A Letter to the (Departed) Cat Love of My Life

I first met you when your tiny, furry head popped out of the top of a Christmas stocking. It was December 2000, and Amy, Megan, and James sat smiling at me in Marm’s living room, looking so very proud of the combination birthday/Christmas gift they had just presented. I looked from them to you as it slowly dawned on me that you were mine.

“You didn’t think there was any way we were going to let you live alone, did you?” said Amy.

“A kitten is just what you needed,” Megan chimed in. “And… we kind of already named her. Her name is: Majc!”

“Magic,” I echoed, the significance of the name not registering. You were still halfway in the stocking, sizing me up.

“Not that magic,” Amy explained. “Megan, Amy, James, and Carrie -- MAJC. We thought for hours of a way to name her after all of us, and James finally came up with the perfect acronym!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell them at the time that I was scared shitless to take you home; the weight of your itty bitty body might as well have been 100 pounds to match the weight of responsibility I felt. So, I loaded you into the car with the litterbox, food, and toys they had bought as a starter kit. During the drive home, the questions bombarded me. Where would I put your litterbox in my one-bedroom apartment? What if you didn’t use the litterbox? Would I remember to feed you? What if you hated me?( After all, I had an unfortunate relationship with Lucky, who was supposed to be my cat but decided he liked my dad way better and waged a years-long bout of sibling rivalry).

But when I got you home and sat on the futon to ponder my new state of motherhood, you clumsily ran over to me in that irresistible way reserved solely for kittens who intend to capture your heart. The bell on your pink collar jingled as you jumped onto my lap, purring loudly. And just like that, I was smitten.

As were you, I might add. You were of the cat variety that had eyes only for her owner; (sometimes) tolerating others as a favor to me; other times hiding away until the unwanted company was gone so you could take up the place reserved for you by my side. Or on my hair. You loved to sleep on my hair when you were a baby, which simultaneously drove me crazy and cemented your place in my heart.

And so we forged our little family that remained just the two of us for almost seven years. Together, we moved countless times, but where didn’t matter as long as we had each other. Together, we adapted to living with someone else when I met your new dad. We bonded over learning how to share spaces neither of us had to share before. I knew Marcus was the one when you started sitting on his lap.

Over the next seven years, you and I kept our special bond, even when I brought a new cat home after a trip to Baltimore. I know it wasn’t easy for you to get over what you must have seen as a betrayal, especially because, let’s face it, Scout was your cat opposite: friendly and social. But, you did get over it. I’m not sure what you really thought when we betrayed you again by bringing home the dog, but you took that like a champ too, content as long as neither one of them took your place on my lap. Though Rosebud has certainly tried over the past few years, neither ever took your place.

And here’s the thing. No animal ever will. It’s just not possible. The 100 pounds of responsibility I felt at being your mom was nothing compared to what you must have felt. When we left our life in Maryland, you became the link to my former self. All that love, homesickness, and longing for connection wrapped up in one furry ball. But you had the strength (and sass) to handle it. You tolerated me in a way you wouldn’t remotely try to tolerate others.

So today, when we had to put you down, it wasn’t just our cat that was lost; it was a part of my history, and it was a part of your dad’s heart. Your normally stoic father has been crying all day, a testament to the fact that I wasn’t the only girl to steal his heart seven years ago. (By the way, he’s proud of the growl you made when the vet gave you the first needle. “That was our girl,” he keeps saying.)

After that, you lay in the crook of my arm, which was your favorite place to be, and you finally fell into a peaceful sleep. A sleep you hadn’t had in weeks since your sickness had begun to wreak havoc on your little body. I felt the weight of the world lift off your shoulders, and I knew we had
made the right decision.

The reality that I’m never going to see you again, or sweep you up in greeting when you meet me at the door is almost too much to bear. But what would be even worse to bear is the idea that I could have spent the past 14 years without having had the privilege of being your mom. So, I thank you
for loving me, and I thank M-A-J for bringing you to me. Your name will always live on through us.

