Penny

It’s such a throw away comment isn’t it; generally said with humour from the voice that delivered it, offered in a moment that the recipient was sharing a vulnerability, a gap that they felt in their lives of not having children and “BAM”, the light hearted delivery of “Do you want mine”?

It’s one of those comments that I’ve never responded to, because to respond, is to delve into a minefield of emotions, backstory and sharing that just isn’t the effort I want to give to someone who thinks this comment is funny or even warranted.

But how will they know, how will they understand if I don’t say anything.  They won’t.  Particularly if I smiled to move past that comment and mistakenly gave my non-verbal consent to the deliverer with that awkward smile. 

Or maybe they pick up on my non-verbal response and change the subject to avoid their own discomfort, proving the point that this comment was more about them than it ever was about me.

Do I want your children?  No, I don’t want your children.

I once pined for a life where I had my own children, that I got to nurture and teach, care for and guide, worry over and celebrate with. 

Have yours? No, I am offended that you feel you can say that to me. I simultaneously know you don’t really mean it, wonder why you would dangle that privilege you had in front of me and I also know that kids want their own parents ahead of anything. I feel that rejection of the children thrown into this washing machine of feelings by the unknowing offspring from a throw away comment and the whole thing is awkward and offensive. So no, I don’t want your kids. I wanted my own and that didn’t happen. Have some respect, for yourself, for your kids but especially for me.

So, if you ever feel the need to say this…

No, I don’t want your kids. I wanted my own.