I’m Child-Free: The Questions Change, But My Reaction is Always The Same

no_kids_2I’m taking a break from my regularly-scheduled-something-about-cats post and thought I’d share with you some musings that I’ve been thinking about for, oh, let’s say 35 years now.  Since I’ve been reading a lot about this topic in the media lately, I thought I’d add in my two cents.  And I’ll say right up front: even though this post is about me choosing to not have kids (and including some lightheartedly fun and informative links and memes along the way), I honor your decision to have children (or not).  It’s not a choice I’ve made for myself, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good choice for you…so if you have kids and you love them, hooray for you and your kids!  Truly, I am happy for you.

But let’s get back to talking about me, because this is my blog.  I’m forty years old, and I’ve noticed something – my entire life, people have asked me about whether or not I’m going to have kids.  But as I’ve aged, those questions have changed, morphing to reflect my (I can only assume) biological child-bearing status.  Because I’m getting up there, right?  And that biological clock is a-ticking!

Well, hold on there a second, pard’ner, because that biological clock?  I’ve never heard it tick, not once.  It’s probably one of those fancy digital types, or maybe that’s too presumptuous.  I might not be that evolved, so maybe it’s like a sun-dial, or whatever it was that the Mayans used to track time.  The fact is, I’ve never wanted children, even when I was a child myself.

When Ino_kids_3 was about five, I remember going on a walk with my mom when I was visiting her in L.A.  There was a woman who lived down the street from us who didn’t have kids, and I was always kind of nervous around her because of that.  I asked my mom, “Mommy, is it against the law to not have kids?” and my mom actually chuckled a little bit and said something like “Of course not! You don’t have to have kids, or you can have as many as you want!”  The reason why I remember this so clearly is because of the immense sense of relief I felt; it was as if a burden had been lifted from my five-year-old shoulders.  Up until that point, I believed that I had to have children; I had already received the message that because I was a girl, I would grow up to be a mommy.

Not unlike other girls, I had a doll named Mandy whom I used to take everywhere with me.  But really, she was much more of a friend or a sister that I took care of, and people talked with me like I was her mother and she was my baby, and that actually pissed me off.  I really hated that people assumed that I was Mandy’s mommy!  I resented it.  It irritated me that people made assumptions about me because of my gender, and I was keenly aware of that, even when I was five years old.

no_kids_4Then, in my teens and twenties, the lecturing started.  The inevitable question would be asked: “do you want kids?”  My response was always the same – no.  And it’s funny, because I think that when people ask that question, they don’t expect you to be honest – they expect you to say yes.  The responses to me were always so dismissive or (again) presumptuous: “oh, you’ll change your mind when you get older”, “when you meet the right man, you’ll want to have his children”, “but women are supposed to have children”, and all the rest.  Ugh!  I just saw this as so disrespectful of me being an individual, with my own identity, hopes and desires for my future.  And, it reinforced in me that there is a huge expectation of women to become moms…otherwise, there’s probably something wrong with you.  Because I didn’t feel the desire to have children, obviously I had a problem!

In my early 30’s, I got a reprieve.  Most people had stopped asking me if or when I was going to have kids.  The reason for this, I suspect, is due to two things:  first, most people knew me well enough to assume that a question about my reproductive intentions would elicit a reaction from me that would earn the questioner a swift punch in the throat.  Secondly (and I’m ok with acknowledging this), most people were probably scared that “the question” might actually encourage me to really think about having kids, and WHO KNOWS what kind of terror would be unleashed upon the world by humans that carry my genetic legacy.

Since I’ve moved and have a new suite of friends and coworkers, the questions have resumed.  But, like I mentioned earlier, the questions have changed now that I’m forty.  Now, it’s not so much “are you going to have kids?” but “do you have kids?” and I still get mildly irritated by even that question!  However, at this point, I can laugh at myself.  My responses are more about my own identity and individuality than it ever was: “HEY!  Do I look and act mature enough to have kids???” and “puhleeeeze…why would I have kids?  Being taken care of when I’m old…that’s what spoiling nieces and nephews is for!” and even more frequently, “Hell no…cats cause enough stress in my life, and you want me to add to the mix small humans who can’t do anything for themselves except create messes and noxious bodily emissions?  Disaster!!!”  At this point, the fact that others can’t look at me and immediately determine that I don’t have kids is not my fault, and frankly, I’m a little judgmental about their inability to judge me.  So hey – if you want to ask me if I have kids (or even when I’ll have kids), that’s on you.  You might be my friend, my colleague, or even a relative, but your perceptiveness score has just gone down a notch in my book.