Stop the struggle to have it all

“I can’t do it all,” the speech began. “I can’t be a good wife, a good teacher, a good employee, a good friend, a good community member, a good writer, a good daughter, and a good mom [to furry kids, of course] all at the same time. Something’s gotta give. Plus, I need time to date myself. When was the last time I had a date with myself? You know, I like spending time with myself!” My husband’s eyes said, “By all means, please go on a date with just yourself.” But his mouth said, “It’s been a while. You are trying to do too much. Maybe you need to take a break.”

It was 6:30pm. I had just gotten home from work at 6:15pm after starting work at 7am. I was stirring pasta on the stove, talking with my husband about the day, trying to pay attention to my dog because she was so happy to see me, thinking about what I would pack for lunch the next day, and cataloguing my to-do list in my head. My phone rang and I chose not to answer it. When I went to listen to my messages I had about 5 because I never check my messages. Listening to the messages added 3 things to my to-do list. (Note to self: this is why you should never check your messages!)

There likely isn’t anyone reading who hasn’t felt this way or who hasn’t given a similar speech to her spouse. If anything, I’m preaching to the choir. But it might surprise some of you to hear that even someone who has chosen to not have children struggles to “have it all” or at the very least “be it all.” Though the definition of “all” changes for each of us, the struggle to obtain it or be it does not. But this thought got me thinking and one question has lingered since: why does the struggle exist at all?

So far, I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t need to, or really more to the point, it shouldn’t. Struggling this way makes us feel powerless about our lives and how we are living them. The struggle makes us forget that all-important notion that should be driving us: choice.

In all truth, it also makes us all act like entitled, whiny brats sometimes. Why do we think we should be able to have it all? Or, even if we think we deserve to have it all, why do we think it should be easy? Worse, if we’ve managed to get it all and we’re just trying to keep it, why are we bitching? By the by, I likely fall into that last category.

The bottom line is that life is all about choices. We make big choices about family, money, and career and little ones about what to eat for dinner and what plans to make for the weekend. With all of these choices comes power. The power to make our lives exactly what we want them to be. The power to say “no” when we need (or just want) to. We also get to make a choice about our perspective. I can choose to view my efforts to have it all as a struggle, or I can view them as a bad-ass desire to grab life by the horns. The beauty of choice is that, if I need to, I can choose to only have half of it all when I’m feeling overwhelmed. And this is why I have chosen to put on my big girl panties and quit my bitchin’.

For instance, if I want to be an active writer, I need to write. This means I need time to myself to think and, you know, write about what I am thinking. This means that time spent doing other things will just have to give. This doesn’t mean that I’m a bad friend or community member if I say no once in a while. Really, I’ll be a better friend and community member if I feed my own hobbies and passions once in a while.

Speaking of being a community member: since moving to small town Maine, I’ve felt the need to be more involved in the community. When I was new in town and had a 9-5 job in the private sector, this was easier. Now that I am a teacher at a community college, I find that I devote a lot of energy to the community in a different way, namely, being a mentor for students and nurturing students as they learn the ropes of college and writing. This means less emotional energy for other community activities. It’s taken me a while to say, “That’s okay.” But guess what? It is okay. Because I’d rather not half ass anything, I had to make a choice to a few things off my plate.

If I view these choices as a struggle, or if I continue running myself ragged so that I have it all, does that make me a better person? On the days when I don’t necessarily have the choice to take something off my plate, does complaining about it make it any better? Does forgiving myself and giving myself space to breathe make me selfish? In case you couldn’t guess, my answers to these questions are no, no, and no. (And by that token, I’ve made the choice to date myself. Stay tuned for an upcoming blog post about that adventure.)

This is life, my friends. And no one said it would be easy. But I’m going to make a conscious effort not to unnecessarily refer to it as a struggle when I can instead revel in the power of choices. Won’t you join me? 

