Some people ask why I don’t have children. It seems like a logical thing for people to do. Have kids. I adore kids. I get along with them well. Kids usually love me. I make them feel safe and they know they can tell me anything without being judged. I spoil them but I also demand they be decent people. I do not withold my affections because of a single mistake but neither do I excuse bad behaviour, in them or myself. I apologize to kids if I make a mistake because let’s face it, kids need to know an adult is human enough to say I’m sorry.
But there is something inside of me…something left by someone else… that makes me wary of actually raising a child of my own.
This is that something.
For some of us, childhood is something to survive. Some of us that do survive it want to celebrate those that make it a wonderful time to experience. So when you ask me, why I don’t have children, it’s because I can’t give a child the happiness it would deserve but damn it, I will certainly cheer you on as you raise yours right.