The job is a bitch. More and more tasks get added to an already insane schedule. Things you never signed up for, things you know beyond a doubt you’re not qualified to perform. This is not ‘on-the-job’ training. It’s just throw her to the lions, then make her clean up the carnage.
When I made my decision for a life without kids, it wasn’t because I was being selfish or self-centered. I knew I wanted a career that I could throw myself into entirely. That’s not fair to any sort of romantic partner, let alone a kid who needs constant love and attention.
I know my limits, and kids are it. I’m just not wired that way. I can’t even keep a plant alive, and you want me to be responsible for a little person? Ever wonder why I never had a pet?
You’re asking me to give up all that I’ve worked for so you can be a grandma three or four times a year, for what, a weekend? You live four states away, or am I supposed pull up stakes and move closer to you?
You were happy enough when all those hen friends of yours had daughters working toward an MRS while I was earning my MBA. You could brag about my accolades, my published papers, my summa cum laude. Now, that those debutantes are dropping babies you’re not so eager to compare stories of books I’ve written, or the times I’ve been interviewed on the news.
Nothing says success like living through 17 hours of hard labor, or surviving six months of a colicky infant. Being the firm’s youngest partner, ever, or being on the NYTimes best seller’s list with a non-fiction book, is nothing compared to that.
No, ma… I’m not bitter. I’m just not willing to give up all my dreams to satisfy yours.