I only want a wanted child, and I don't want a child. ... But an IUD is so effective. What if an accidental child was my only chance for a child at all?
Everything about this. We don't talk about fertility (or its absence) enough, or not with the candour it deserves. Instead, we blush because good girls don't have sex, and they certainly don't talk about it in public. We pity or question the childless without listening to them. Even the activists amongst us stigmatise abortion and those who choose it. 'It's a last resort' implies that you've somehow failed if you make the choice. And yet we dodge post-partum depression and turn our back on those for whom motherhood isn't a joy. No wonder women are ashamed, reluctant to speak. Heterosexual women bear the financial and physical burden of contraception but how many of us actually asked our partners to contribute? I never have. Upon reflection, I don't know why. They have all been lovely men who probably would have happily pitched in.
The 'child agnostic' are dismissed as naive. 'You'll change your mind,' they tell us. I've always taken that as 'You'll be normal one day,' as though I'm broken now, as if there's something fundamentally wrong with loving my career and the thrill of new relationships and the freedom to hop on a plane tomorrow if I so desire. My mother always told me, 'I was the same, but it's different when you have your own.'
And that's where our generations diverge. I was born on her 28th birthday. I celebrated my own while crossing the equator on a sailboat, leaving my fifth country of residence for the sixth in seven years. For her, perhaps, a not-entirely-planned pregnancy became a blessing. The pill was new and radical, she came from a Catholic family, no one talked about these things, she'd been married for a few years - the odds were clearly against choosing or stumbling into spinsterhood.
But I lost my virginity in the 21st century. A broken condom scare at 16 turned me into a self-educated sexual health advocate (and abstinent teenager). I counselled friends through abortions, escorted at a clinic, distributed condoms, and taught others about contraceptive options while a university student in a long term, monogamous but not sexually active relationship. I started hormonal contraception only because I didn't want the inconvenience of menstruating while travelling in the developing world. I still enjoy answering the 'When was your last period?' question with 'sometime in mid-2006.'
Enabling men and women to choose and control their own sexuality and reproduction is now literally my job as well as a recreational passion. In this life, there is little room for the accidental child of my own. In choosing a life of spontaneity and adventure and geographical solutions to the dilemmas of commitment and adulthood, rigid control of my fertility is the one constant. I won't have my own unless I plan them, and, as Rachel said, 'how do you get those circumstances right?' I don't think more than a few years ahead at any given moment, and so I don't quite know how I feel about removing the element of chance from just a single facet of my life.
I, too, have an IUD that I love. A date once observed how people (including both of us) tend to became militantly evangelical after reading Infinite Jest, unable to refrain from encouraging others to do the same because it is THAT GOOD. I'm the same with my Mirena. While chatting around a feminist knitting/crafting circle [yes, these exist and are delightful], we christened it the 'Cadillac of birth control.' High efficacy, little room for user error, few side effects - perfection. I was lucky. Insertion hurt no worse than a smear and I have had no side effects since. I lived in Scotland, so all contraceptives were funded under the National Health Service, no questions asked. It's unfortunate that Kiwi women don't get the same freedom.
The doctor did, however, note that my year as an international student reaping NHS benefits was a convenient time to get an IUD that would cost me at least several hundred dollars back home, but it was clear she meant the observation as a commendation for my initiative. Maybe it was because I could quote perks and drawbacks of each method before she could hand me the brochures during our consultation, but, despite being only 25, I never got the challenges or lectures that so many other young women report when seeking longer term options.
Perhaps this explains my evangelism. Maybe I just lack decorum in all things. Either way, we should be talking about this. About our experiences and choices, our relief and regret. How our partners fit in to it all. Our mothers wanted better lives and more choices for us than they had. I want the same for any future daughter of my own, even if it turns out she's actually someone else's kid and I'm just her crazy cat lady aunt.