Knowledge, Not Willpower

 Have any of you ever wanted "to be" a certain person?  Like, I want to be the person who remembers to mail people birthday cards on time.  But, I'm not (Sorry mom, dad, nan, pop, Val, Missy, Amy, Megan).   I want to be the person who will wake up every morning to get my workout in, no matter how early. But I'm not. Shout out to my Maine bestie, Sarah, here who I admire because she is that person. Girlfriend wakes up at 5:30am to workout before work, and I love that about her. I love that it's such a part of who she is. Yet, try as I might, that's one of her traits I can't get to rub off on me.  I also want to be the person who doesn't have cable or watch TV.  But, I'm not. Okay, so I only want to be that person very hypothetically 'cause I love me some New Girl, Grey's Anatomy, Real Housewives franchise... um, you get the idea. :)

My point is that on this journey through life we all have intentions for ourselves and goals we really want to reach, but deep down know we never will for one reason or another. Except that, sometimes, we do reach those goals.  We wake up one day and realize we have become the person we were aiming to be.  And it feels pretty damn good.

For me, that was this morning as I reached into my big bag of clementines and pulled out two for breakfast, not even thinking of another option. As I munched happily on them, thinking that maybe I'd also eat the half of banana in the fridge, it dawned on me that I am now the person who eats healthy almost all of the time. I thought, "Holy shit.  I became that person!"

About 4 months ago, I gave up meat and dairy.  My parents were here on a visit when I made the switch and when my mom asked why I wanted to do it, I simply said, "I've always wanted to be the person who eats healthy most of the time and I never have been. This seems like the way to do it."

As you know from my Fit-Fat and Fabulous post, I have a healthy body image (despite having some extra cushion), and health has definitely been a goal of mine for a while.  But I never could really be the person who made healthy choices as the rule.  I could be the person who ate within her calories and lost weight at a snail's pace.  And I certainly wasn't eating McDonald's for every meal or anything.  But I also wasn't looking at food as fuel or medicine (or poison).

But then, I watched Forks Over Knives and something clicked. I spent the next few weeks getting myself ready, and then I made the switch, and I haven't looked back.  (In full disclosure, I do have shrimp every once in a while, so instead of calling myself vegan, I like to call myself plant-based). 

And I can honestly say that what has helped to me not feel deprived for even one second (and we're talking not even feeling deprived about not having Gifford's ice cream this summer, people) is that I have based my changes around knowledge, not willpower.  I found vegan and plant-based blogs that I read every day, and I often read articles like this.  I got a cookbook that is THE BOMB (Everyday Happy Herbivore). I learned about how our body works and what vitamins I need.  Things I never knew about before.  And I stopped counting calories, focusing instead on whether I was getting enough nutrients each day.

And guess what happened?  I lost 17 pounds effortlessly, I stopped craving real ice cream, I stopped having blood sugar spikes, and I became a healthier person.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I still indulge in fun things, but they are always dairy and meat free.  Tomorrow, I'll be making the vegan chocolate chip pancakes that have become the Sunday tradition in my house.

So even though there are lots of people you might never be, don't ever give up completely, because you just might surprise yourself. Maybe, since I've been successful with one goal, I should tackle the TV thing. Ha! Who am I kidding? That one just ain't happening, folks. I'll eat carrot sticks instead of cinnamon sticks, but I won't give up my Bravo TV.
 

Fancy Phone, Schmancy Phone

I'm one of a dying breed of people who don't have some sort of "smart phone."  I often make the joke that I have a 1980's flip phone, and that's only partially off base.  Obviously, my phone isn't from the 1980s, but it is a flip style, which has apparently become a rarity.  Also, it's about 5 years old.  In fact, I willingly gave up my upgrade a year ago when my choice of old school phones was limited. My husband has been salivating for an iPhone, so I figured the least I could do was let him have the bobo touch screen phone that the saleswoman was offering me.  In turn, I took over his old phone because I couldn't care less about having a fancy phone. At the moment, our plan is due for another upgrade and I'm dreading the conversation I'll need to have with the salesperson who will look at me like I have 10 heads because I don't want the latest and greatest.  Which brings me to my point.

