I don’t know what it is, but I’m just not feelin’ it. Child rearing. Procreating. Having…babies. Ugh. Sounds awful. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately and I’ve come to the conclusion that if I don’t want to have children by now, maybe I never will. Is that OK? Most people immediately respond with, “Yeah, of course it’s OK.” But I don’t know if I buy that knee jerk reaction, that polite response, because if people make up society and society says, “No, that’s not OK. What’s wrong with you?” then someone’s lying.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it. Sometimes I think I want one—a tiny little babe in my arm, a creation of me. But mostly I am a six year old, longing for a puppy. Something cute and cuddly but not something I’m ready to take care of because I don’t know what that means.

Oh you’ll know when you’re ready, and, You’ll know when you’re with the right guy, the latter pissing me off more than the former. What if I’m never ready? What if I already have the right guy? Why the hell does having a kid seem like this super end-all-be-all right thing to do when you love someone? Can’t I just love?

I asked the boy about it over three dollar Caramba’s margaritas last night. “I just feel like I might never want kids,” I told him. “My biological clock just isn’t ticking. But then again, what if I wake up tomorrow and change my mind? I hear it works that way for some people.” And this is why I love him—totally and completely on the same page he told me, “I could go either way.” Weeks prior we talked about what would happen if I suddenly, unexpectedly became pregnant. “We’d be OK,” he assured me. “We make enough. We’re stable enough. We love each other enough.” Great answer, boyfriend, I’ll give you that. But his response made me feel all warm and fuzzy for all of about five seconds before the revelation hit me. Josh would be OK, we might be OK, but I, Heather, would most certainly not be anywhere near OK. I would be in tears. Life? Over. Most women aren’t like me, I realized. Aren’t men the ones who are supposed to run?

I suppose it’s not something I’m ruling out completely, but I love my life just exactly the way it is. I sleep when I want to, take vacations when I want to, spend my money the way I want to. Gone will be the days of booking a last minute snowboarding trip or catching a flight to Vegas if I have little ones. And I hate to sound like the crazy party girl people often pigeonhole me as being, but I’m not ready to give up my freedom. And why should I just because I hit a certain age or a certain milestone in my relationship? I take holiday very seriously. My passion for discovering new destinations, new adventures, is another woman’s love as she looks into her child’s eyes for the first time. We all have different ways of renewing our souls.

It’s funny, I actually found myself feeling tiny twinges of apprehension prior to throwing my (I don’t have a) baby shower. Obviously it was all in good fun—a silly idea I stole from a 2:00 a.m. rerun of Sex and the City, but I constantly worried whose feelings I might hurt. Maybe it was completely unwarranted, but I stressed that of all my friends who are also mothers (and great ones at that), I might actually offend someone somehow. But then I asked myself a very relevant question and it wasn’t whether or not my anti-baby theme was appropriate. Why, if people can celebrate their marriages, their wedding anniversaries, their new born babies, can’t I celebrate my life without those things? Why can’t I celebrate just because I’m happy? And so I did.

Most mothers I know became mothers because they wanted to be. They felt like it was the next step. Some of them wanted to be mothers long before they were. But did any of them do it because it was what was expected? Even if I decide I want children, will I want them for the right reasons? Or will it be because silent yet relentless societal expectations finally take over without me even realizing? Clearly, I have more questions than I have answers, but I’d rather raise my hand and ask what the fuck is going on than sit down and live someone else’s dream. I have a man who’s good to me. I have two dogs (who act like children and make messes like them too) and a great house. We’ve done it all backwards but we’ve done it better than a lot of people who did it the “right” way. I don’t say that from a place of disrespect, but of wonderment. According to most religions, I’m living in sin. Things aren’t exactly supposed to work out for me.

If I come across as holier than thou, you’ve missed the point. No one is superior to another because of the way they choose to live their lives. We’re all different. We have the right to be different. Some women don’t desire to stay at home with toddlers tugging at their blouses just as others don’t fit the mold of 3 a.m. whiskeys and conversation with strangers. Still, some dig both.

Where’s the society that approves of that?