no_kids_1Honestly, for me, it’s not about being stubborn, radical, hating children (which is not the case, but even if it were, that’s still perfectly valid), having a sucky childhood, being depressed, or any number of assumptions that people make about child-free people.  I’ve watched my parents divorce and remarry (several times), and have seen great suffering on the part of children who have parents who aren’t up to the task of having kids (I know that sounds judgy, but seriously – there are so many unhappy kids out there whose problems start at home).  I saw a great article in Salon on reasons why the article’s author felt that not having kids was the best decision she ever made.  I related so much to her words, and this especially struck home:

Those of us who opt out of having children often do so not because we take parenthood lightly, but because we take it so seriously.” — Liz Langley

Kids were just never in the cards for me.  I never imagined myself as an adult with kids – I imagined myself as an adult who worked, traveled, had a quiet and calm home, and who had plenty of time for myself and my husband (and my cats).  And here I am, just as I imagined.  This was what I envisioned, and how I choose to live a fulfilled life.  And that’s plenty of living for me.

Round Two: Another Post about Bras – Let’s Get Ready to Grumble!

Vintage Bras

Wow – we ladies certainly love our boobs, and have strong, loud and opinionated voices when it comes to protecting our options.  Whether it’s breast-feeding in public or the injustices brought about by ill-fitting and unflattering breast support, it seems that, when it comes to boobs, we’re ready to rumble.  Or grumble, more like.  In fact, the post I wrote about a month ago called “Bra Shopping:  Not as Titillating as I Had Hoped” was my most commented-upon post ever, since starting this blog back in 2005.  I received a lot of comments through Facebook, and was even offered custom assistance from a personal shopper who works in the lingerie department at Nordstrom’s.  Thank you so much for reading my rant and telling me how you feel regarding your own bra-shopping experiences!

Looks like I'm not the only one confused by bras.

Looks like I’m not the only one confused.

When it comes down to it, bras are pretty confusing.  Not the concept, of course – just give us something comfortable and pretty that can help stabilize our ta-tas.  Where this becomes troublesome is in the details.  For example:  Why the awkwardness – why is the clasp in the back?  Why so few sizes that are either pretty or sexy; do the physics of bra construction prevent the use of color, sparkles or texture?  And why the discomfort?  Why, oh for the love of god, WHY is METAL WIRE with STABBY ENDS a component of ANYTHING that comes near our boobs?  Where did we go wrong???

In addition to the problems I outlined in my previous post, a number of you wrote about issues that seem to be common when we go to the lingerie department.  Here are a few of your comments:

  • Linda wrote: “besides color and poor construction, why does almost every bra out there in larger sizes have padding in the cup???”  I know, right?  It seems like most “every day” bras now come standard with padding or are push-ups.  That’s not my idea of every-day comfort.
  • Amy echoed the above sentiment and added “I need a strap that doesn’t roll but hopefully doesn’t look like something out of a 1940s Sears catalog”, and I agree!
  • And Jessica also made a very good point about cost: “I take great issue with the fact that all the cute, frilly bras in the smaller sizes are always so much cheaper. I realize that it takes sturdier construction to hold up a larger chest, but come on. When they are three or four times the cost of all the other bras out there and still plain black, neutral or white that is just absurd. It is not that much extra fabric.”
  • But it’s not only the more curvy girls among us who have complaints; I heard quite a bit from the smaller ladies as well.  Susan wrote, “Try shopping for 36A, also known as the 36nipple. I do not want an underwire, I want comfort…is that too much to ask?”  Yes, yes it is, Susan.  Just. Too. Much.
  • And it’s not even just the women, the men have something to say too.  Ken passionately stated, “This injustice will not stand! I want everyone to have fun underthingies that fit. Seriously, why aren’t the manufacturers responding to the market that clearly needs a product? Do it for the boobies!”  Thank you, Ken, for your (ahem) support!

