"Peace on Earth," by Kiki Suarez
Roughly 1 in 3 Americans are "under-babied." What does "under-babied" mean? It means that you don't have any children, or you have less children than you would normally want to have... We're way below what we need, just to replace the people we have in America.
~ Dr. Mehmet Oz, Administrator for the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services
What follows is a poetic take on my life as a woman who chose not to have children. By Dr. Oz's metric, I am "under-babied." There are many in this country who have happily made the same decision. There are also many who have suffered greatly because they were unable to have children. I wish to acknowledge their pain, while lifting up my own choices, which have led to a very fulfilling life.
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Love kids.
Be the neighborhood babysitter everyone wants ~
you know, the kind who plays crazy games and
does voices for the stories.
So much of life is ahead of you and you know
you're going to be a great mom one day.
Take risks.
Disappoint your disapproving guidance counselor by
turning away from shrinkingly stifled expectations while
voraciously pursuing adventure.
Cultivate a desire to dream in two languages.
Fall in love with Mexico,
with Spanish language and literature
(along with a couple of ill-advised hombres).
Take a deep dive south of the border and
down into your own soul-mystery.
Return home a year later, realizing
you now dream in countless languages,
some of them containing words.
Remember your desires.
You still know you're going to be a great mom,
but not for awhile yet.
Marry a wild-eyed sailor who
is building a Polynesian catamaran in
the New Mexico desert.
Rejoice that his weirdness matches your own.
Take it seriously when he tells you that
he doesn't want children.
Set aside the swirling shoulds and realize
(with surprise)
that you don't really want them either.
Acknowledge the astonishing shift.
You know you could have been a great mom,
but you don't think you'll miss it.
Become a teacher ~
a good one ~
and embrace the role of "cool auntie."
Because of your under-babiedness
you have wild amounts of creative energy
and time for kids ~
kids who never occupied your uterus but
who surround and inspire and delight you.
You now know for sure that
you could have been a great mom
but oh, it's such a relief that you aren't.
Go on countless crazed adventures
with the wild-eyed sailor ~
bicycling, sailing, hiking, explorations of the heart.
When you amicably part years later,
recognize that some of your best adventures
are still to come and
that many of them will be on your own.
Rejoice that you feel utterly
comfortable in your own skin.
This, you will come to discover, is not terribly common
among the many who didn't have the chance to kick
shrinkingly stifled expectations to the curb
at a young age.
Give a damn.
Care for your parents and
when their time comes,
honor their deaths.
In fact, honor the deaths of many,
recognizing this as yet another calling in
a long vocational list that
never included motherhood.
Welcome immigrants and strangers,
honoring your mother who was
an "anchor baby" long ago.
Help the people
left behind on the streets.
Mentor the young ones who
yearn for a better world.
Continue to celebrate this chosen life that
allows you to love in so many ways.
Support your friends who are not under-babied ~
when they complain about their kids,
annoy them by slapping your forehead and exclaiming:
"I can't believe I forgot to have children!"
Remember to send the wild-eyed sailor a thank you note for
his part in your glorious under-babying.
Love the greatest mother of them all ~
Gaia, Mother Earth ~
she who is most definitely NOT under-babied.
Let the words of the crotchety prophet of
Walden Pond echo in your soul:
Simplify, simplify!
Tread softly and intentionally.
Ditch the car, ride your bike, take the bus.
Walk ~ saunter ~ everywhere
as you joyfully pay attention.
Stop to notice birds and dragonflies and trees,
the diamond flash of Sirius,
the striking daylight moon on an aquamarine sky.
Listen to your Mother ~
everyone's mother ~
as she begs us to just stop . . .
she who groans under the burden of insatiable human appetites,
who wishes her wayward children would wake up to the idea of enough,
she who wonders why Dr. Oz and his ilk can't embrace and
welcome the multitudes of precious, multi-hued children
who are already here, desperately seeking safety
throughout her world.
Cultivate imagination.
Imagine the militant ignorance coming out of Washington
finally dissipating as the current occupant of the White House,
along with his merry band of twisted bigots,
rockets to Mars, wrapped in the remnants of
their twisted, white-tinged pro-birth agendas.
Imagine sharing.
Imagine welcoming.
Imagine a disappearing footprint.
Imagine enough.
Imagine enough for all.