Happy No Kidding New Year!

Hi everyone! I'm sorry I have been away for so long. But I want to say Happy New Year, and send very my best wishes for 2026, whatever it may bring.

My silence has had two reasons. The first was the continuing saga of a health situation, that really took my attention from almost everything - reading/audiobooks/podcasts/radio listening, interesting TV watching  (other than comfort binges), writing (here and on A Separate Life), etc. Suddenly last year, my No Kidding status was secondary to a grim health prognosis, and a different future than I had imagined. That idea at least was familiar.

But the second reason for my silence has been our decision to live life while we can, and to take a bucket list trip. We hope there will be more. We are by no means confident that there will be. So we took the opportunity, and took off. I'm going to blog about it on A Separate Life. But here are some of the No Kidding thoughts I have about it now that we have returned.

We chose a trip that had two possible timings - December/January, or April/May. Our doctor advised that the first was the wisest choice. It did not bother us at all that it was going to occur over Christmas and New Year. A couple of relatives had been seriously thinking about joining us. Until they knew it would be over Christmas. They couldn't possibly be away from their (adult) kids at the time. We shrugged. This was not a problem or obligation or desire that we had to contend with.

Second, the trip included a cruise. It was on a line we wouldn't normally choose, and in general, the passengers made us feel quite young! Whilst kids were allowed (another cruise line advertises itself in NZ as "No kids, no casinos!" lol), there were only about four or five children under ten, and a bored looking teenager. I'm not sure what their parents were thinking. So all the activities were adult-focused.

Thirdly, as we queued for entry to the ship, we got chatting to an Australian couple. Almost instantly, the woman made us aware of how many kids she had, and where they lived. It was as if she was justifying relocating for her retirement. I was amused and a little sad for her that she felt she had to mention this. It seemed as if she had either faced criticism over the move, or wasn't happy with it herself. And I hoped that they were on the cruise out of sheer excitement for the opportunity and itinerary, rather than as a way to fill the holiday period with activity. (Yes, I can overthink things!)

Finally, and most importantly, we met a lot of people on the cruise. Yet, aside from a younger woman mentioning how much better constructed/lighter/easier modern day prams/pushchairs/strollers are these days compared to 15 years ago (and it was in an appropriate context, though that completely eludes me now, so I just nodded), not a single other person mentioned children or grandchildren. Well, apart from the aforementioned Australian woman. (I'm sure the two or three parents who had children with them would have, but we never interacted.) No-one talked about work either. We talked about cruise lines, and food, and destinations, and where we lived. A few people tried politics, but when they didn't get the reactions they wanted, it was easily dropped. It was gloriously without posturing or judgement. (And considering the obvious wealth of some of the people on the cruise, there was plenty of opportunity for that.)

Actually, now I think about it, one other couple mentioned children. They said, quite simply, in a cautious way that I recognised, that they didn't have children so could retire anywhere they chose. "We're in the same position," I said. We then had an interesting conversation about great places to retire, whether to move away from friends, different considerations, etc. Our lack of children, or how that came about, just was not important. But it meant we had things in common.

I compared that with poor Infertile Phoenix's experience on her trip. I don't know if it is our age (though grandchildren discussions could easily dominate), the fact we didn't provide any openings for children/grandchildren discussions (whereas her travelling companions might have), the nature of the cruise line, the nationalities on the cruise (dominated by Australians and Brits), or the itinerary (very much a destination-based cruise rather than swimming and sun and fun), but it was gloriously child free. 

 

 

Continued Connections

Back in November, I wrote about Connections. A few days ago, I was pondering why I still write here. I started late (though was writing elsewhere), but I've still been writing here for 14 years, which is a long time, and a lot of thinking around not having children, the joys of that (and there are indeed joys, believe me), the loss and the sadness, and how I managed to heal. No Kidding in NZ is only ever about my thoughts on living life without children. I've kept it separate from A Separate Life, and various other writing or travel blogs. (See About Me here to connect with those if you are interested, including a new travel blog.) 

Many people of my vintage no longer write about their journeys. They, like me, have found that their lives are no longer dominated by thoughts of being childless (or childfree, depending on the day), and have moved on. I'm loath to do that, though, simply because I value the connections I have here, and with others who are still writing. I keep a lot of those connections alive elsewhere - whether it is through social media, private messageboards, other blogs, or zoom chats, my life is so full of connections that have only ever come about because I tried to have children, lost pregnancies, and never became a mother. But meeting in person is something special, and on my recent trip I was able to do that.

