About the Time I Thought I Wanted Kids (Narrator: She Did Not)

There was a brief—and I mean so brief you’d miss it if you blinked while scrolling TikTok—period in my life where I thought:

“You know what? Maybe I want a child.”

ME. The woman who has loudly, proudly, and repeatedly declared since childhood that she’d rather get a colonoscopy during a live taping of The Jimmy Kimmel Show than ever reproduce.

I don’t know what got into me. Maybe I was ovulating. Maybe I was feeling alone. Maybe it was a well-timed Instagram reel of a toddler giggling with a golden retriever in a sun-drenched field of daisies.

Whatever it was, it broke me.

Suddenly, I was Googling:

• “Single mom adoption Mexico”

• “Sperm donors - and how the fuck does that work?”

• “Can I drink wine during pregnancy and while breastfeeding?”

• “Do kids like spicy food?”

I imagined us—me and my tiny spawn—doing crafts, traveling together, me being the cool mom in linen pants and emotional availability. I envisioned emotionally intelligent breakfast chats over avocado toast. Delusion Level: Astronomical.

Let me be clear:
I don’t HATE children. I just NEVER wanted children. Since Day 1. Not even fake ones. Not even Sims babies. I was that kid who played "house" and made the doll be a career woman with 3 cats, a wine fridge, and commitment issues.

Throughout my 20s, I heard it all:

• “You’ll change your mind.”

• “Wait till your biological clock kicks in.”

• “You just haven’t met the right person.”

First of all: rude.
Second of all: NOPE.
Third of all: My biological clock is powered by Coke Zero and seltzers.

But then came that weird moment of peace. I was financially stable-ish (I mean…I had groceries and no overdraft fees), single, not clinically depressed for once, and doing okay at work. And like an actual lunatic, I thought:

“Is now the time… to create a human?”

Ma’am. Please. Be so for real.

You know what I want?

• Sleep.

• Autonomy.

• Silence.

• 17 pets.

• The ability to book a flight and disappear without alerting the school board.

Eventually, the fog lifted. I fed my dog. Cleaned a hairball. Watched a toddler have a public meltdown for some dumb reason.
I remembered who TF I was.

I don't want a child. I want to continue being the weird pet lady who occasionally drinks wine in the shower and watches true crime in bed while filing her taxes late.

And that, my friends, is called clarity.

Side note: everybody do their own fucking thing. If you want kids, have them. If you don’t, then don’t. If you didn’t and got accidentally pregnant, figure it out. I have a niece. I LOVE HER TO DEATH, but if she cries I’m giving her back.