It all began rather soon — really soon. My first child, Leo, was only a year old when I found myself on a phone call with my father. I casually mentioned that we were considering welcoming another child into our family. “You really don’t want to do that,” he shot back. “Having you and your sister so close together was exhausting. It’ll ruin your life!” Just a side note: my sister and I are 16 months apart, which is still more space than if we had a second child right away.
Thanks for the honesty, Dad. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. This wasn’t the first time our reproductive choices were scrutinized, and I quickly learned that once you have kids, the details of your intimate life become public fodder. Friends, relatives, and even strangers feel entitled to share their opinions about your parenting decisions, and often, they do so without a hint of shame. It’s exasperating, annoying, and most importantly, none of their business.
Unwanted Opinions on Timing
Our decision to expand our family faced scrutiny from the get-go. When I announced that I was pregnant with my second child, my family was less than thrilled that Leo and August would be just 22 months apart. I remember dining out with my parents when I casually mentioned wanting another baby. My mother, with a frown, insisted, “You really shouldn’t have another baby now; it’s too soon!”
Ironically, I was already pregnant with August at that moment. Her stern warning ruined my joy, and I sulked throughout the meal, avoiding her gaze for months afterward. Breaking the news of my pregnancy to her was a challenge, considering her firm stance. “Hey Mom, I’m feeling awful and taking medication to manage it because I’m pregnant!” Of course, she pretended to be happy, but the moment was already soured.
If we hadn’t gotten pregnant then, we’d have faced the dreaded question: “When will you have a second?” At the pediatrician’s office, after seeing Leo walk at one year, the nurse commented, “Looks like you’re ready for the next one!” Um, no thanks.
At least we avoided the unsolicited “only-child” comments. People love to caution about the supposed pitfalls of having just one child, claiming they’ll be selfish or lonely. If you dare to express a desire for only one kid, brace yourself for the relentless arguments: “Your child will be lonely and burdened with your care in old age.” These conversations never seem to end.
Intrusive Questions About Parenthood
Then came the inquiries from everyone and their favorite cashier. They’d glance at my toddler and my growing belly, asking, “Was this baby planned?” It’s astonishing how people think it’s acceptable to pry into personal matters. I always replied, “Yes, it was planned,” activating my inner sass for the rest of the interaction. Because honestly, no one has the right to ask about my reproductive life — that’s strictly off-limits.
When I got pregnant with my third child while August was only 16 months old, the curiosity about our family planning skyrocketed. The only exceptions were the Catholics at mass, who gracefully offered their congratulations without judgment. A little kindness goes a long way, and it’s a reminder that such inquiries should always be approached with sensitivity.
The Gender Question
I’ve always envisioned having boys, and while I’d have embraced a girl, my dream was to raise sons. So when I was pregnant with my third, people would eagerly ask, “Did you finally get your girl?” in front of my two sons. No, I wanted to yell, “We didn’t want a girl!” Instead, I’d sweetly reply, “We got another boy, just as we hoped,” leaving them baffled. I owe no one an explanation about my family dynamics.
Now, as I navigate life with three boys aged 7, 5, and 3, I often hear, “Oh, poor mom, stuck with all those boys! How do you manage?” I don’t need sympathy; I need my 3-year-old to be quiet, and his gender is irrelevant. People even inquire if we’ll try for a girl, to which I respond, “We’re looking to foster/adopt.” Their surprised expressions provide some amusement, but I prefer to keep my family plans private.
Recently, even my babysitter chimed in, asking how it felt to be the only girl in the house. “I have Max,” I replied, referring to our beloved boxer. The conversation didn’t go further, which was precisely what I wanted.
The Never-Ending “Are You Done?”
Years have passed since our last pregnancy announcement, and now people are curious if we’re “done.” I smile and mention we’re adopting, but that only prompts more questions: “Why not have more biologically?” “Are you unable to conceive?” “What are you using for birth control?” To make them uncomfortable, I respond, “I’m on several psychiatric medications that aren’t safe for pregnancy. My doctor advises against it, so this uterus is closed for business unless a miracle happens.”
And as for my methods of “prevention,” that’s simply none of their business.
Ultimately, when it comes to family planning, the only opinions that matter are those of the individuals raising the children. Not relatives, not friends, not strangers in line at Target — especially not them. Compliment my kids’ cuteness or their rambunctiousness, but for the love of all that is good, don’t suggest I need a girl or ask if I’m pregnant again.
Summary
This article addresses the unsolicited opinions and intrusive questions many parents face regarding their reproductive choices. From timing to family size and gender preferences, the author shares personal experiences that highlight how these decisions are often subjected to public scrutiny. Ultimately, the piece emphasizes that family planning is a personal matter and should be respected as such.