In Liverpool back in November, I met up with a long term friend from the ectopic message boards. We had met in person once before. I was in Switzerland visiting a friend, corresponding with my Liverpool friend who I had unfortunately missed in the UK a week or so earlier. "Invite her over," said my generous friend living in Switzerland. So I did. And she came, just for the weekend, to meet me! It was so lovely.  (And once again made me so envious that so many of my friends were in the UK, and could more easily meet up with each other.) So when I mentioned I was coming back for a longer trip, albeit 15 or so years later (!!!), she said she'd love to meet. We arranged a day, met at a train station along with our husbands, and they showed us around the city of Liverpool. Our husbands seemed to hit it off, and we had much more to chat about than our long ago history of lost pregnancies. 

But we did, at one stage, talk about how concerned we were about political changes around the world. She mentioned that someone had asked who she was meeting that day (as she was not going into work). She explained that if policies in some states in western nations had been in place back in the early 2000s, neither of us would be alive. So it was something to celebrate, our survival of a dangerous condition, and also something to mourn, that women in the 21st century might still suffer under unthinking policies put in place by ignorant politicians, making doctors unable or unwilling to provide appropriate medical attention. Then we turned to happier thoughts, delicious Asian food, and finally a fond farewell.

About a week later, I met up with another friend from those days. We had shared an estimated due date - my second ectopic pregnancy, and her first daughter.  We had chatted a lot in those days, finding a shared interest in travel and politics and wonderful books. I stayed with her once when her daughter was very young, and we met up in London or in her gorgeous English village twice more. But she had a second daughter, and life became very busy. We drifted, our correspondence gradually petering out, except through social media. But I contacted her and asked if she was keen to reconnect. 15 years (or more) since we had seen each other, it felt as if no time had passed at all. Our shared love of books led her husband to suggest we all meet at a pub once owned by Thomas Cromwell and then Anne of Cleves. Promises to come to New Zealand hopefully mean our connections will continue.

I spent a lovely day with another friend from ectopic messageboard days too. She had gone the adoption route, which has its own difficult challenges, and certainly isn't a "cure" for infertility, as she stressed. The fact that she is a mum and now a doting grandma did in no way counter all the things we have in common. We hobbled (both of us with different injuries) along the Thames at Henley, chatting non-stop, catching up with each other, and it was very special.

Finally, in London, we had coffee and buns with another blogger and her husband. We'd only ever corresponded by email or social media comments, and of course, the occasional blog comments. But again there was that familiarity and closeness that I've found seeps through the screens into real life. If you like someone online, when you're being open and honest and heartfelt, you're almost guaranteed to like them in real life. Again, the husbands seemed to hit it off, and we chatted for ages. More promises of meeting in New Zealand give me hope of this connection continuing.

And on the weekend, back in NZ, I was chatting on Zoom with blogging friends I have still yet to meet in real life. We noted how important our online relationships have been. I was talking about how my husband and I grieved our pregnancy losses differently, and that was okay, because I had had the support of wonderful women online. And later as we moved into a No Kidding life, I still had the support of wonderful women online. It gave him the freedom to grieve in his own way, and I didn't place the burden of my grief wholly on him. That helped us both. It still helps me, knowing that other women (and men) know how I feel. These online connections are real, are so valuable, and I hope will long continue. 

That's why I'm still here. I have connections here that I don't have elsewhere. And I value them all.

Childless travellers

Ten or fifteen years ago, I was able to embrace travelling without children. Twenty years ago or more, I was still feeling the loss and grief, and there were plenty of ouch moments. But travelling now, in our ... gulp ... 60s, we are just another pair of grey-haired travellers, enjoying the off-season lack of tourists. I rarely even think about my childless state when I travel now. 

