Bill sat next to me at a dinner party, talking to the man on his other side, not hearing the question that the woman across from me asked.
Do you have kids?
How many times had I been asked this in the seven years since Bill and I married? Ten? Thirty? Sixty? Asked by the man next to me on a plane, the new co-worker, the dental hygienist at the dentist office right before I opened wide. Asked in the same way people who don’t know you might ask, “What do you do? Where are you from?” An icebreaker, a get-to-know-you, let’s-find-something-in-common question.
This woman asked it in the same way as all the others, her eyes on me, sure I would say, yes I do, that I would tell how many, their names, show pictures. The ice would be broken.
“No,” I said. I took a quick breath, rushing to get the rest of my story in before she could think what she might think of a woman with no children.
“No, we don’t have kids. We love them. But.” I smiled. I touched Bill’s hand even though he wasn’t listening, so she would know: I have love, I am happy. “We decided not to have them. Bill didn’t want to be an older father. We met a little too late. We spend lots of time with our nieces and nephews. Spoil them. Get them all wound up and send them home. We get all the good parts.”
I filled the space between us with words before different words came to her mind: Selfish. Self-centered. Odd. Barren. Lonely. Bitter.
“How about you?” I asked.
I knew how to talk to people about their kids. And they almost always had kids or planned to, or were trying, or their children were having children. I could speak of pregnancy and feeding, rolling over and solid foods and nap times. And, as the kids in my life got older, I could speak of T-ball and learning styles, and crafts for six-year-olds, how to help an eight-year-old with her fears, a ten-year-old with a science project.
I knew these things. I had done these things.
But this woman next to me at the dinner party said, “No.” She almost winked, as if we were part of a secret club. “I’ve never wanted children.”
Sometimes a question is only a question.