Go ahead and call me a bad mom. I can already hear the judgment—yes, I can envision a life without my four-year-old son. There, I said it. Go ahead, throw your stones.
When my high-needs baby, who could be impossible to soothe, was around eight months old, I found myself in a conversation with my supervisor, Tom. I was curious if he and his wife had planned their twin boys followed by a third child, or if it was a total surprise. He told me it was unexpected, but he wouldn’t change a thing.
“You wouldn’t?” I replied incredulously. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around that notion. How could he not imagine life differently? It was as if I were speaking a foreign language, revealing a part of me that was utterly alien to him.
“Well, I can,” I stated plainly. “I can vividly recall my life before kids and, yes, I would embrace that again.” Tom, being the respectful person he is, let my seemingly selfish thoughts slide. We agreed to disagree and returned to our tasks.
As time went on, I noticed a pattern. Parents who had unexpected children often couldn’t fathom even a moment without their so-called perfect bundles of joy. I could only guess that they were either sleep-deprived or their partners were handling all the nighttime duties while they lounged, indulging in snacks and daytime television.
For me, I could imagine my pre-baby life—if only for fleeting minutes. I recalled evenings spent binge-watching reality shows, cooking meals without interruption, or spontaneously hitting the dance floor with a friend after calling them up last minute. I could almost feel the bliss of uninterrupted sleep in a bed free from baby messes, where I didn’t wake up even once. Ah, those were the days.
But it didn’t end there. I could also remember those invigorating runs with my dog around the neighborhood—no need for a babysitter and without guilt weighing me down. I could picture myself cycling along the same path, my hair whipping in the breeze, with thoughts unburdened and a body in motion. Sometimes, if I let my mind wander, I’d even convince myself that my past life was more fulfilling than it truly was.
Do I adore my son? Absolutely. Would I allow anything to harm him? Never. I’d step in front of a moving train to protect him. After all, I’ve devoted the last three years to his care, sacrificing sleep, my health, most of my free time, and even some of my favorite meals (that’s always a tough one). Yet, I do this willingly because my love for him is boundless.
Still, I can’t help but ponder when others say, “I wouldn’t have it ANY other way…” It leads me to question, “Would I?” If given the chance, would I undo my choices? Would I trade in this amazing little bundle who sees me as everything? When confronted with this question, I hesitate. I can imagine my previous, carefree life—the joy, the freedom, the focus on me. And honestly, it wasn’t so bad.
As I process these thoughts, I’m reminded that while parenting is a profound journey, it’s perfectly natural to reflect on a time when life revolved around oneself. It’s a delicate balance of love and longing, and recognizing both sides only deepens my appreciation for the unique path I’ve chosen.
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Summary:
In this thought-provoking reflection, Emily Carter candidly explores her ability to envision a life without children, contrasting her past freedom with her current responsibilities. While she deeply loves her son, she acknowledges the challenges of motherhood and the allure of her former life. Through this introspection, she highlights the complexities of parenting and the importance of embracing both joy and longing.
Keyphrase: A life without children
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