Parenting
My Reproductive Decisions Are Not Your Concern
It all began rather early—way too early, in fact. My firstborn, Leo, was only a year old when the unsolicited opinions started rolling in.
While chatting with my dad on the phone, I casually mentioned that we were contemplating adding another little one to our family. “You really don’t want to do that,” he retorted sharply. “Having you and your sister so close together was a nightmare. It’ll ruin your life.” Just a side note: My sister and I are only 16 months apart—much closer than any potential gap between Leo and a new sibling could be. Thanks for the revelation that my existence was such a hardship, Dad. That’s definitely on my list of things I never wanted to hear.
This was not the first instance of people questioning our family planning. Once you have kids, your personal life becomes an open book for all to peruse. This scrutiny comes from everyone—from relatives to cashiers at local stores. Strangers, and particularly older women, seem to feel entitled to share their views on your family size, gender distribution, and how parenthood impacts your life. It’s exasperating, infuriating, and above all, it’s none of anyone’s business.
Unwanted Commentary on Timing
We faced plenty of commentary when we decided to expand our family. My family was particularly displeased when I got pregnant with my second child while Leo was only 15 months old, which made the age gap just 22 months. During a brunch outing, while Leo was happily occupied with his pickles, my mom leaned in and said, “You really shouldn’t have another baby right now. It’s just too close.”
Spoiler alert: I was already pregnant with my second child, whom we named Emma. I spent the rest of the meal sulking and didn’t talk to her for months after that. What could I possibly say? “Hey Mom, I’m dealing with morning sickness and a cocktail of medications to keep me from feeling like a zombie, all because I’m pregnant.” When we finally broke the news, she pretended to be excited, but the moment had already been spoiled.
Of course, if we hadn’t gotten pregnant when we did, we would’ve faced the dreaded “When are you having another?” comments. At the pediatrician’s office, when the nurse saw Leo walking at a year old, she remarked, “Looks like you’re ready for the next one!” Um, no thanks.
At least we avoided the offensive “only child” comments. People love to say, “You don’t want just one child; they’ll be selfish/lonely/psychopathic.” And if you dare suggest you only want one? Brace yourself for unsolicited arguments about how your child will be burdened with taking care of you in your old age.
Intrusive Questions About Family Planning
Then there are those nosey inquiries from everyone, including the friendly clerk at Target. They look at my toddler and my baby bump and ask, “Was it planned?” As if it’s acceptable to pry into my birth control choices. I always snapped back, “Of course it was planned,” and then shifted from friendly to irritable for the rest of the interaction. Because let me be clear: No one has the right to ask about what happens in my bedroom. Whether a child was planned is strictly private—none of your business.
I got pregnant with child number three when Emma was just 16 months old. The questions about our family planning doubled, except for the kind folks at church who only offered the appropriate response: “Congratulations!” Kudos to the Catholics for keeping it classy.
Newsflash: It’s never appropriate to ask if a child was planned. No matter the age of the expectant parent, the only acceptable response is “Congratulations! How can I help?”
Comments on My Gender Preferences
I always envisioned having boys. While I would have welcomed a girl, my heart was set on sons. So when I was pregnant with my third, people eagerly asked, “Did you finally get your girl?” as if my sons were just props in a gender lottery. “No, we didn’t ‘get a girl’ because we didn’t want one,” I would respond sweetly, though I wanted to scream. “We got another boy, just like we wanted.” Their confusion was palpable. “You didn’t want a girl?” they’d ask, as if producing a child of a specific gender was the only reason to have another baby.
Now, when I’m out with my three boys, ages 7, 5, and 3, I often hear, “Oh, poor mom, surrounded by all those boys! How do you manage?” I don’t need pity; I need my toddler to stop screaming. And as for the curious inquiries about whether we’ll try for a girl? I simply say, “We’re planning to foster/adopt.” Then I watch as their eyes widen with questions that my stern look quickly silences.
Even my babysitter got in on the act recently. She asked how it felt to be the only girl in the house. “I have Baxter,” I replied, referring to our lovable dog. “Baxter?” she asked, puzzled. “Yeah, Baxter the dog,” I said, leaving her momentarily speechless—just how I like it.
“Are You Done?” Questions
Now that it’s been a while since we announced a pregnancy, people are eager to know if we’re “done.” I smile and say we’re adopting, which we are, but the intrusive questions persist: “Why not have more biologically?” “Are you having trouble conceiving?” “What are you doing to avoid it?” To make them squirm, I throw out, “I’m on too many psychiatric medications to have a safe pregnancy. My therapist says not to get pregnant, so this uterus is closed for business unless divine intervention happens.”
As for how we’re “preventing”? That’s none of your business, thank you very much.
Ultimately, when it comes to my family planning, the only opinions that matter are those of the people who are directly involved in loving and caring for these children. Not family members, not their friends, not random internet commenters, and certainly not the elderly lady in the toiletries aisle at Target. Compliment my kids for being adorable. Mention how lively they are. But please, for the love of all that is sacred, don’t suggest I need a daughter. And whatever you do, don’t ask if I’m pregnant!
Summary
In this candid exploration of unsolicited opinions regarding family planning and reproductive choices, the author shares personal anecdotes about navigating the judgmental landscape that comes with motherhood. From intrusive inquiries about how many children to have to comments on gender preferences, the narrative humorously underscores that decisions about family size and structure are deeply personal and should remain private. The piece advocates for respecting boundaries and recognizing that not everyone is entitled to weigh in on another person’s reproductive life.