I never wanted kids. When I graduated high school, children were the last thing on my mind. I wanted to go to college, build a life for myself, spend my money on myself, and never have to worry about taking care of another human being. When I started partying too hard and eventually dropped out of college, that feeling only grew stronger. I spent several years bouncing from house to house, relationship to relationship, and job to job. While my friends were settling down and having babies young, I would always say, “Thank God I’m not living that life.”
Eventually, I decided to join the military so I could travel, make money, and keep my independence—still with no intention of ever getting married or having children. My military experience was incredible. I traveled, made lifelong friends, moved often, and continued cycling through relationships. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself I was afraid of commitment and that I would never settle down. I told myself someone like me would never be a good wife or a good mom. I would focus on my career instead. I never wanted kids.
When I turned 26, I exited the military and started college for the second time. I took a part-time job at a finance firm and quickly discovered my passion for financial planning. My boss—one of the smartest women I’ve ever known—didn’t have kids. During our Friday “wine time,” we’d talk openly about life, and we often agreed that not having children is simply a valid choice for some people. Other women would laugh when I said this, probably assuming I’d change my mind. But I was serious. I wasn’t married, I was 26, and most of my friends already had kids. I never wanted kids.
At 27, I met Dan. He was somehow everything and nothing I ever wanted all at once. We partied, kept things casual, and avoided talking about the future. We had both just come out of serious relationships and weren’t looking to settle down. He already had a son—something I had always sworn would be a deal breaker, especially since my previous relationship involved a child. Still, I decided to give it one more chance. I didn’t want children of my own, though. I never wanted kids.
Slowly, without even realizing it, I became the happiest version of myself. Dan and I started talking about marriage, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t panic. I could actually picture marrying him. I could even picture having a child with him—maybe a little boy. When his son came to spend the summer with us, I fell in love with him, too. Suddenly, I wanted to live my life for someone other than myself. After nearly two years together, Dan proposed. We were married six months later, during the happiest season of my life. And one month after the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I was thrilled—yet scared. After all, I never wanted kids.
From the very beginning, the pregnancy didn’t go as planned. I found out I was pregnant the morning of my grandmother’s funeral, while my husband was out to sea. Then I learned my due date would also fall during another deployment, and he wouldn’t be home until the baby was three months old. I don’t think I’ve ever cried harder than when I realized I’d be pregnant, give birth, and care for a newborn largely on my own.
Once I accepted that this would be a one-woman show—with family support and a long-distance husband cheering me on—I began to feel excited. I was going to be a mom. I wanted a boy, and like so many things in this journey, I didn’t get what I expected. “It’s a girl,” they told me at the ultrasound. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with new fears. Raising a girl in this world felt terrifying. I was also a tomboy and imagined football games and roughhousing with a son.
My pregnancy came with typical complications—swelling, carpal tunnel, exhaustion—but as my due date approached, something felt off. I was extremely swollen and constantly lightheaded. I checked my blood pressure daily because I knew something wasn’t right. I had done endless research, determined to have a natural, unmedicated birth—mostly to prove how tough I was. On May 24, 2017, I went to the hospital thinking my water had broken. Turns out, I had just peed myself a little. Pregnancy is glamorous like that. But my instincts were right. I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia.
My blood pressure was dangerously high, and staying pregnant put me at risk of having a seizure at any moment. The only cure for pre-eclampsia is delivery. So much for natural and unmedicated. My mom was with me, and we headed straight to labor and delivery for induction. I labored for twelve hours without medication before finally giving in. The baby was experiencing heart decelerations, and I was exhausted. I laughed and said, “This pregnancy hasn’t gone as planned—might as well finish it that way.” The epidural was incredible. Two hours later, I gave birth to my baby girl with no complications.
She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had never felt love like that before. I thought I knew love—from my husband, my mom, even my dog—but none of it compared to holding the child I had just brought into the world. In that moment, she became my reason for breathing. Nothing else mattered. And I had never wanted kids.
Today, my two-year-old keeps me on my toes every single day. She’s just as much of a tomboy as her mom and still the light of my life. She gives the best snuggles, makes me laugh the hardest, and reminds me that there’s a bigger plan at work—one that doesn’t always align with what we think we want. And while I don’t want another child, she makes me wonder every day how I ever believed I never wanted kids.
