your thoughts about having kids?” And the answer is – I still don’t know.  I don’t know if I want to have kids.  I don’t know what our future holds. But what I do know now is that if or when we decide to have kids of our own, I don’t need to be afraid changing my precious family dynamic – I’ve witnessed that adding a kiddo only draws us closer.

In the last four months I went from being the girl who says “cute baby” from a distance while thinking but I don’t need to hold her – to committing to taking care of my niece once a week while my sister goes back to work part time.  That’s a lot of growth for this girl.

I have a feeling taking care of Lola on the regular might push me one way or another. Perhaps I’ll have another update in a couple months, who knows.  Until then, I’m asking the Lord to make it clear in His timing, and I’m trusting that He will. 

My niece's arrival - witnessing childbirth

For the past 2 weeks, every time I went to bed I clicked the button on the side of my phone, raising the volume to the max.  Months earlier, my pregnant sister and brother-in-law asked me to support them in labor and delivery as doula and photographer. The plan was to message me when contractions started and I’d meet them at the hospital.  I wasn’t going to miss anything if my sister, now rapidly approaching her due date, went into labor in the middle of the night. 

On April 4th at 3:21 am a loud ding startled me from sleep.  Reaching for my phone, it didn’t register until through blurry eyes I read, “Sooooo it’s happening…” My eyes snapped open, and with a large gasp, I smacked Chris across the chest.  “Chris!! It’s happening!!! She’s in labor!!”  The second text read, “Keep sleeping.  I’ll keep you posted.” But there was no way that was happening; this was it! 

Chris and I prayed together, and I was up and into the shower.  Thankfully a few weeks earlier, I made a list for my own hospital bag.  Essential oils to diffuse in the room, snacks and drinks to sustain me and my brother-in-law, sweatpants, water, and my camera.  Taking a lot of deep breaths, I got myself ready, packed my bag and waited. 

The waiting period was excruciating.  My nerves, anxious tendencies and the emotional high of what was about to happen pressed me to the floor of my office.  Like a cat, I curled my arms and legs underneath my body and pressed my forehead into the carpet.  I’m going to throw up. I thought.  The mental battle between the lies telling me I couldn’t handle this and the truth that I could do it, and would do it no matter what, was brutal.  One might’ve thought I was in labor with all the deep, vocal yoga breathing I was doing to pull myself together.  I was a full on hot mess.  And then the text came – “We’re packing up the car, see you in a minute”.  They decided to pick me up on the way (we live a block away from each other) so I peeled myself off the floor, put one uncertain foot in front of the other and chanted in the dark, “I have power in Jesus’ name. I have power in Jesus’ name.”  

As soon as I buckled my seatbelt, and breathed with my sister through a contraction, I knew I could do this.  I had prepared myself for this moment with lots of prayer, a book called The Birth Partner, and wisdom from a doula friend.  With Christ as my rock, I was ready. 

Little did I know, this was just the beginning of the 35 long hours it would take to bring my niece into the world.

The morning progressed quite beautifully.  3 cm, 4.5 cm, to 6 cm – my sister was well on her way and handling each contraction like a rock star.  Settled into her beautiful, spacious room at the Aurora Women’s Pavilion birthing center, the mood was light and the energy was positive.  She ordered breakfast, laughed, walked, squatted, showered and breathed through contractions.  Like a well-oiled machine, my brother-in-law and I took turns squeezing her hips to relieve pain during contractions and resting in between. 

At 2:00pm, my mom and dad left the room (they were at the hospital the entire time, too) and the nurse was in between rounds.  I told my brother-in-law to sleep and planted myself in a comfortable rocking chair.  Rocking gently, calming my own nerves and matching the tone of the room, a soft smile rose on my face as tears welled in my eyes.  The peace in the room was overwhelming.  Tears slipped out my right eye, dampening my cheek as I admired my sweet sister innately, seemingly effortlessly breathing through a contraction while she slept.  Here I sat in this monumental moment, this thin place before my niece’s birth - I was overcome.  

By 6:00 pm, things took a turn.  My sister was visibly more uncomfortable and the cervix check informed, no progress.  Steady at 6 cm, exhausted and wanting to save energy for the big push, she decided it was time for an epidural.  Peace drained out of the room as the anesthesiologist rattled through risks and warning signs.  My chest tightened and my stomach lurched; I knew how terrified my sister was in this moment and that this necessary, but unexpected change to our sweetly developed rhythm would be a hurdle. 

