If not Arizona, then a land not too far away. Where all parents are strong and wise and capable and all children are happy and beloved. I don’t know. Maybe it was Utah.

Whenever I read posts about the varying experiences of motherhood, and the itch so many women get at various points in their lives to make, foster, and love babies of their own, I often find myself holding my breath. I don’t realize I’m barely breathing until a few moment pass by, and I sigh lightly and wonder why I’m so afraid of regretting a decision I feel I’ve already so solidly and intelligently made.

I could laundry list the reasons I don’t believe I will ever be a mom: because I don’t choose to be, don’t want to be, don’t think it’s necessary, for me.

I hear voices talking back to me whenever I start thinking about my imaginary very non-existent children. They are rational voices, calm voices, honest voices. They are loud voices.

But I have names chosen. So many names* that mean so much to me, that would be so perfect, so beautiful. That isn’t a good enough reason.

I know I would be a good mother. I actually really like kids. I’ve counseled at summer camps, taught Sunday School. Babysat every kid on my block. Still not good enough.

Is it so wrong to want to see attributes of myself and my husband reflected in a little someone who is ours? Maybe not. But what about the little someones throughout the world who need homes? Would you not be just as much a mother if you adopted one of them?

But I don’t think I want to adopt, either. Exactly.

I’m simultaneously enthralled and terrified of pregnancy. I can visualize the nine months, the baby showers, the parade of adorable onesies, my mom spoiling the booties off my baby. I can imagine the infancy, the sleepless nights, the formative pre-school years. But the part that terrifies me is that if I do this I’m not “Mom” for nine months, one year, five years. I’m “Mom” for life. Forever. I can’t even imagine how drastically different our lives would perpetually be. I can’t even imagine how selfless we would both have to become.

I think about not ever being ready, and some days I feel beyond content.

I think about not ever being ready, and some days I cringe at the thought of never having a “family”of my own. Of never having a daughter, or a son. Or both.

Just last night I had a dream that Chris and I had a baby, and I was horrified, scared to death–not ready, at all. I awoke unsettled, and with an immense feeling of relief washing over me as I continually remembered it was just a dream. Not real. Not happening.

Chris and I have had many conversations about having kids, and while there is still more to say, I fear I may never be ready (that we may never be ready), and I’m daily learning to be OK with that, if that’s the case.

I realize there is no golden rule, no right or wrong answer so often when the “kids or no kids?” question comes into play. Timing really is everything, and yet, so often it’s nothing at all, too. I suppose that’s because if everyone waited until they were 100% “ready” I can’t imagine the world would be as populated as it is. I realize there is no such thing as “100% ready, set, child!” but that being said, I guess what is so starkly lacking with Chris and I is the innate desire to have a child of our own, and, quite frankly, I just don’t anticipate that lack of desire changing anytime soon.

So for now I suppose it’s accurate to say I’m childless by choice. Until I change my mind. But I probably won’t.

*Seventeen names. I so wish I were exaggerating.

**Post title is a quote from Raising Arizona. You should watch it.

Weekend Update, Leprechaun Edition

I haven’t run a 5k since 2005, when my sister and I signed up to “trot” a Race for the Cure in Portland and then on race day, about twenty minutes before we were set to briskly walk with the rest of the meanders, she asked if we could run. We have different memories of this day, but I remember knowing we would run even though we had said we were going to walk. I also remember that while she → Read more...

Things I’m Contemplating As I Enter This, My Superhero(ine) Phase

This post inspired by my friend and Patron Saint of Divorce Redemption.

We’ve all heard about the five (or seven) stages of grief, the designated personal places you must traipse within and for yourself to be able to stand tall on the other side of whatever loss you are suffering. Stages you need to fight your way through surviving, and really processing, to be able to find yourself again.

In my head I liken the five stages of divorce to a wily → Read more...

Do A Big Sister A Favor?

Today is babycarrot sister’s 26th! Day of Cake. Being that my sister happens to be (awesome, yes! and) one of my favorite people on the planet, I think instead of being here, you should go here, and read all about what made her day great. (Seeing as how we’re all very visual learners around these parts, I will tell you that there are most definitely pictures. Of cake, even!)

You could even wish her a happy! birthday. You know, if you → Read more...

My Heart Is A Nautical-Themed Pashmina Afghan

We interrupt copious amounts of Asia recapping this broadcast for a maritime digression of sorts.

You see, I’ve been a lover of the ocean, and of all things aquatic and nautical-inspired, ever since I can remember.

My love for sea-faring-everything might very well have been fostered during the myriad spring breaks spent exploring quaint coastal communities in and around Port Ludlow, Washington. Some of my fondest childhood memories spring forth from days spent poking my curious face into every trinket shop in → Read more...