The fact is, we women like to think that every single one of us has broken the mold in some respect.  We like being individuals, unique, interesting, different from everyone else.  And when someone tells us that we have to force our boobs into something that is, well, molded to a few specific shapes and sizes, that rankles us to the core.  Truly, when I look back upon the history of the bra, I can’t say I’m excited for the future.  If they haven’t listened to us by now, when will they?

Gas Mask Bra

Well, I guess we’ve got priorities. At least it’s pretty!

Bra Shopping: Not as titillating as I had hoped

Alright, so if you do not want to hear about my latest bra shopping adventure (which probably includes information about my own boobs), you might not want to read this post.  Still reading?  Ok, good.  Now, the fact that YOU may or may not have boobs is irrelevant to what I’m going to talk/rant about, so don’t think that this is going to be a post entirely about how people who don’t need bras get off easy (um, which they do, just saying).  NO!!!  This is a post about how 1) fashion designers are glorified even though they only produce bras for a very small portion of women, and 2) anyone who doesn’t fit into that very small portion of women is SOL when it comes to buying cute underthingies, thus making us (yes, me included) feel like we are somehow not deserving of said cute underthingies.

Our story begins when I broke my bra last week.  And as long as I’m being honest, I’ll admit that I have a favorite bra, a go-to bra that I wear 90% of the time.  It’s not that I don’t have other bras, it’s just that this one is the most comfortable, flattering, and matches with most of my underpants.  But as of last week, the METAL WIRE TORTURE APPARATUS that is apparently critical to the support system of this bra POPPED out of the side seam and commenced full-on stabbing me in the side of my left boob.  So sad!  And painful!  But it was time to get a new bra anyway, because mine was resembling something like this, only in black:

old bra

I’m sure you’ve had a similar problem at one time or another, yes?  So, I decided to bite the bullet and <gulp, I just threw up a little in my mouth> go to the mall to hunt and capture at least a couple of brassieres that could handle the challenge of lugging these old titsballs around on a daily basis.  You’re probably thinking to yourself, ok, so just go to Victoria’s Secret – what’s the big deal?  I’LL TELL YOU WHAT THE BIG DEAL IS:  I HATE VICTORIA’S SECRET!!!  Let me count the ways:

  1. As soon as you step in the store, some 22 year old runs up to you and accosts you with questions about what you’re looking for and how she can help and what size are you and what sexual positions does your partner(s) like.  Which would appear, at first glance, that she is just trying to be helpful and not incredibly intrusive.  Upon receiving an answer of “no thanks, I’m just looking around”, she slinks off, only to be replaced by ANOTHER 22 year old who demands an answer to similar questions.  And I swear to god, they will not leave you alone, unless you bring your boyfriend with you (and make sure he looks embarrassed to be there).  It is not impossible that the same salesgirls that previously asked if you needed help and were turned down will come back and ask you a second or third or even fourth time.  ERGGGG!!!  Just leave me alone to shop for unmentionables in my own personal space bubble, okay???  Jeesh!
  2. While some of the merchandise at VS cute, it is, generally, of poor quality and produced in countries that don’t provide their workers with living wages.
  3. I very much DISLIKE how VS has been marketing to the pre-teen crowd with their PINK line for several years now.  Their models look like they are 12 years old, and it’s just INAPPROPRIATE!!!  So I guess that makes me an old fart.
  4. Getting back to the point of this post, VS carries merchandise that fits only a small portion of the population.

Let’s get down to bras(s) tacks.  I have been wearing bras that are size 36-B for YEARS.  The past couple of years I’ve really should have been wearing a size 38-B, but I have been avoiding making the switch for a couple of reasons, including that it was just hard to find cute bras over size 36″ anywhere (including VS, although they have a few, I’ll admit, but see issues 1-3 above).  Plus, I am finally at that point in life where I’d just rather be comfortable – so bring on the size 38 bras and yoga pants.  Since I had a coupon to Macy’s, I figured I’d go shopping there to see what their lingerie department could do for me.  At first it wasn’t too bad, other than my head swimming at being confronted by all the double-barreled boob slings hanging everywhere.  Really, after a while, they just start to look ridiculous, am I right?  Anyway, right when you get to the lingerie department, the first thing you see is a wall of Calvin Klein, DKNY, and a couple of other designer brands.  And they had cute stuff – all different colors, cuts and textures!  So I started sorting through them and the ONLY sizes they carried were 32-36″.  W.T.F.

