Love like this

by Jennaye D. 

I’ve never known love like this. 

This expression often comes from new mothers and fathers as they rock their babies to sleep. They coo to the whole world, “I’ve never known love like this.” 

When I was in my mid-20s, I started worrying that I would never know love like that. That maybe a love so pure and deep wasn’t in the cards for someone who only wanted to be the mother to four-legged, fluffy creatures. I worried that rubbing my dog’s belly while we cuddled up on the couch at night wasn’t the kind of love that would make me happy or better. It wouldn’t be what makes me a whole person. 

If I don’t have kids, will I only be part of a person?

Because of this, when I was in my early 30s, I started asking myself: on a scale of one to one hundred, how much did I want to have kids? I’d usually ask myself this question while I walked my dog so I could feel the sunshine on my face while I imagined a life of picking up toys from the floor, crustless peanut butter sandwiches, and night-time readings of short chapter books. I tried to push the idea of ethereal love out of my head and focus on the practicalities of daycare, school, and doctor appointments. Some days, I thought that might be nice. Building pillow forts on weekends and playing make-believe before bedtime might be nice.

However, when I asked myself the question on my daily dog walks—one to one hundred? The percentage was low. 

Between one and one hundred, some days, I’d think maybe 50 percent of me wanted kids. I’d go through moments where I thought, yes, I do want that. I want to pick out school outfits and bond with my friends who have kids. I want to meet at the park and laugh at how high the swing goes. I want to share the wisdom I’ve gained through hard times and how the world can be a kind and gentle place if you let it. I want to teach someone how to ski, camp, and climb, and share my passion for riding bikes. I want to be more than part of a person. I want to be a whole, complete person.

On those days when I imagined this alternate version of myself, this different life, my one-to-one-hundred number would maybe reach 60 or 70. Then the days would go by, I would go on more walks with my dog and think about school pick-up, parent-teacher meetings, driving lessons, and homework, and the number would go back down. I actually didn’t want the crustless sandwiches or the toys on the floor, so when I’d ask myself, one to one hundred, most days it would be 10 or 20. It remained around 10 percent for about a year, and as far as lifetime commitments go, that number was too consistent and too low. 

I became a confident “no” when it came to parenthood only a few years after I started asking myself the question—and I remain at an unwavering zero percent yes, 100 percent no.

I still walk through my days hearing, “I’ve never known a love like this.” The threat looms over my head as I continue existing in a world where we see parenthood as a prominent pinnacle. And if you don’t become a mother? It’s a gray area. A life without kids is a life full of questions. What will I spend my days doing? Who will take care of me when I’m old? Will I find my purpose? Will I be whole? Will I ever know a love so deep, so complete, so enthralling? Will I ever know a love like this?

None of these questions has been answered because parenthood is life’s default. The life of children has been well-documented and well-researched through books, movies, podcasts, blogs, and friend’s stories informing us of the layers and nuances of parenthood: conception, birth, early childhood, and the teenage years. Helicopter, permissive, authoritative, neglectful, and authoritarian. Nutrition, learning styles, self-care, what to do when your child doesn’t listen, how to handle the rebellious times, how to navigate their dating lives, and how to help them highly achieve in school. The perfect family vacation, family-friendly restaurants, movies the whole family will love, fun for the whole family! Yes, parenting is hard, but yes, it is worth it. You will feel love. You will have purpose. You will be whole. 

You will never know a love like this. 

The threat comes in waves. It almost scared me into submission a few times. Ok, fine, I will have a baby, just to know what “a love like this” is. 

I’m confident and assume I will find boundless, deep, meaningful love in other ways. Still, the questions of wholeness and purpose are sometimes too many and too overwhelming, and, while the resources for parenthood are everywhere, there aren’t many answers for a childless life. 

Maybe I will be fine. Maybe I will be happy. Happier than if I had kids? Maybe. No one actually knows that answer because the childless life is full of questions, so I ask, one to one hundred? Every day.