So here’s something I realised a while back: not every woman should have children simply because biologically she can. No, this isn’t part of the recent Govern Your Fertility by Your Earning Ability thrust by the government to help establish a policy about the family. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If you want to have children you should definitely first think about your finances. If you can’t afford a child, don’t have one then go on TV asking good-hearted Jamaican people to help you with funds for the child. It’s just, contrary to popular belief, some women, like me, are better off being childless regardless of earning ability. Or maybe I should put it another way: there are women who should be at peace with the knowledge that conventional parenting is simply not to be part of their cumulative life experiences. I knew pretty early in the game that childbirth wasn’t one of the directions I saw my life headed in. And once I was old enough to get the lowdown on childbirth (how it is possible that something the size of a basketball could be ejected through a space the size of a pea, without there being heraldic trauma involved, is something that truly mystifies me even today), I was more or less convinced that that wasn’t something about to make its way onto my “To Do” list anytime soon. I mean, Auntie Sharon has nothing against the little ones per se, but let them be someone else’s headache, not mine. Fuhgeddaboudit. There’ll never be enough time in the world for any progeny of mine to express gratitude to me for bending my body out of shape to accommodate them for nine months. I don’t care how much I will be judged for this by people who don’t even know me. Firetruck that. I’m not taking back what I said. Not enough time in the world.

But it’s really not about vanity and a fear of pain, frankly speaking. It’s a lack of interest. A man once loudly accused me, in a meeting no less, of gross selfishness because I voiced the opinion that I wasn’t interested in having children. Oh Lord. This man, mind you, who was a single father and by all accounts had a hard time supporting these children on his modest income. His children didn’t go to the best schools because, quite frankly, he couldn’t afford to let them. As you looked at them you could tell they were malnourished. They ate food, but barely. His finances couldn’t stretch to ensure they were eating nutritionally balanced food. Things weren’t the best, but they were getting by. No, they really weren’t. And, God forbid that one of the children needed a life-saving, high-priced medical operation that can only be done by some hospital abroad. I guess it would be no big deal to solicit help the way parents solicit help for these things today: by going on local TV news. That’s not quite what the proverb ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ means, though. I’m sorry; I wasn’t raised this way. My mother would have been mortified if her only option was to turn up on TV after this lead-in: This Kingston family is requesting your help…

Part of the requirement for being a good parent is the acceptance of responsibility that comes with it. Children aren’t always cute. And let’s be honest, cuteness often flies out the window by the time the baby teeth are replaced by permanent teeth, anyway. Children require money to give them a fighting chance later in life. What’s the point of having children if they’re unable to ascend beyond where you’ve reached in your sad little life? Or worse, if the best they end up achieving is less than the life we have for ourselves? Granted, being able to afford kids is no guarantee that the kids will be all right. Hollywood spawns more and more demon seed each year. These are children of wealth and entitlement, yet a whole cottage industry of watching celebrities behaving badly has sprung up based on these young people who are involved, every day, with being drunk & disorderly, posing for crotch shots, extolling the pleasures of crystal meth. Who’s happy these days?

This same man who accused me of selfishness was the type of man who wouldn’t mind having another baby. Because he’s not selfish, you see. His heart is as wide as the sea. Make love, not war. Have babies, God will provide. Well, I don’t see life that way. I’m a pragmatic sort. I’m in the process of becoming the best person I can be but, meanwhile, I’m not perfect. Why should I bring another screwed-up another human being into this screwed-up world? Children live what they learn, remember? And the sad thing is that he isn’t the only person to have labelled me as selfish. Listen, I’m a pro-choice advocate. But I believe this stance exceeds the abortion debate: a woman shouldn’t only have the freedom to decide whether or not to keep her unborn baby; she should have the freedom to choose whether or not to become a mother any at all without there being a stigma attached if she decides not to. Over the years I’ve had to contend with the judegment and accusation of people who wonder aloud at my not wanting to do the one important thing women are apparently put here to do. Jamaican women are reviled in some areas of the society if they haven’t pushed out a child quite early in the game. You actually want to be known as a mule? I can almost hear them think. What law says there’s something wrong, though, if your eggs sit around long past the “best used by” date? What if I just don’t want children for no other reason than they’re simply not my bag? What’s so damn wrong about being selfish, anyway? There are people who choose to become parents who’re just as selfish. The ones who have the kids for old-age pension whose attitude is: well, I took care of you when you were a wee one, so now I’m old and my life is turning to crap, I expect you to take up the slack and take care of me, financially and otherwise, regardless of what your financial capabilities are, now that I’m old and my life has become dust.

Trust me, I know of what I speak.