I was dreading returning home for the New Year. Kwame and I had enjoyed an amazing Christmas alone on vacation, and it was now time to spend the new year with family. I had missed my family so much and was looking forward to being together in the same space with everyone for the first time in years, but I knew that Kwame and I would be ambushed. It would be worse because both sets of parents would be celebrating the New Year as one family with all their children and grandchildren in our home. Our parents had been neighbours and friends for as long as I could remember, so it made joint celebrations like this easier. It also made ambushes easier.
I sighed as I finished folding another dress, adding it to the growing pile in my suitcase.
I felt a warm presence behind me, and then a kiss on my cheek.
“Babe, we’ll be fine. Don’t stress. We’ll get through this one more time.”
I turned around to face the love of my life.
“Maybe we should just tell them the truth.”
He snorted out a shocked laugh. “You know that we can’t do that. Can you imagine how they would react?”
“I know! But I remember how it was the last time, and I know for sure that it’s going to be worse now after all the hints and prodding all year.”
He planted another kiss on the crown of my head.
“We’ll deal with it if it becomes too much.”
My misgivings turned into joy when we arrived to hugs, the aroma of homemade baked and fried food, as well as the unavoidable assortment of soups to pair with fufu or banku. Everybody pitched in to help, and there was lots of laughter, music, and terrible dancing that went late into the night. The kids were occupied with a variety of toys and the bouncy castle my parents had set up in the large backyard, and Kwame and I had fun watching and playing with the kids in between chatting and drinking with the adults.
After all the children had been put to bed and it was finally time for Kwame’s parents to walk over to their house, the four parents asked to speak to us. Our siblings had already taken their leave to put the kids to bed.
“I knew it,” I said under my breath. It was just too much to hope for that we would be allowed to enjoy a visit without them staging an intervention.
Kwame squeezed my hand in support. We would get through this together.
“We didn’t get to see you over Christmas, but we have something for you from the four of us,” my mother said, leading the way to the living room. There was a large, wrapped box half my height and twice as wide at the centre of the room that wasn’t there earlier. Kwame and I exchanged suspicious glances as we looked from one parent to another. They looked expectantly at us, but I could feel their excitement.
“That was thoughtful of you,” I said with mixed feelings, and Kwame echoed my appreciation.
Giving each other one more look, we approached the box and tore the wrappings off while our parents, seated now, looked on.
After tearing off the wrapping, Kwame and I both held one end of the white lid and lifted it, gasping when we saw its contents.
For a full minute, we just stared at each other, not knowing how to react respectfully to the gift the four parents had decided to put together.
Kwame shook his head, threading his fingers with mine, “Okay, this has gone on for too long, and we need to settle this once and for all,” and we moved away from the box to face our parents.
“What you just did is very insensitive and unnecessary. Why would you gift us baby items for Christmas when we haven’t said we’re expecting?”
My mother raised her chin independently. “We want to encourage the two of you to get on with starting your family. You’ve been married for three years! Three years and still nothing. No sign. Every time I ask, you keep saying, “God’s time is the best.” After the first year of no sign, we were all ready to pay for you to see a fertility doctor, but you declined! What do you expect us to do?”
“We expect you to mind your business, Mom! I don’t have a fertility problem.” I exploded, suddenly fed up with the whole situation.
Once she recovered from the shock of my outburst, she glanced at my husband.
“There are solutions for men too if he’s the one with the problem.”
I let out a frustrated groan. “Mom, Kwame doesn’t have a problem either. We’re both perfectly fertile.”
“Then what is wrong with you two? Why are you not having kids then?” Kwame’s Mom cut in, clearly as confused by the situation as my mother.
“We’re not ready to have a baby now,” I answered. “When we’re ready, we will plan for it.”
“But what are you waiting for? You’re both financially stable, and you’re not getting any younger. Afia, you’re 35 already. If you’re not ready now, when will you be ready?” my Mom interrupted.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I told both our mothers, “Kwame and I are adults. We know exactly what we’re doing, and we’re not ready to have those kids you want so badly. You need to please respect our decision.”
“You think you know what you’re doing now, but you will regret it one day when you’re too old to have kids and it becomes a problem. What will the two of you do then?”
“Alright, that’s enough. Babe, we need to tell them the truth,” Kwame blew out.
I felt alarm creeping in. “But —”
“We don’t want kids,” he interrupted, looking from one parent to the next.
For a moment, they were too stunned to speak. I was dreading telling them, but after Kwame let out the secret we had been harbouring for years, through all the pitying looks and prodding from both sets of parents about grandchildren after years of marriage with no child, I felt a deep sense of relief.
I smiled inwardly when I felt his hand searching for mine. When I turned to look at him, I saw the apology in his eyes for his unceremonious announcement of our secret.
“I’m sorry,” he told me out loud. “I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”
I gave his fingers a squeeze. “I understand. Frankly, I feel relieved that they now know.”
“But—why?” my mother choked out, finally recovering from the shock.
“I understand if Kwame doesn’t want a child; he’s a man, after all. But you, Afia, you’re a woman. Surely you want a child of your own?” Mariam, my mother-in-law, asked in confusion.
I sighed. “I know society claims every woman must have some maternal side and should want a child, but I really don’t want a child of my own. I don’t.”
“I don’t either,” Kwame chimed in.
“But why not?” my dad asked, also clearly perplexed. “You’re so great with kids. You love kids!”
“So do you,” Abel, my father-in-law, added, nodding at my husband.
