By a happy, child-free, dog-loving 40-year-old woman
There’s a curious thing that happens when you hit 40 and you’re a woman without children. You become… a bit of a mystery. Or, depending on who you’re talking to, a tragic figure in need of sympathy, spiritual guidance, or possibly a casserole.
I can’t tell you how often this plays out: I meet someone new — life does its thing — we exchange the usual pleasantries, they clock my husband and me floating along in our bubble of genuine harmony and happiness, and then — boom — “Do you have kids?”
As if that’s the only logical next step in the fairytale.
I say, “No.”
That’s it. No explanations. No awkward chuckle. No scrambling to soften the blow with a chirpy “…but we’re trying!” or “We’ve got nieces!” Just a calm, unapologetic no.
And then — I wait.
The reactions are quite something. A squirm. A sympathetic head tilt. A confused blink. Sometimes even a gentle pat on the arm, like I’ve just shared news of a tragic loss. It’s as if I casually mentioned I was once in a cult that banned fun.
Occasionally, I toss in a cheerful follow-up: “But I do have two dogs!” hoping to steer the conversation toward my happy place — golden retrievers. Fluffy, loyal, slightly dopey, perfect. I am ready — ready — to discuss their personalities, grooming routines, snack preferences, and how one of them sleeps like a drunken starfish.
But instead of joy, I usually get, “Ohhh, they’re your fur babies.”
No. They’re just… my dogs. I love them. I didn’t get dogs instead of kids. I got dogs because I love dogs. I always have.
I got them because I’ve always wanted big, fluffy, affectionate shadows who follow me everywhere and love me unconditionally. Frankly, I trust them more than most people.
Now, this might be controversial — brace yourselves — but I’ve never felt maternal. I’ve never cooed over a baby in a pram. I’ve never picked up a tiny onesie and felt my ovaries squeal. That maternal yearning? That biological clock everyone talks about? Mine never started ticking. If anything, it took one look around and said, “Hard pass.”
Maybe it was my upbringing. I had a mother who made parenting sound like a never-ending endurance challenge with no medals. She spoke candidly about how hard it was — the sleepless nights, the sacrifices, the mental load. Nothing about it sounded appealing to me. It stuck. Possibly permanently.
But, maybe I was just born this way. While other little girls were dreaming about weddings and babies, I was dreaming of mountains, forests, and giant dogs with hearts of gold. I didn’t want a perfect white wedding — I didn’t want the white dress and the baby carriage — I wanted a partner who I luckily found in my husband, along with hiking boots and a canine sidekick to follow me to the ends of the earth.
And guess what? That’s exactly what I have. Two glorious golden retrievers, an extraordinary husband who is my best mate, and a life that feels full, joyful, and entirely mine.
I don’t feel like something’s missing. I don’t wake up wondering what my baby would’ve looked like. My life’s purpose was never to be a mum — not because I failed, but because I chose differently.
My purpose? To live kindly. To love deeply. To work hard, show up, keep growing, and enjoy the ride. That’s enough for me. More than enough.
So to all the well-meaning folks who respond to my child-free status with confusion, concern, or a look that says “you poor thing”, as if I’ve said that I have lost a limb please know — I’m good. I’m more than good. I like my freedom, my sleep, my savings, and my ability to leave the house without packing snacks and wet wipes.
My life may not fit the usual mould, but it fits me perfectly. I have love, loyalty, laughter, and dog hair on every piece of clothing I own — and honestly, that’s more than enough.
And in case you’re wondering — yes, my dogs do have their own Instagram. Curious about my “fur babies”? Just say the word. I’ll pull out 73 photos, a treat pouch, and possibly a slideshow. You’ve been warned.
Boundless and Unfiltered 