Now, I’m not a big person, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to carry more than 3 chest sizes (granted, with multiple cup sizes).  But upon investigation, all the designer brands went no larger than 36″.  Grrrr – what gives?  Ok, I guess I need to just bite the bullet and march on over to the non-designer brands, which actually take up the majority of the lingerie department floor.  And there I am confronted with a SEA of black and nude GIGANTOR bras…mostly plain, mostly full coverage, mostly austere and penal-looking.  Soooo depressing!!!  Why are we, the majority of the female population who are not incredibly tiny, given so few cute underthingie options?  After hunting around for a great while, I managed to find a rack of demi-bras that were deliciously soft and lacy.  But still only black and nude colored.  This was fine for my purposes (after all, I just needed another regular go-to bra), but it left me feeling like 1) I must be a huge person to not be able to fit into the “regular” designer brands anymore, and 2) I guess I don’t deserve to wear all the cute underthingies that our stylish, exclusive brand-name designers are making.

Well that’s just bullshit, I say…bullshit!  I have a couple of recommendations for the lingerie industry, and I hope that department stores and other retailers, as well as designers, will take note (pshaw, as if!):

  1. If you’re a designer like Calvin Klein or DKNY, why don’t you serve more than a fraction of our population?  We have a lot of money to spend on your overpriced merchandise, you know.  Offering up more than 3 chest sizes (on the small end, no less) would be just grand.  And stores:  if fashion designers like Calvin and Klein are only catering to a few sizes, WHY reward them by putting up an exclusive display wall right at the front of the department?  It just makes your customers feel shitty when they get excited about all the cute underthingies and then can’t find any in their size.  Shoot those suckers to the back of the store – they don’t deserve the advantage or reward!
  2. Being excluded from the section of cute underthingies and being “relegated” to a sea of black or nude full-coverage bras is not fun, either.  I’m sure that there are plenty of average and larger ladies who want cute underthingy options – we don’t just want to slink off in shame and hide our lady lumps in drab beige or black camouflaged utilitarian support devices all the time.  Give us something fun to wear!  In colors!  With sparkles!  And fanciness!  We want to feel good about ourselves when we step out of our clothes, and fun cute underthingies can help!  The key is options.  We deserve cuteness, just like all those 32-36″ girls do!

That’s about all I have to say about that.  Apologies for the rant, but really, I was about ready to bust some nuts on someone Saturday.  And that’s just how utilitarian underwear makes me feel.  Do you really want that out there in the world, Calvin Klein?  Do you?

On girl crushes and body image

Happy New Year!  Very briefly, it’s a new year and this is a new blog.  I hate resolutions, but I resolve to transform this blog into one that’s not so torturous to write (and perhaps read, I don’t know how it is for you).  Writing long posts to catch up was just killing me, so I put Marcilicious on hiatus (as well as Brainy Girls, but that’s another topic).  I want short, random posts!  You want them too (maybe)!  So here’s the first one.  Boom.

As you may know, I skate with the Storm City Roller Girls (and I also manage the website, so please visit – I just provided you with the link, see?).  Throughout my entire life I’ve struggled with my own body image – being overweight, not pretty enough, blah blah blah.  My girl crushes have been (and continue to be on) the fabulously dorky Drew Barrymore (although I feel our connection is diminishing now that she’s on the having-kids-being-a-mom kick, but perhaps it’s a phase) and the Hermione-esque Emma Watson.  Oh, I’ve envied them and other women in the media like them for so long!  Why can’t I be more like them?  Skinny, pretty, perfect.

The truth is, I never will be like them, and I’ve got to learn how to accept that about myself. I’ve known this for a long time and have told myself this a million times.  But here enters derby and ALL THE GIRL CRUSHES!!!  Here you could not ask for a more diverse group of women in terms of body shape, size, appearance, and style.  And I want to be like so many of them!  I found myself wanting to be just like girls who had very little in common with Drew Barrymore or Emma Watson (both physically and otherwise).  And once I realized this, it was like, daaaaamn…if I think these girls are so awesome, maybe other people think I’M awesome, and maybe I can think I’m awesome too.  Mind blown.


High-five ladies – I think you’re incredible!