By Bailey Merlin
In another universe, I am a good mother;
in this one, my mother doesn’t ask me,
“When are you having kids?”
Even though I don’t want children,
I have a list of baby names on my phone,
pulling up ancestors to match with Merlin.
A decorated combat veteran
of the Eldest Daughter Club,
the “cool-in-a-crisis kid,”
my body rejects disharmony,
makes me sick, sends me
to bed without supper.
A child could be deadly.
Even though I don’t want children,
I look at my partner and know
what a good parent he would be.
My father tells me to get pregnant
the week after my wedding.
I roll my eyes; it’s a joke at this point.
The night before he dies,
before I know that he’s gone,
I wake up in a cold sweat,
and feel a pulse of baby fever.
Even though I don’t want children,
I imagine what it would be like to watch
my child cross life’s thresholds.
When we tie the knot, my husband
and I agree on one year of wedded bliss
before broaching the conversation.
Our second anniversary is soon,
and we are no closer to reaching
a conclusion. We like our life,
though we cannot afford a home.
Even though I don’t want children,
I imagine painting a nursery, taking
a pack-and-play to Thanksgiving.
My best friend tells me that she wants
to get pregnant, explains why
it is selfless to be a parent. I look
at my phone and only see
reasons why having a child is cruel.
There is so much good to do,
so much good that is needed.
Even though I don’t want children,
I want to at least feel
like I had a chance to choose.
Bailey Merlin is a bi+ advocate, the co-host of the podcast Bisexual Killjoy, and the author of A Lot of People Live in This House. She lives in an intentional community with eight to ten people (depending on the day) in Boston, Massachusetts.