Z is for zero, which is how many children we have

I’m struggling with illness and the need to write a “Z” post for the completion of the A to Z blog challenge. But here goes. Z is for Zero. Also zip and zilch.

First, there’s Zero Population Growth, a movement to limit reproduction for fear of overloading our planet with more people than it can handle. Ideally people would have just enough children to replace themselves, so population would neither grow nor decline. This is not a new idea, but in the late 1960s, it really took off with the publication of Paul Erlich’s book The Population Bomb. Erlich warned that overpopulation would cause widespread starvation and misery.

The birth rate has declined considerably since the 1960s, with at least one-fifth of American women not having children and similar numbers in other countries. Fear of overpopulation is just one of many reasons for this, but I do come across quite a few men and women who say they’re not having children because there are already too many people in the world. It’s hard to argue that when you’re stuck in commute traffic or waiting in line at the pharmacy.

But zero is also the number we find ourselves writing on forms, especially at the doctor’s office. I hate those forms which ask, “How many pregnancies have you had?” or “How many children have you had.” They assume that all women have children. It almost feels like I’m failing some kind of test when I write down “zero.”  The rest of the questions, things like “Did you breastfeed?” or “Did you have a C-Section?” I leave blank. Nope, nope, nope. See answer to first question: Zero.

It comes up in conversation, too, at least among women my age and older. People don’t ask whether you have children. They ask how many you have. Once again, the answer is “zero.” Usually I’ll say, “I never had any children” and change the subject as quickly as possible.

Perhaps among younger women, motherhood is not assumed. Not only are 20 percent never having children, but more and more women put off trying to get pregnant until they’re approaching 40. So maybe someday the answer “zero” won’t feel so wrong, just one of many options.

Anyway, Z is for Zero, and that concludes the A to Z blogging challenge. I will continue to blog at Unleashed in Oregon on Mondays, Childless by Marriage on Wednesdays, and Writer Aid on Fridays. Come visit as often as you can, and please feel free to comment and share.

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Childlessness looks different when you’re pushing 90

Seniors have a different take on childlessness than people in their 20s, 30s or 40s. For one thing, menopause has occurred and pregnancy is no longer a possibility. For another, they know how the story turned out.
I gave a talk about my Childless by Marriage book on Sunday at the local Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. It was such a pleasant experience I’m tempted to drop in again soon. They meet in the upstairs classroom of the Newport Visual Arts Center. The big windows look out on Nye Beach, with the Yaquina Head lighthouse visible to the north. Even on a stormy day, when everything is gray and white, the view is stunning and surely inspires the many artists who leave their paint splatters on the tables and floors.
At 60, I may have been the youngest person there. The oldest was 90.The meeting was an interesting blend of morning coffee and snacks, music, meditation, readings, sharing of concerns, and me.
As I told my story and read excerpts from my book, the audience reacted with nods, oohs and laughs, and when I opened up the discussion, they had plenty to say. Nearly everyone in the room had children. A few had adopted children. Only half had grandchildren. One said her only child, a daughter, died when she was 16.
These lovely elders, several with accents from far away, one lady nearly blind, said they didn’t have much choice when they were young. You got married and had children. If you were physically unable, you adopted. Now their own children and grandchildren are making different choices. They don’t begrudge them these choices, if that’s what they want to do. It’s good that young people have more choices now. A few recalled the days when you couldn’t be a teacher or a stewardess if you were married or had children. Women worked for a few years as teachers or nurses, then retired to become moms.
A few reminded me of ZPG, the zero population growth movement that became popular in the 1960s. It stemmed from The Population Bomb, a book by Paul Ehrlich, which predicted that the human race would destroy itself and the earth if it didn’t stop having so many children. Some people did decide then not to procreate. With birth control coming on the scene, many had fewer children than the generations before.
I talked about how people ask why we don’t have children and shared some of the answers people give: “It wasn’t God’s plan.” “I didn’t want them.” “Ask my husband.” “It just happened.” The Unitarians couldn’t believe anyone would be rude enough to ask. It’s none of their business, they said, and they would not dignify the question with an answer.
We talked about old age without children. If we don’t have children, who will take care of us? Will we be all alone? As I have heard so many times, they scoffed at the idea that one’s children will be around when one needs help. Where we live on the Oregon coast is a long hard drive from any major city. Most young people move away to go to school and get jobs elsewhere. They can’t come back to hold our hands.
Whether or not we have children is almost irrelevant, they said. We need to reach out to friends to help us. If we have enough money, we can buy our way into senior communities, assisted living institutions and the like, but we can’t count on our kids. We need to count on each other.
Finally, someone commented that there seems to be a stigma attached to not having children. People don’t talk about it much. But for that hour with the Unitarians, with the ocean gently moving in and out in the background, we did talk about it, and it felt good.