Reading my friend Amy's blog today strengthened my resolve about not succumbing to the smart phone, iPhone, whatever-you-call-the-damn-things hype.  Here are my 4 reasons for refusing to give into the fancy phone hype:

1.  I've read at least 4 Facebook status updates in the last week recounting mishaps that sent phone gadgets to the WALL-E junkyard.  I've dropped my phone about a gazillion times and it's still pumping.  The battery is being a bit of a bitch, but hey, that's what chargers are for. 

2.  That shit's expensive.  Not only to buy the gadget to begin with (only to risk dropping it to an early death), but also to pay for the monthly data fee.  I can think of so many other things to do with the $40-60 a month it would cost if each of us had a data package.  Unfortunately for my husband, to whom I could say nothing sweeter than, "Let's go buy you an iPhone," I'm the Chief Financial Officer of our household, and the expense of an iPhone just ain't something I plan to put in the budget for quite a while.  (Partially thanks to the effing condo mishap).  For the record, my boo will corroborate that he willingly handed over the CFO job, so you're only allowed to feel slightly sorry for him.

3.  For the life of me, I can't figure out why anyone wants to be that connected.  Personally, I have no desire to be beholden to, or reliant on, one more thing.  I have Wi-fi access at home, at the office, in hotels, and in at least 3 places in town I can think of off the top of my head.  We each have cell phones and laptops, we share an iPad, and we each have iPods (yes, mine is the oldest version of the nano that exists, and I love it).  What in the hell more could we want??  I already want to hole up to escape the onslaught of obligation that being electronically available can bring.  The last thing I want it to see a red light blinking or hear some bing whenever I get an email or someone writes a status update. Will it kill someone to wait a half day to hear back to an email?  No, it won't.  It seems to me that what this perpetual connectedness to technology inadvertently (or maybe overtly) says is, "What you are doing right at this moment or whoever you are sitting with is not as important as what just popped up on your phone." Or, "What you are doing right now won't really count unless you take an Instagram of it and upload it to Facebook." How f-ed up is that?  I'm already trying to work on how obligated I feel to check texts; I don't need to add anything else to the list. All of this connection makes me feel resoundingly disconnected. It makes me want to run away to a remote island!!!

4.  Using that little touch screen to look anything up is enough to drive anyone mad.

I like technology; it's convenient and it allows us to keep a wide social network.   And I get it, fancy phones make us feel like we are keeping up with the boom of technology. But is having the latest and greatest worth the cost both in cash, time, attention, and actual connectedness with the people and world around you?  This CFO doesn't think so.

A Farewell to the Effing Condo

As most of you know I (until very recently) owned a condo in Florida.  From May 1, 2008 until June 26, 2012 (at exactly 5:25pm), it was pretty much the bane of my existence even though I was lucky enough to have a renter for most of that time.  Accordingly, I almost exclusively referred to it as "the effing condo" in any conversation in which it came up.

I'm sure all I need to say are the two words condo and Florida for anyone to figure out how the whole affair panned out for me financially.  Praise Allah, Buddha, God, Jesus, the universe, or whomever you choose to pray to (or not): the effing condo is no longer my problem.  Though I could spend an entire blog post--or two or three or four--explaining all the ways that the effing condo deserved its nickname and cursing Allah, Buddha, God, Jesus, the universe, or whoever for the financial kick in the nuts I took from it, I've decided instead to pay homage to her.  

