I’ve been childfree since before there was a word, let alone a movement for it. As a kid, I did play with dolls and talk about my future kids’ name possibilities (I was obsessed with the names Andrew and Alyssa for a while), but when I was 13, I had an Ah Ha Moment about the whole thing. Unfortunately, that moment hit not during some wonderful self-awareness, but during my writing a really, really bad, and really, really embarrassing biography of my future. I think I got the concept from one of my all-time favorite books, Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson, but I was inclined to do it because it would allow me to write all about my potential great romance with my crush at the time.

I wrote all about the day that he would finally realize that he needed me in his life as more than just his stalker (You think I’m joking.) and our ensuing great romance, which definitely involved a night under the stars. And of course, we got married. The next logical step in my fantasy world was having kids, and that part stumped me. It was wholly unappealing, even with this 8th grade dreamboat. I could not get these children to fit into the damn story, and if my life was going to go according to this tale I was weaving, I had to get realistic. So, I came up with this family of dogs and cats and probably an iguana, or something, because I did always want a lizard. I remember I also enjoyed coming up with my careers, and if that part of the story came true, right now, I would own my own publishing house, be a successful writer, and design and make jewelry on the side, which doesn’t sound bad at all, exhaustion aside.

It’s not really relevant to the point of this post, but for what it’s worth, said crush object eventually deemed me insane and undesirable, so there was no romance under the stars, and Facebook now shows me that he is not unattractive, though his privacy settings don’t indicate anything about career, family, drug use. (He sure was a druggie back in the day. I knew how to pick ’em!) And I’m working in abortion and publishing on WordPress, which I’m really very happy about (and I don’t think I turned out to be entirely unattractive), but the really important thing is that I remain childfree.

When you tell people you don’t want to have kids, no, not ever, no, I never have wanted them, they loooooove to say, “Oh, you’ll change your mind. You’re still young.” In fact, I once had a 21-year-old tell me this when I was 25. It’s not that I ever believed them, but I was afraid they would be correct. I mean, I’ve heard of the biological clock, and I worried that I would edge toward 30 and my clock would betray me and I would start saying things like, “Ooooooh, she’s sooooo cuuuuute! I think I just spontaneously ovulated!”

Yesterday, I got together for iced tea with my dear friend Nicole and her 21-month-old daughter, Cici. I met Cici when she was about a week old, and she was the first baby I ever felt kick in utero. (Yes, I just called it a baby when, if it were inside a client at work, I’d call it a fetus. Get over it, world.) I’m pretty connected to this kid, and I haven’t been inclined to connect with many kids in my life. Yesterday, Cici dressed herself in baby Keens, gray leggings, a whale T-shirt, a lime green floppy hat, and her mom’s beaded necklace. And in her adorable outfit, she grins at me and empties the coffee shop’s complimentary toy box in my lap, toy by toy, just to hear me say, “Oh! Thank you!” When she’s sitting with her mom, she reaches out for me and toddles over to sit on my lap. When we finished our iced teas and Cici finished her cupcake, she asked for me to carry her to her car and she laughed all the way.

Cici is completely charming and I like her as a person and I’m really thankful that I get to be a part of her life. But I’m also really grateful that when she leans her little strawberry blond, curly haired head against my chest, I feel zero desire to have a Cici of my own. And what’s more, when I meet any cat or dog or rat or hamster or otter or penguin in the world, I certainly do have that intense urge to adopt it, so I know what that feeling COULD be. I think I might have a zoological clock.

And apropos of absolutely nothing:

1. I live across the street from not one, but TWO pizza places. For a variety of dietary and monetary reasons, it’s problematic.

2. I am growing out my hair, from roughly 2″ to around…I don’t know how to measure hypothetical hair without getting up to get a tape measure because I don’t feel like getting out of this chair, but I want it to be around mouth-length. And I am so fed up with it, I am liable to show up with either a buzz cut or a really bad weave.