I heard a story on NPR yesterday morning about those of us without kids.

That, even though we don’t have them — for whatever reason — that doesn’t mean we don’t grieve the experience of not having them.

I found that oddly comforting.

I mean, I saw two sonograms today — one from a friend at two months and the other from a friend at seven months — and showed them to my mom. She was instantly thrilled and sad.

Perhaps I was too. More thrilled than sad. But still.

I had dreams of having no kids so I could travel the world.

I didn’t count on working all the time and having nothing to show for it.

I didn’t think I’d have a dependent. I assumed I’d cohabitate with someone who had an equally great or even better job.

I didn’t realize that life is so expensive and who can save money when the phone, cable and electric companies destroy your take-home pay. Who knew Internet would arrive, let alone become a commodity and a utility that would COST SO DAMN MUCH?

By all means, not having kids has not exacerbated my expenses. But my rationale that I wanted to be “free” hasn’t quite panned out as expected.

I joke that I do quite enough caregiving to need to do it on someone who needs regular diaper changes. But I’m not investing in anyone who will be here in a year or certainly not a lifetime from now.

I mean, there’s no guarantee a child will outlive us, let alone make it out of the womb.

But if I don’t reduce my stress and increase the stamps on my sad little passport, will it all have been for nothing to have missed out?

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