The struggle & deconstruction of Unmothering

I am child-free by choice.

When I was twelve, I remember listening to a relative who was talking about someone she knew who was struggling with her five children. Umbaih*, I said that was a lot of kids! Mom’s eyes widened because my response to this 70-something woman was probably extremely inappropriate by GCC standards. The audacity I had with not saying mashallah. But before mom could say anything, the woman laughed. She told me that she herself had twelve children. Whoa! She continued to say that this number was actually considered low for her time growing up. She said that women “pushed kids out by the darazen dozens” because “they had nothing else to do,” it was the way of life, how things are. I still think about those words, and how choice and agency would predict a different future not dictated by her oppressors who kept things that way.

I didn’t need to look too hard at this woman to see what the unfair years have done to her. She is tired, drained, kept in her place by a cheating husband. Was ignorant bliss is the only option keeping her from madness? Maybe it was just the notion of survival as a woman in this country. Standing in front of me, she looked both powerful and broken.

When I turned 17 it was the first time one of my friends got married, by “choice” or whatever.  It was a big deal wedding, full of expensive flowers, late-night dancing and a fancy dinner. The party was on a Friday, and we were all back in school by Sunday. The love birds divorced two years later.

You’re telling me I have to give birth, and change the diapers, too? —My fridge magnet

 

The magical sense around birthing kids weighs significantly. Growing up with nine (and growing) nieces and nephews around me, I saw firsthand how hard of a job it is, obviously. There is more to the story, but procreating in Islam is one deed every Muslim must complete. It is ingrained in Kuwaiti society as the “thing you do” and is often times not scrutinized or judged. It is merely checked off on the lengthy to-do list of social duties. Thus enters the unprecedented power with baby-choice shaming. 

It’s not all bad; having cute little babies is in fact many people's goal. But choosing to be baby-free is still extremely taboo. I still hear dumb statements said to my face like “you’ll regret it when you’re older.” Or “you’re still too young and things will change” or, my favourite, “you will go to hell if you choose not to have kids.” Which seems to be the fastest way you can get my eyes to roll to the back of my brain. 

There is a growing number of women increasing their family size outside the “acceptable” i.e. marriage to a man method: women who are not married, women in the rainbow community, women who co-parent with a friend or single parent alone. Women who adopt. Women who choose unconventionally. Women who abstain. These modern arrangements, similar to my own arrangement of family planning, are still taboo in Kuwait, and many of these listed are exceptions outside of traditional family planning, which means they are punishable by law. 

Being a mother is a gift of endless supply of compassion and love, even on the bad days. It’s a test of endurance. It’s also the hardest job in the world. So why are there so many rules about the mothering job?

From general population decline to lower births rates, global Feminists who refuse to offer up their wombs to the patriarchy are punished for it. But either way the tides role, people (and I’d like to think women, especially) are making smarter choices, whether it’s directly related to economic conditions or otherwise. 

 

Time for reflection

We think about the children who will continue to honour the family name and move that legacy forward. But it’s never the matriarch’s last name, it’s my dad’s. Nothing wrong with carrying his last name as my badge of Honour, but what about mom’s? Why can’t I carry both? Why can’t I choose hers? My family has a book that traces the lineage all the way back to the first person who bore the family name. It’s an extraordinary brag to visualize a family tree in that sense. There’s a catch. The names are all men’s. 

It got me thinking about how I could possibly turn around to find the 12 or 20 generations of matriarchs that connect to me. Who was the first mother in my family’s lineage who bore her family line? I wouldn’t know even if I tried, because her last name likely adopted her dad’s side of the family. Nothing was pulled from the mother’s side. I honour her forgotten name and lost story. 

To be child-free is my ancestors wildest discourse in-the-making (or nightmare!). If they were alive, would they scratch their heads in confusion? I would tell them they brought on a feminist revolution too late because I continue to pick up the missing pieces of choice and agency.

 

Poem: The Mothering Job

I watched my Mom fill out an application.
I looked at the line that asks about past professions.
I thought to myself, that space is too small
To write down what she's been, to cover it all.
She was a nurse when I fell and scraped my knee.
She was my loudspeaker when I sang karaoke.
She was a designer when my clothes didn't match.
She was a tailor when my pants needed a patch.
She was a psychiatrist when I came home crying.
She was a preacher when I got caught lying.

The Mothering job is no easy task.
To the mothers who lost their mom, or yearning to be one.
To the dads who become moms by choice or otherwise.
To the foster moms and adoptive parents.
To the friends and neighbors who become really cool honorary moms.
And to those who choose not to be moms.

Happy Mother's Day to you. 

*Wow