It was obvious that us not wanting kids would never have crossed their minds. After all, we’re all taught that once we reach a certain age, it is our duty as humans to get married and have children. Us not wanting to parent kids was unfathomable to them.
“Yes, we love kids, but we don’t want any of our own. We are perfectly happy being an aunt and uncle to our siblings’ children,” I answered.
“We love Asabea, Kobby, and Sasha, but the best part about having them in our lives without being their parents is that we can return them to their parents after a short while,” my husband added, referring to my sister and his brother’s children.
My mother looked heartbroken, and I felt bad because I knew she had been anticipating my children. I just hadn’t had the heart to tell her before now that it was never going to happen.
“But it will be different with your own children. The moment you hold your baby in your arms, you will be overwhelmed with so much love that you won’t mind having them around all the time,” she told us. “Trust me, it’s different with your own baby.”
“Mom, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Kwame and I honestly don’t have the time, energy, or desire for kids in our lives.”
My mother let out a sob. “Heeiii God. My enemies have gotten me. The devil has come after me through my child.”
Oh Lord, here we go, I thought, but rose to squat in front of her.
“Mom, the devil has nothing to do with this. Kwame and I are just being honest with ourselves about parenting. It would be cruel to bring children into our life now as it is. We love each other and our careers. We also love our current flexible lifestyle. We can’t, in good conscience, bring a child into the world that we can’t be dedicated to.”
“Afia and I don’t want to have kids. Like she said, we prefer our life as it is now with just the two of us. Our nieces and nephews can visit from time to time, but we don’t want kids permanently in our house. Plus, we both love to travel. You know this. We want to see the world, and we can’t carry a child along. Neither would we feel comfortable constantly leaving them behind,” Kwame added.
“If that’s your concern, we can help you take care of the child. Just leave them with us any time you need to travel, and we’ll be glad to care for them,” my mother-in-law said, latching onto the last part of his statement.
“Yes! Mariam and I can take turns caring for your children. Just give birth, Afia. And leave the rest to us,” my mother added passionately.
Kwame and I shared a glance and sighed.
“We won’t be able to prioritise them either way and won’t be comfortable leaving our kids in your care either. They would still, primarily, be our responsibility, and we don’t want that responsibility,” Kwame told them.
“Besides, let’s not pretend that I would be allowed to leave my kids behind often without being emotionally blackmailed or being made to feel guilty and irresponsible. And how would the kids feel? A lot of the time when I get home exhausted, I’m so grateful that I don’t have to take care of any child on top of that. That I can just take a cold shower and go off to bed,” I added. “Children are a responsibility that neither of us is ready for.”
“So you’re saying you’re a lazy woman.”
“Adwoa,” my dad reprimanded softly at the jab, but I tried not to take it personally. She had just proven my point because Kwame didn’t get called lazy for saying we both didn’t want the responsibility. I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to frequently leave my children in their care without being labelled as lazy either.
“Mom, you and I both know that I’m far from being a lazy woman, but if me not wanting to have kids makes me a lazy woman, so be it.”
She looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t retract her statement, and I didn’t expect her to. It was how she genuinely felt.
“I know it may sound odd to you all, but we have never wanted kids,” Kwame explained.
“I don’t believe that,” his dad added. “I see the way you are with children. I don’t know why the two of you are determined to convince yourselves that you don’t want children, but you’re still young, and I believe you would change your mind eventually.”
We had known this conversation was going to be difficult, but we hadn’t anticipated being told that we didn’t know our own minds.
“Dad, we’re in our mid- and late-thirties. We’re not too young to know what we want and the kind of life we envision for ourselves. Why do you think we took so long to get married? We started dating long before we told you about it, and we waited for five years before getting married after much prodding from all of you. Not because we weren’t sure of each other. We knew we wanted to be married even before we told you we were dating, but we held it off for as long as we could because we knew you would start asking for grandchildren,” Kwame corrected.
“So you’re sure about this decision that you’ve made? Who is going to take care of you in your old age?” my dad asked.
“Yes, we’re sure, Dad. And we don’t need to bear children to be taken care of in our old age. We just need to plan for our future, and we’re doing that.”
There were a few moments of silence as our parents, especially our mothers, pondered our decision in despair. There was no logical reason for them to feel this heartbroken. They had other children who had already given them some of the grandchildren they wanted so badly. I wondered how they would react if they knew that Kwame got a vasectomy before we got married.
“But the Bible says it’s our duty to populate the earth,” my mother argued, but I interrupted.
“Mom. The earth is already overpopulated. Kwame and I refusing to have children is not going to be detrimental to the human species. In fact, it’s going to help it. We decided this long before we got married, and we stand by it.”
“We are going to be the best aunt and uncle to our nieces and nephews, but please stop pressuring us to have children. It’s not going to happen,” Kwame finished.
“If your siblings also decided to be childless, would you have children to be an aunt and uncle to?” his mother snapped bitterly.
Kwame sighed. “If we didn’t have nieces and nephews around, we would be fine. We don’t need children around. We want them around. Which means that as much as we love and enjoy them, if they weren’t around, our lives would still be great.”
We engaged in several more back-and-forths, striving to convince our parents that we would not succumb to their expectations. They finally gave up and went to bed, looking as if we had broken their hearts.
Later, when Kwame and I lay in each other’s arms, we felt exhausted but at peace. We knew the war with our parents on the topic wasn’t over, but we were proud of ourselves for asserting our desire not to have children and winning this first battle.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips.
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
Smiling, we clung to each other just a little bit more. All was perfect in our little world of two.