This was a heavy moment for me – having to step out while the procedure took place I felt utterly and completely out of control, which I was. It was ultimately a waiting game now, and inactive waiting in this uncharted territory did not come easy; I was a fish out of water.  Now in the guest lounge, I contested sleep until my husband spoke tender words of assurance.  “You will get back into your rhythm babe, but right now you need to rest.”  45 minutes later, the largest chunk of sleep I would have that night, I sprang back into action and sent my mom to take her turn to rest. 

As April 4th became April 5th, progress was slow but steady.   Between changing positions to urge baby down and a pitocin drip to get things going, my sister rested and threw up.  Yeah… I know, completely unfortunate, although in and of itself it’s a great sign indicating a progression to the final phase of labor. 

At 3:50 am, 28 hours after her first contraction, my mom and I heard the nurse proclaim the news – she’s complete! I jumped out of the rocking chair, as we looked at each other and cheered silently and clapped without sound.  “Time to wake her husband?” I asked the nurse.  “Yes, I think so!” she happily exclaimed.   It was time for the pushing to begin. 

Exhausted but eager, my sister began to push.  10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 break, 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 and back in again.  The nurse warned us that first time mom’s often push for as long as 2-3 hours, but 3 hours later, baby was still happily inside.  My sister was exhausted and craving more “epidural juice” and my brother-in-law and I were in survival mode.  Wait for a contraction to peak.  Hold her legs.  Count her through 4 pushes.  Cheer her on.  Breathe.  Step back.  Sway (my new favorite way to cope with anxiety).  Take a drink of water.  Take a quick walk while my mom stepped in for some rounds.  Do it all over and over again.

At 6:16 am, in zombie land, I texted my husband, “I will not be having a baby anytime soon…lol.”  But what I was really thinking was… “Or ever.  Yeah, maybe not ever.”

Four hours into pushing, conversations between the staff started to happen.  “Is she face up?”  “Do we need to turn the baby?”  “Is mom getting too tired?” And finally, an hour and a half later, the dreaded discussion, “Baby is still happy, but given that you’ve been pushing for 5.5 hours, it’s time to consider the vacuum or a c-section.”  Fatigue and defeat lined my sister’s furrowed brow.  “Don’t get defeated,” I commanded. “We’re not there yet!  Right now you need to rest. We’ll figure it out when the doctor comes.” 

With another contraction on the rise, it was decision time.  A doctor came in to check baby’s status and we started cheering my sister on. “Show her what you got!” “Let’s push that baby out!” “We don’t need a vacuum – you’re so close!” “You got this!”  This exceedingly tense moment was drenched with an abundance of encouragement.  My sister’s hospital bed was surrounded – my brother-in-law up by her head, me holding one leg, my mom beside me, 2 midwives, a doctor, and a nurse – and we were all cheering and championing my sister to press this baby into the world. 

What followed was truly the most amazing thing I have ever witnessed (and I do not use that kind of statement lightly – I’m dead serious).  It’s as if the threat of needing other options to bring baby girl into the world was the perfect motivation, because my sister pushed with every ounce of strength in her body.  Surprised, with an excited but panicked note in her voice, the doctor who was there to explore the other options said, “Oh my goodness! Baby is right here!”

“Keep going Steph!” We exclaimed. “She’s so close!”  I could see my niece’s head; she was crowning!  I shook off tears now blurring my vision and focused on encouraging my sister.  “Push push push push push!”

Beside me was a quick shuffle as the doctor cried out– “Oh my goodness! This baby is coming!  We don’t have a delivery team ready – get a team ready!”  In a rush, nurses and technicians threw on blue gowns, gloves, and hairnets to do all the necessary things to usher this baby into the world. 

Holding my sister’s left leg, my view of this epic showcase was unobstructed.  Baby girl’s head covered lightly with dark brown hair was now fully emerged! One of the midwife’s hands, which I feared might squish her, pulled my niece gently as my sister groaned and gave one ginormous final push.  Her head, her neck, her shoulders, her long arms and tiny fingers were out! The rest of her small body followed in a blur as she slid into the world and was immediately placed on her mom’s chest.  Tears streamed down my face and I proclaimed “Praise Jesus! She’s here!”

Tension broke and celebration erupted!! “You did it!! She’s here! Good job mama!” Even the midwives wiped tears from their eyes as this strong, boss of a woman, pushed for 6 long hours (the longest they’d ever experienced) to bring the most precious, perfect little girl named Lola into the world. 