Once I knew the sale wasn't going to fall through (a deal that was more than 6 months in the making and subject to failure at any time), I started to feel slight pangs of nostalgia for the former home I had scorned for 4 years.  Having only lived in her for a year before packing up and moving to Maine for grad school, I hadn't necessarily established many roots or memories there.  Sure, I thought she was beautiful... and she was:

And can admit the walk-in closet, huge tub, and large master bath are features missing from my house in Maine.  But, why the nostalgia over something that has caused me a lot of stress?

Then it dawned on me.  I am utterly and completely in love with my life in Maine.  I love the city I live in, the house I bought, the job I have, the friends I've made... you get the picture.  I love everything almost as much as I love the husband who is the reason I came to Maine in the first place.  The husband I would never have met had I never moved to Florida.  The husband I met a mere 2 weeks after moving to Florida and buying the effing condo.  If it weren't for that condo luring me from my comfort zone in Baltimore to the unknown land of Florida at the exact time that it did, I would never have met my husband.  And, in turn, I would never have known someone from Maine who wanted to return.  I would never have had the conversation about potentially moving there.  I will admit, this conversation happened quite prematurely in the relationship, sparked when I came upon a rather large snake in the stairwell leading to my condo, but hey, it got the ball rolling.  Though we left the subject off the table for a few months, eventually talk of the future always came back to Maine.  So I applied to grad school, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

But though these are the biggest reasons to pay homage to the old girl, they aren't the only ones.  I lived a packed life in Baltimore.  The packed life of a single girl who made sure her schedule was flexible around everyone else's.  The packed life of a girl working 6 days a week for several years and traveling to a boatload of places.  Don't get me wrong, I loved that packed life.  But had I stayed in Baltimore, that packed life would have overtaken me, suffocated me.  That packed life would have prevented me from having my own life with my own relationship and my own time.  The condo gave me the space to breathe life back into myself.  I relished the energy I had for myself and for a new relationship.  I relished the beautiful views and long evening walks after work.  The condo brought me to my husband, and it also brought me to myself.

And so, though I'll never wish to have the condo back (it's fucking hot in Florida, ya'll), I refuse to look back with regret.  Don't worry, I'm not living in la-la land about it; buying that effing condo was the biggest financial mistake I'll ever make, and I learned my lesson.  But I'd go back and make that mistake again and again if it meant having the life I have right now, which is a priceless one.  So, I never thought I'd be saying this but: thank you my dear effing condo.  

Fit-Fat and Fabulous

Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel like you’re less than, less than perfect

Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you’re nothing, you are perfect to me. – Pink “Fuckin’ Perfect”

I had a great workout this morning.  Like, it was one of those workouts where I felt like I made the treadmill my bitch.  And as I was working out, it dawned on me that my fitness level has increased significantly over this past year.  Today was what I consider one of my easy days because I was giving myself a day off my new running routine.  But then I realized that, even on this easy day, I was walking at a 4.0-4.2 mile an hour pace at about a 3 percent incline.  And I kept it up for 45 minutes, my breathing under control enough that I was singing along with my iPod the whole time.  (Strategically placed around the mark when I know my workout will be the most intense, I have Eminem’s “Lose Yourself,” Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger,” Young the Giant’s “My Body,” Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough, and Pink’s “Fucking Perfect” to push me through).  I felt great: fit, strong, and vibrant.

And as I rocked it out and came to the Pink song, I began thinking about society’s obsession with weight, and particular, with weight loss.  My friend Sarah and I philosophize about the topic often.  You see, despite the fact that I’m at an all time level for myself fitness wise, I’m still what the media would deem fat – like even-too-big-to-be-a-plus-size-model fat.  (My mom recently got a kick out of it when I called myself fit-fat).  No matter that I can make the treadmill my bitch and watch what I eat more often than not, I’ve still only lost about a pant’s size over the last year.  And though I might have some frustrating days when I feel like my work should probably pay off more, I actually love my body, size 14 and all.  I’ve actually never loved my body more than I did this morning as I effortlessly finished the workout that would have been pretty hard to for me complete a year ago.

