A few weeks ago during the holidays, sitting at an old English-style pub among several friends, I was having a one-on-one with a friend, Vick, who had moved to my fair city recently. He is an old young person, and despite his less-than-normal upbringing (his parents died in a car crash at a young age; after that, he ran away from his foster home and fell in with some rough gangs in New York, perennially searching for a family, as many young men do — and now, several years later as a 30-something adult, he was trying to restart his life in a new city with his computer skills), he seemed to have very traditional ideas about relationships and family. 

The question came up in conversation, as it related to family get-togethers and the holidays: "Don't you want children?"

"No, I never have."

Then, there was what I call "The Look." It surfaces uneasily after you give someone an answer they feel uncomfortable with. I encounter this frequently. 

 Shocked, he asked, "But WHY? Of all people, you would and Todd [my beloved] would have the most intelligent, beautiful, tolerant kid. You would be such a cool mom!"

"I'm just not interested." And then I added (as my stock reason), "I'm too selfish."

"What do you mean?"

"As it is, I have so little time to enjoy my life. I love to travel. I enjoy dabbling in music, art, poetry, reading … I like to spend time with my friends and family, and I barely have enough quality time by myself or with Todd."

The Look softens a bit, as it always does, but it never completely goes away. And the daunting question rears its ugly head in my mind once again, as it has at least 500 times before when the inquisitors — a vast population of people including my mother, my father, casual friends (my closest friends aren't the breeding kind, either), strangers at supermarkets, and, did I say my mother? — asks me that question in an almost accusatory tone.

Why is it that even in this new century (a century after women earned the right to vote and made our way out of the kitchen kicking and screaming, mind you), when women have become career-oriented, headstrong and the most independent they have ever been, it is still considered a social faux pas if they do not breed? Why do people look at a woman in disbelief when she utters the unforgivable" words, "I don't want children"? Why do they go home and then tell their husbands, wives, friends, children, dogs, cats, and anyone else who will listen,"I can't believe she never wants children. She must have had something happen. Do you think she goes to therapy?"

Now, to dispel any myths, first of all, I like children. I myself was one once. In fact, I still am. To attest to this fact, I sit here typing at my keyboard in our home "office," which is also home to shelves and shelves of books and hundreds of collectible toys that we have just for our own childish pleasure. I also support all mothers — especially single mothers by choice who have such a rough time adopting, bringing up children on one income, or those who try to adopt and face harsh scrutiny because they don't have (or want) a man. I have a 6-year-old niece I absolutely adore. And I love being the aunt, because although she is my blood and I can spoil her rotten, I don't have to deal with the everyday dilemmas of being a mom. It's the perfect role for me! But this is the key: I like OTHER people's children, not my own.

Second, I am not barren, and I do not have any medical conditions, past or present, that would make it impossible for me to be a mother (other than the fact that I'm way past my prime for bearing a child). I do not have fear of a relationship or commitment.

To dispel yet another myth, I did not have a terrible childhood. My parents are still together and thankfully both alive (though not necessarily healthy) at 70, and I have two wonderful siblings. I had a fairly normal childhood (what IS normal,anyway?) with some very happy memories, and I certainly love the idea of a family. I have a family right now — Todd, and my fat-yet-underfed cat, Nikita. And contrary to her belief (and my mother's), I am not from Mars.

I have many, many girlfriends who don't have children, and they are perfectly happy. My friend Wendy is happily married with her own business, and she and her husband have more than enough on their hands with what life has to offer. Anna, who also owns her own business and was once married, loves to travel, and simply has no desire for kids. And my friend Iris, who is 55, was a late-bloomer in many respects. She has always been an avid traveler, and as a musician, former flamenco dancer and singer, she never included children as one of life's must-haves. She simply didn't want them. She got married for the first time at 45, and she and her relatively new marriage are doing just fine with their house, their myriad musical instruments and their dogs.

Perhaps this is a phenomenon more rampant among city dwellers. Having kids seems to be more of a pastime among those who love in the 'burbs or the country. Then again, my old friend, Pete, 56, and his girlfriend, Cynthia, 54, live in a tiny town in southeast New Mexico, and neither one of them ever wanted kids, either. Hmm.

I realize not everyone thinks that not having children is a bad thing, and for that, I am very thankful. More and more, I feel it is one of my purposes on this earth to continue liberating women (and men, too) from stodgy, patriarchal ideas that are slowly making their way out of mainstream society, but that may need a little help.

On behalf of me and every other deliberately childless woman out there, "Please accept me — as me." I'm simply not the mothering type.