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This is Not a Childfree Rant
Recently, at a family gathering, my Dad wondered aloud whether I never wanted to have children because of what happened with him and my Mom. (They divorced when I was 11.) I assured him that was not the case. Just look at how I used to play.
When I was little, I didn’t really play with baby dolls the way some girls did. I had a strong nurturing instinct, to be sure, but not towards the replica baby humans. I would invent scenarios for my stuffed animals where they needed healing and care — a clipped ear, a twisted tail, general plushy angst — and I would provide the care for them. After they were “all better,” they would happily go back on the pile and play with their other animal friends.
I had lots of Barbies, and I would send them on adventures — traveling, scouting out locations for buildings and movies, hiking in the mountains. My Barbies didn’t really think about taking care of a home and family. They had strong, supportive friendships with each other and (like child me) often had short hair that I cut myself.
So, no, it wasn’t my parents’ divorce that made me want to live without my own children. It was (and is) my nature. It is my nature to be childfree, much as it is some people’s nature to love people of their own gender, or to know that the gender they were assigned at birth is not the one they live in their hearts.