And so, the Pink lyrics quoted above rang particularly true for me this morning, and I was even more pissed off than usual at society’s obsession with women reaching “thin” status.

Here’s the thing: I’m not saying that it’s healthy to be obese or even overweight.  But I can guarantee that what’s at least as unhealthy (if not more so) than having pounds to lose is beating yourself up over the fact that you don’t look like what society says you should look like.  If you ask me, it’s the beating ourselves up and trying to reach what is in many cases an unrealistic goal that is making us fatter, and worse, mentally and emotionally battered.

I’m never going to be a size two (or even a four, six, or probably eight for that matter), unless I adopt an eating and exercise regime that simply takes over too much of my life for my liking. Extremes have never appealed to me, so the idea of exercising and eating well in balance and moderation is really the only strategy that I’ll happily stick to for the rest of my life.  Plus, this means that I can occasionally have Oreos with breakfast like I did this morning. But I wonder: if I were plagued by the thinking that affects many people, would my depression over not being an ideal weight lead to overeating and additional weight gain? I believe it likely would, and I think that’s the problem for a lot of people.

If someone agrees with society’s ideal and wants to put in the work to get there and stay there, then I’m all for it.  What I’m really pissed about is that I wonder if most people really stop to think about what their own ideal is.  This is so very important.  Your life is your own, after all.

Somehow, even though I’ve never been skinny, I don’t have body image issues.  ALL of my friends are skinnier than me (with some being significantly more so), and they are all beautiful, I might add; but I never feel “less than” because of that.  My self worth is in no way tied to the pant’s size that I wear.  But I’m very aware that this is not the case for, I daresay, most women.  I don’t know how I got this way, and if I did, I would bottle whatever it is up and sell it, for sure.  Actually, I’d happily give it away for free.

So, where does someone like me (and probably a lot of other people) fit into the equation?  I want to be fit and healthy, and I am.  But, society might not agree given my jean size.  Am I to give up the good fight and let myself dive into overeating at the risk of becoming obese because I’ll never reach their ideal?  Or am I to forego the occasional Oreos breakfast and occasional decadent dinner with friends so that I can eke a few more pounds off the scale? Pardon the bluntness, but fuck no.  And you shouldn’t either. 

Even though I can’t bottle up my way of thinking, I can speak to others who may struggle with their weight – be they a size zero or size 22.  Don’t ever let someone else make you feel less than.  Don’t ever let your weight dictate who you are.  You are so much more than the number on the scale or the size sewn into your jeans.   Make the best decisions you can, and honor your body by giving it the nutrition and exercise it needs.  But don’t deprive yourself of the occasional dessert breakfast just to please other people.  Because at the end of the day the old saying is absolutely true: you can’t please everyone, so you might as well please yourself.  And on the days when you do feel less than perfect (as we all do once in a while), know that you are at least perfect to me.

Child Free by Choice and Finally Represented

When the movie Julie and Julia premiered, I remember feeling elated that the main character was a woman whose quarter-life crisis didn’t revolve around finding a man or trying to have a baby.  I can’t lie – I love a chick flick, but it gets old watching the same story lines over and over again.  More than that, I’ve always felt grossly under-represented as a woman who spent many years happily single and not pining for children.  Obviously, these days, I’m happily married.  But that hasn’t changed my views: I still believe that constantly representing women as lost, lonely, and/or desperate without a relationship and/or kids is irresponsible and, truthfully, insulting. 

As it turns out, I’m also happily child free by choice, which brings me to my recent elation over this past week’s episodes of two television shows I follow: How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM) and Grey’s Anatomy (GA).  Each show boasts a leading female character who openly declares she doesn’t want children.  While these characters have been around since the beginning of each series (not wanting kids the whole time), both were confronted this week with standing by their choice, even in the face of losing the men they love.  Neither compromised their position, and moreover, they didn’t apologize for it, especially Christina Yang, the feisty surgeon on GA.  This felt like a breakthrough to me.