In that moment, so completely overwhelmed by the display of God’s awesome wonder and power, my “I’m never having kids” thought transitioned to, “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.  Maybe someday…”  

All the stress, anxiety, tension, fear, defeat was rushed away in one massive gush like the blood that now poured out of my sister’s body.  No joke, one thing I had not expected was the surge of blood that followed baby Lola out; it was like a bad horror movie.  Think Monty Python and the Holy Grail, when they cut the black knight’s arms off and fake blood spurts out. Let’s just say, I now have a memento of my niece’s birth on my shoe.

In awe of what my sister’s body had just done, I couldn’t help but look on as the placenta emerged and the cord was cut; everything was finished.  I’m so glad the midwife noticed my interest and asked if I wanted to see the placenta, its job now complete. God’s creative mastermind was again reflected in this beautiful organ, often called the tree of life.  Google it, it’s gorgeous. 

My mom and I completely overjoyed, shared some hugs and tears, and looked on as the new mom and dad cried and cooed over their precious little girl.  Relinquishing my role as doula, I put on my photographer hat and snapped away. 

Making my way around the room to capture this tender moment in time, one of the midwives paused me and said, “We found your calling... We both [her and the other midwife] agree that you should be a doula.”  Caught off guard, I said, “Wow!  Really?”  With assurance she nodded - “You knew exactly what to say to calm your sister right in the moments she needed it most – you could have a future as a birth worker.”   I was taken aback; with my right hand pressed to my chest by shock and thanksgiving, I said “Wow. Thank you. That means SO much.”

What she didn’t realize was, her affirmation was exactly what I needed after my job was finished and baby girl was here.   After all the prayers, all the preparation, all the anxiety, I had done my job and done it well.  It was as if the Lord had spoken through the midwives’ sweet affirmation to tell me, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” I was astounded.

Praise dripped out of room 2009 in the birthing center – the Lord had been our rock in the heavy moments, our breath when the tension was high, and gave us an epic (I can’t stop using that word) display of the wonder and power of His creation through the birth of His precious daughter, Lola.

“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”
– Psalm 139:13-14

Childbirth is the craziest, most intense, but earth shatteringly beautiful thing.  My sweet sister, I am so proud of you and eternally grateful for this opportunity to stand beside you, and your husband, and witness the birth of your daughter.  My life was impacted by this monumental day.

What if I don't want to have kids?

July 6th was by far my favorite day of summer.  My parents, my sister and I, along with our husbands were all up north for the week of the 4th of July; the sky was blue, the sun was out, and the temperature hovered at a perfect 84 degrees.  Expecting storms and a day trapped inside, we threw on our swimsuits and scrambled to the pier as quickly as possible.  With our original rainy-day plans dashed, every moment that followed was completely unplanned; what evolved was an epic, spontaneous day dripping with joy.

We water-skied, drank mojitos at the Harbor Bar (our fave restaurant right on the water), and boated to a sandbar where we danced, played, and laughed.  I could go on and continue to list each bit of fun that we endured, but allow me to fast forward and say, we played so hard, we didn’t eat dinner until 10pm.  Like 6 high schoolers buzzing with energy, we jammed into my husband’s pick-up truck to find dessert and laughed the entire way.  This moment, with 4 grown adults squished in the backseat, was so gut wrenchingly precious, that it hurt a little bit.  It was one of those moments that is so good you want to re-live it right away; one you know can never be topped. 

And in that moment, this thought shot through my mind like an arrow, “What if I don’t want to have kids?”

I’ve always imagined being a mother; I pictured us being a family of four with two littles, at least one child being a girl.  But in this moment – all I could think of was this: BABIES CHANGE EVERYTHING.  I can’t be spontaneous.  My family dynamic of the six of us will be drastically different.  I won’t be able to run around on my own schedule.  I like being a kid.  We most definitely wouldn’t be able to repeat our epic day on the lake! This parade of thoughts obnoxiously marching their way through my mind left me panicking, “Seriously… what if I don’t want kids?”

As soon as I admitted to myself that I had just asked that question, shame poured in.  Who in the world asks this question?  “Everyone” wants kids – how could I not want kids?  What if I figure out that this really is in fact how I feel and not just a fear of change?  Is something wrong with me? 

