THE NARRATIVE ARC
I Never Want To Be a Grandma and Don't You Dare Judge Me
Women are opting out of motherhood. So why is it still taboo to pass on grandparenting?
I murdered my boyfriend's babies—all twelve of them. There was a cherubic baby born in May, giggling on a bed of pink roses. A devilish October baby, popping his bald head out of a pumpkin. And a sleeping December baby curled up under a Christmas tree. I stuffed them all in the trash.
Don't worry. I didn't murder real babies. This is not that type of confession.
I first noticed the babies one night when we were cooking dinner together. A glossy calendar — "Cute Babies of 2024" — hung in his kitchen, taunting me with their doe eyes and drooling smiles.
Now, his calendar choice was perplexing. My 35-year-old boyfriend and I had discussed children, and he had reassured me that he was okay not having any. I have two teenagers. My dance card is full. And I was very clear when we first started dating that my ovaries were closed for business. So why the calendar? I swallowed hard and decided to find out.
"Hun, What's with the creepy baby calendar?"
"Oh, that?" he snickered, "That was a gift from my mother."