Until you realise that you're travelling in half-term. That happened twice - once in Scotland, and again a few weeks later in England. Suddenly we were surrounded by families. In Scotland it was fine. We arrived in Glasgow, and suddenly saw lots of families, a funfare with carousel etc in one of the pedestrian-only streets, and figured out what was happening. The hotel we were staying in was very much designed with adults in mind. Very NOT children-friendly. So we enjoyed some lovely pre-dinner drinks in the bar, and a delicious multi-course menu in their excellent restaurant. Eating out elsewhere was a little different. We went to a fun Indian restaurant, and saw several families. Next to us was a father and a couple of kids. One was a teenager, who barely spoke. The younger one was more chatty, but it was difficult to watch them. Maybe they were giving their mother a few hours of peace, or maybe this was a result of a half-term holiday visitation, after a separation. It was nice to see them together, but I felt sorry for them, not me. The teenager seemed starved, the dad seemed awkward. I'm not judging. But I hoped they would relax more as the week continued.

In England, we saw families in a lot of different spots. The sheer numbers meant that we didn't explore some places we had intended to (not that I was bothered). I saw families out in nature, which was lovely. Some of the kids were enjoying themselves, some seemed not to be. (Probably wishing they were home with their devices/computer games/friends, etc.) It reminds me now of my niece who informed me, whilst she was recently on a trip to the US for the first time, that the things her parents liked doing were "insanely boring!" I laughed, but felt a little sorry for my sister and her husband too. My sister-in-law and her family have also just travelled to Europe for Christmas. Even though they had a great time, on returning home my SIL said, "I think it's just easier to travel when it's just (Husband) and me."

I'm glad none of my trips have been ruined by ungrateful teenagers. I'm glad that I haven't had to figure out what children want to do when travelling, or feel that I was tearing them away from friends or boyfriends or activities they'd prefer. Yes, I'd have loved to have had the opportunity to instil my love of travel into my own children, but by observing others, this isn't always easy or even possible. So I'm glad I can still feel that unadulterated joy of a new place, experience, or activity without having it tempered by guilt or angst about whether the children were having fun. A parent might find that attitude is selfish. But when it's my only option, I think embracing it and appreciating what I've got is actually just an example of pure gratitude.

Holiday, holidays, and covid

This is the first time I've signed in to No Kidding in NZ for over three months! As I mentioned on Monday (here) on A Separate Life, I've been away on an extended trip. Unfortunately, security issues required me to be quiet on the blogosphere about my travels, given that I’m open about where I live, I’ve posted photos of my house, and, unlike many years ago when we travelled for six months, my real name can be associated with this blog. So I didn’t want to advertise our absence too much. Unlike previous long trips, our friends are no longer working in the city, so couldn’t drop in and stay for a night or two every week, so we were a bit more concerned about security this time. I wrote and scheduled all my posts in advance, because I knew it would be too hard to do so on the road. I also find it horrible to log into blogger on my phone/ipad, so I really apologise that I haven't been able to respond to comments etc, even though I have been reading them. I am going to go back now and read them and comment! If you stuck it through to December with me, then I am very grateful.

I'll reveal much more about our trip in due course. We had a wonderful time. I got to meet up with some old ectopic-messageboard friends, unfortunately missed Bamberlamb due to scheduling, and got to meet former blogger and author Lesley Pyne in London just before we flew home. 

We arrived home last Monday, giving me plenty of time (or so I thought) to clean the house, decorate my tree, do all the seasonal baking, write some blogposts, and be ready for Christmas. Unfortunately when we got home I began ailing, quickly tested positive for covid the following day, and have been laid up ever since. Today is the first day I've even made it upstairs to my laptop. So much for plans.

Though on the bright side, if I was going to catch covid on the trip, coming down with it as we arrived home was the best possible time.

It will just be the two of us. That was always the plan. I'm pretty miserable, and need another nap on the couch, so unless I improve rapidly in the next day or two, there'll be little celebration here. That's fine. It's the end of a long year, and I hope for you it passes peacefully whether you celebrate or not. I'm looking forward to the rest of summer (having missed the start of it in Europe), and health returning.

Sending love 

Formerly-absent-but-now-returned Mali

PS. Here are some previous seasonal posts to help anyone who might be struggling:

Reclaiming Christmas – written way back in December 2010, only my second month of blogging (though my seventh year of No Kidding Christmases)

Holiday Season: If Money were No Object 

You are Not Alone

Childless at Christmas

My 2016 Annual Holiday Post

Four Rules of Surviving Christmas for No Kidding women

The Season and Traditions

Monday Miscellany: No Kidding travel version

I've been away the last few weeks. (Read about it here on A Separate Life.) That means I didn't get to fully participate in World Childless Week, other than my three posts here, here and here. I intend - when I recover - going back and reading a lot of the writing and discussion around the week. Even though it has been many years now, it still means a lot to me that a community gets together and discusses our issues with openness and love and understanding.I just wish I'd had time to be involved in real time.

