Nothing screams uncomfortable more than laying down with a woman holding hot wax over you while she talks to you about having children. She says, “When are you going to have kids of your own?” I reply, “I don’t know, I love kids, but I just don’t think I want any of my own.” I think this will solve it, I may hear something about “that’s right, kids aren’t for everyone” or “you’ll change your mind” or “you’ll know when you’re ready” and then this awkward conversation will be over. I was wrong.
For the duration of my waxing she went on about how she didn’t understand why anyone would choose not to have children and deprive themselves of all that joy; children are a blessing…They. Complete. You. Yada, yada, yada. Translation? Women are supposed to have children and there’s something fundamentally wrong with you if you don’t. I could unpack her statements and write a commentary about gender roles, feminism, etc, etc, etc., but, this isn’t that type of blog. And, ultimately, I made it through the waxing and took a breath of relief - I was free. That is until her parting remark to me was, “Really consider what we talked about.”… Well, I considered it, and this is what I’ve come up with: my body, my choice.