Addressing this question made me realize how much pressure we face as women.  In my world, 95% of my friends are either pregnant right now, just birthed a child, or are planning to get pregnant in the next 6 months.  I’m constantly asked “so… when are you guys thinking of starting a family?” And as innocent as the question may be, right now, it often feels like a side-eye, judgment-filled question.  With seemingly everyone heading in this direction, I’ve been struggling with feeling isolated, insignificant, and alone.

Wrestling with all of this over the past couple months has been an emotional rollercoaster to say the least, but in it I’ve come to terms with 3 things:

1. I do not have to be a mom to be significant

With every pregnancy announcement and every “why aren’t you guys having kids yet” question, there’s this odd lie that tells me if I’m not a mom or about to be a mom, I am insignificant; that my role in this world doesn’t matter as much as so-and-so’s because I am not taking on this incredibly beautiful role of mother.  This lie is brutal – it chips away at my identity and makes me feel small and insignificant. But friends, IT IS NOT TRUE. Kids or no kids, I am significant – my life matters, what I am doing matters because I am a precious daughter of the King.

Zephaniah 3:17 says, “The Lord your God… will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.” It doesn’t say, He takes delight in you when you’re finally a mom, it simply says, He will take great delight in you.  As you are, He will rejoice over you with singing. 

Maybe you can’t quite relate to the motherhood pressure - maybe for you it’s the pressure to start dating, or get engaged, or get married; and the constant question “are you seeing anyone?” makes you feel insignificant.  Or maybe it’s something different altogether.  Whatever it is that makes you feel less than, let me step in, stare you in the face and proclaim - you are significant right as you are.  Kids or no kids, married or single, job or no job - your life matters, what you are doing matters.  You are a precious child of the King.

2.    We need to start supporting each other. 

If I’m struggling with feelings of shame admitting that I even thought the question, “What if I don’t want to have kids?” I can only imagine how isolated women who have chosen not to have kids for one reason or another might feel – and that breaks my heart. Our identity as a woman is not based on our decision to mother children.  And we need to stop treating each other like it does. 

Our heavenly Father’s love for us is not an if-then statement.  Nowhere in scripture does it say if you have kids then He will love you more.  And nowhere does it say you must have children. The Lord loves us no matter what.  And as followers of Christ it is our job to love others in this same manner.

The single most encouraging thing during this season has been talking with friends and family (and an amazing husband) who sincerely listen and ask me how I’m doing.  On one particularly difficult day, I cried out to my best friend from beneath the lie of insignificance. After hearing me out, and asking genuine questions about how I was feeling she spoke much-needed truth into my heart.  Even though she couldn’t fully understand where I was, as she herself is expecting, she validated my feelings and with tender, strong words gave me the courage to own this season.  She supported me in the best way possible.

1 Thessalonians 5:11 says, “Therefore, encourage one another and build each other up.”  Even if we don’t understand each other’s decisions, it is our calling to encourage one another.  That applies in my situation, in the icky mom shaming “you should be breastfeeding” pressures, and any other scenarios like this where we are tempted to imply our own opinions on others. 

3.    I don’t know if we’re going to have kids – and that is okay

I don’t know what the Lord has in store for our family, but I do confidently know that the Lord is telling me not yet.  This may just be for a season, another year, or maybe it’s in His plan that our family simply consists of Chris and I, I don’t know. But until the Lord communicates that it’s time to join the masses and make a baby, we’re going to stay in the camp of we’re not having kids right now – and that’s okay. 

It’s taken me a long time to own this answer to the question “What if I don’t want to have kids?” but I think I am finally okay.  I know there will be emotional ups and downs, and that my opinion might soon change.  But I’m confident in the Lord and his direction, and I truly trust that He will make it clear in His timing.  We’ll just have to wait and see. 

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This is not an easy subject to write about.  But I’m hopeful that by opening this conversation we can talk more about this question together, and do a better job of encouraging and supporting each other no matter what. 

My ultimate hope for this series, things we don’t talk about, is to start conversations.  So, if you can relate to this topic – I would love to hear from you in the comments below or via email on my contact page. 

-       If you're a mama - did you experience these feelings pre-babies?

-       If you're not a mama – what runs through your mind when you think about motherhood?  Can you relate?

-       If you’re single – can you resonate with this feeling of pressure?

No matter where you are – cling to these truths.  You are not alone; you are significant; you are wholly, and completely loved by a God who loves you exactly as you are. 

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This post is a part of my series titled "Things we don't talk about"

To catch up on the rest of the series, tap the links below