lives without children

I’m an Alien from the Planet of No Children, Only Dogs

Sue Fagalde Lick Annie the dog, baby pictures, childless dog owners, childless women and baby pictures, lives without children , , , , ,
To illustrate how I prefer dog pictures to baby pictures, the photo shows a big yellow dog with a white face on a beat-up green sofa, fireplace and laundry baskets in the background.

My friend, whom I love, insisted on showing me a video on her phone of her grandchild babbling nonsense. I reacted in much the same way my father would have. A head nod and “yeah, cute,” but she stood there waiting for more. Another woman came over to look. Right away, she started gushing and oohing and couldn’t get enough of it. I don’t know how to do that. I come from a planet without children. That visceral response just doesn’t happen. Yes, she’s cute, and yes, I know she was a preemie and it’s wonderful that she’s growing and learning like other babies now. But I can’t give you that gushing mommy reaction.

When we met a one-year-old Lab-Golden Retriever named Bella at the vet’s office yesterday, I got plenty gooey. Oh, you’re so beautiful. Oh, what a cute puppy. And when my Annie, who doesn’t usually relate to other dogs, walked over and touched noses, I was beside myself with happiness. But human babies? It just doesn’t happen. 

The other night, I was rewriting an old essay that carries a food theme through my life from first marriage to first apartment post-divorce to new marriage and widowhood. It’s about tuna noodle casserole, not the one with potato chips. Basically neither husband liked it, so I cooked it for myself whenever I was alone.The essay covers a whole life, but when I read it over, it seemed to be missing something. Married, alone, married, alone–

Where are the children and grandchildren? Wouldn’t I be making tuna noodle casserole for them? Would they like it? I’m thinking they wouldn’t because it has mushrooms and nuts, but it doesn’t matter because they weren’t at the table. Children were not a factor in this life story. If I were being 100 percent accurate, I might mention the stepchildren, but I probably never served them my tuna noodle casserole. I knew they would hate my favorite comfort food.

My dog would love it, but she didn’t make it into the essay either.  

On what planet does a life not include children? Mine. Yours. We’re approaching a quarter of American women who reach menopause without giving birth. Their life stories don’t revolve around children, and their lives don’t revolve around Betty Crocker casseroles, with or without potato chips. 

On this planet of no kids, we do not learn to speak Mommy. We don’t develop the gushing-over-baby-pictures  area of our brains. We fill that area with pets or other things we enjoy. There’s a widowed man in my church who goes nuts every time he sees my Martin guitar. Babies not so much. I don’t know if he was always from the Planet of No Children, but he lives there now.  

Maybe, male or female, we are like the old “bachelors,” the unmarried fellows the aunties were always trying to marry off. In the cliched picture, they’re into work, cars, and maybe women, but not kids, oh no, not kids. They wouldn’t go all soft at the photo on the phone either. Being guys, they might be more interested in what type of phone you’re using. 

These days, I’m pretty much indifferent to baby pictures. My fertility ended long ago. For you, the sight may cause deep pain because you’re still trying to deal with the possibility–or certainty–that you will not have children. You can’t really refuse to look at the doting mother’s or grandmother’s pictures. If it makes you want to cry, I say go ahead. Let the tears fall. Admit that it’s hard for you to look at baby pictures because you don’t get to have any of your own. Maybe, just maybe, they will realize that not everybody has to see the baby pictures and no one should be forced. If their reaction is not pure adoration, there’s a good reason.

Then again, it’s quite possible people assume you don’t want to look when you really do.A few years ago, when a family member said, “Sue doesn’t do kids.” I was so hurt. I don’t have kids, but it doesn’t mean I don’t do kids.

What’s your reaction when someone shoves a phone in your face to show off baby pictures? Are you able to gush and spew praises or do you just hope to move on as quickly as possible? Does your life story look a little empty with no little ones? Or are there plenty of babies in your life, just not your own? 

What is your favorite comfort food? 

I welcome your comments. 

Happy New Year!

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Having children is not the antidote to depression: looking at the suicides of Robin Williams and others we loved

Sue Fagalde Lick childless grief, depression, despair, lives without children, reasons for living, regret not having children, remembering those who died, Robin Williams, suicide, what makes life worth living


Like so many other people, I can’t stop thinking about Robin Williams, the beloved actor and comedian who committed suicide on Monday. Like so many other people, I felt a bond with him, loved him like family. We were about the same age, both performers, and both from the San Francisco Bay Area. Beyond that, did we have anything in common? Maybe not. But now I do share something with his family: suicide. Many years ago, my great-grandfather killed himself with a shotgun. More recently, my uncle hung himself in his garage. Robin’s death by hanging brings it all back to me. Why couldn’t these men go on?
They all had wives and children who loved them. They had good homes and enough money. They had work and hobbies they loved. It would seem they had so many reasons to live. So, what happened? What demons overpowered them and made them take their own lives?
These men left children and grandchildren to pick up the pieces, not just to do the practical things like arranging funerals and sorting their possessions but to remember and share their memories forever. If they can’t go on, how can we, who may never have children or grandchildren?
We can. We must. I have dealt with depression and anxiety throughout my life. I have been in counseling for years. For most of that time, I resisted taking any kind of medication for it. No, I don’t need drugs, I said. After my uncle died, I changed my mind. Give me the drugs. I do not want to follow in his footsteps. I take a small dose of a mild drug, but it helps.  
You know what? It makes no difference whether or not I have children. Depression is an illness, and it can come to anybody. And you know what’s more important? My life is not just about the children I had or didn’t have. There’s so much more to life. I am a complete person all by myself, and I have been given many gifts that God wants me to use in this life. I hope to use them until I die a natural death and maybe beat my grandfather’s record of living to age 98.
Many people who comment at this blog worry about how they will feel later if they don’t have children. Will they regret it? Will they be overwhelmed by grief that never goes away? Will their lives not be worth living? I have to tell you the hardest part is when you’re still trying to figure out what to do. Have children or not? Stay with this partner or not? Once it’s a done deal, it gets so much easier. There are moments of regret and sadness. It’s a loss, just like when someone dies. You will always wonder “what if?” I’m not going to pretend that I don’t wonder who will pick up the pieces when I die. But even if you never have kids, you will still have a life worth living, one full of gifts and possibilities. You will also have freedom to do things you might not have been able to do if you had children.
If you can’t imagine life without children, find a way to have them. Change partners, do IVF, adopt, volunteer. But if you are certain you have found your one true love, and that love will not give you children, accept that this is your life. Whatever happens, live the life you’re given, and for God’s sake, don’t give up. I know from personal experience that the hardest thing in the world is to reach out when the despair is so heavy all you want to do is disappear. But do reach out. Call a friend. Send an email. Tell someone how you feel. Grab a lifeline that will get you through today and into tomorrow when it will be easier. And if someone you love seems to be struggling, don’t wait to be asked; reach out to them.
We will get through this together. RIP, Robin, Uncle Don and Grandpa Joe.
Have you had a connection with suicide? What qualities give your life value in spite of not having children? Please share in the comments.