I don’t think anyone can deny that we live in a kid-centric society.  And I’m okay with that; after all, having children is the path most traveled.  What I’m not okay with is feeling misrepresented and misunderstood by the vast majority and the media.  Choosing to be child free almost feels like the alternative lifestyle that no one wants to address or acknowledge, and I’m not sure why.  Even some of my child-free friends claim they feel uncomfortable disclosing their choice, whether it be because they don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings, or they don’t want to hear a speech. 

Yang’s husband’s reaction to her firm decision that she doesn’t want kids highlighted this lack of understanding.  He said, and I’m paraphrasing slightly, “No one doesn’t want kids… everyone wants kids. You'll change your mind,” to which she replied, “I don’t want kids.”  But it wasn’t so much his lack of understanding that struck a chord with me, as it was the other things he was willing to say, such as, “You’ll regret this.  Somewhere down the line, you will regret it.”  She stood her ground, which I loved, but I resent the idea that those of us who don't want kids are left to defend our choices so vehemently.

The thing is, people feel compelled to say these kinds of things to me (and worse), and I wonder: why do people feel it’s their place to question my decisions?  What is it that sparks people to say things like:

·     You are selfish for not wanting kids

·      You will be lonely when you are older

·      You’ll never know what love really is

·      You’re missing out on the greatest experience there is

·      You will have regrets/You'll change your mind

·      How can you not like children?

·      But you would be such a good mom!

Before I move on, I’d like to take my little slice of the blogosphere to address these questions.  Forgive any icy undertones; I’ve been holding a lot of this in a while.  I’ll address them in the order listed above.

·      Any choice we make in life is a selfish one.  If you are having children for any of the reasons you use to question me, you are making a selfish choice.  Adopt a 10-year-old who will likely spend his life in the foster system otherwise, and then I’ll be happy to not call you selfish.

·      I don’t have kids now and I’m not lonely, so why will I be lonely later?

·      I have a husband, parents, close family members, and best friends (not to  

mention furry children) who would be largely offended at assertions that I don’t know what real love is.

·      Maybe I am missing out on what is coined as life’s greatest experience, but it’s a chance I’m wiling to take to have a life with freedom to do what I want, when I want, which is more important to me.

·      First, it’s presumptuous to tell someone else what she would regret.  Second, I’d much rather regret the decision to not have kids than to regret the decision to have them.Third, if assuming I'll change my mind makes you feel better, by all means, assume it.  But I won't, and it's annoying being told what I will do.

·      I never said I didn’t like children; I said I didn’t want them.  That being said, it would also be acceptable if I just didn’t like them.

·      While I’m grateful for the compliment, I never said I wouldn’t be a good mom; I said I didn’t want to be a mom.  I know full well what I would have to give up to do the job right, and I just don’t want to do it.

Here’s the thing: I have a very long list of reasons why I don’t want children.  Yet, I don’t heap questions upon friends when they call with news of pregnancy.  I don’t take license to think I can force my choices or opinions about parenthood onto them.  And I certainly don’t take offense when someone chooses to have kids.  All I ask is that in return, people don’t do these things to me or to others like me. We have thoroughly thought through our decision; I promise you.  And, more often than not, it’s safe to say we have done more thinking about the decision not to have kids than most people do who actually have them.

I don’t expect for one blog post (albeit a long one) to clear up all the misunderstanding that’s out there, just like two TV characters aren’t going to change the face of this seemingly taboo alternative lifestyle.  But, it’s a step in the right direction.  And I do hope that since those reading likely know me at least fairly well and know that I am a good person, it might lead to a less judgmental and, well, less mean, way of looking at people who choose not to have kids. I truly hope that people love their lives and their children so much that they couldn’t imagine life without them - -we should all be living the only life we can imagine for ourselves.  GA’s Christina Yang is, and I know I am.  Are you?