My trip was spent with relatives, and the children of the relatives, so it was a little bittersweet. I loved getting to know the kids better. They're all such interesting young people now, and my niece has admirable feminist tendencies, which I applaud. But she was also a reminder of what I have lost. She was presenting her thesis, thinking about her future, when I remember her as a three-month old one Christmas, the Christmas that I went through whilst my first ectopic pregnancy was resolving. The eldest son would have been just a little younger than my second ectopic pregnancy. He's at medical school across the country, but was there for a few days during our visit. The house was full of people - the two eldest both have partners, and we got to know them as well, they cooked us dinner, we took them out. It was a bustling happy home. We came home to peace and quiet, which is lovely, but it's also sometimes a bit too quiet. Not often, but the contrast is there. 

Then of course there was a comment. It was said with the nicest of intentions, and so I hope I responded in kind. It was noted that of the three brothers there, my husband was the most considerate and helpful, getting things done, organising people, etc. "You wouldn't think he would be, because he doesn't have kids," the commenter said. My response was along the lines of "why wouldn't you think he would be?" I went on, but this is paraphrased, and is perhaps stronger than what I actually said. "He's a person, he can see what needs to be done, and as you can plainly see, fathers do not have a monopoly on being helpful around the house." Sigh. There's always someone who says something.

School holidays had not begun. So flight prices were better, places weren't crowded, traffic was okay. There are benefits to no kidding travel. 

And of course, once again, recovery has been easy. Well, as easy as it can be when you're coughing and under the weather. Yes, I picked up a virus. Yes. there was an overnight flight with only about half an hour sleep (we arrived in NZ at 1 am Perth time - ouch) so I needed to recover from that as well as jet lag and illness. Yes, I'm still recovering. Yes, I don't have to drive kids to sports events or ensure they are eating while studying etc etc. Yes, that makes it easier. Though you all know I would have happily done it all.

We can't escape

After my post about my travel last week, I remember I left a couple of things out.  It wasn't a sneaky strategy to stretch out the post over two weeks, although I appreciate the fact that I haven't had to think of a new topic for today! They're just proof that however far we go, we can't escape from the reminders, even if they were very minor in the scheme of things.

Mother's Day itself passed easily for me. We were in Zimbabwe, on a South African train, and both countries celebrate Mother's Day in May. There was no TV and no wifi for four days, so we didn't get an onslaught of advertising for the day. It was not mentioned on the train I was travelling on. It was not mentioned at the hotel we checked into that day (after disembarking from the train). It was not mentioned by anyone! So much so that I almost forgot it was happening. Until the next day when, finally reunited with wi-fi after the train trip (my longest wifi gap in about 11 years by my reckoning), I opened social media. Oh, the onslaught. The onslaught of messages - even the "for those who find this day difficult" messages - were a reminder that I was not included in this day. It brought me down. Stupidly, I had failed to take my own advice and stay away from social media! Doh! But I wasn't down long. I just posted more photos of luxurious trains and magical elephants from the previous few days as my revenge.

A week earlier, I posted a cute photo of a lion cub gnawing on the ear of a lioness, part of a pride we were watching. My SIL made a comment. "The things mothers have to put up with." I rolled my eyes. She is increasingly saying things like this that don't seem relevant to the post to me, but are clearly top of mind for her, perhaps because her kids are starting to leave home and she's feeling it. I pointed out that the mother was actually behind the little cub (they had wandered in together). She wasn't as tolerant. It was one of the very patient aunts who was being pestered by the cub. (Of course, I got no response to that.) Lions raise their offspring in a community. (I've mentioned this before). I love that about them. If only the human world was quite as inclusive.

The Freedom of No Kidding Travel

 For the last month, my posts have been pre-written and scheduled. I haven't been able to comment much on any of your comments, but I have been trying to keep track of them. I haven't been doing much reading or commenting elsewhere either. Why? Because we have been on a fabulous month-long holiday (I'll write more about it over on A Separate Life in the next days/weeks) celebrating our life together in southern Africa. And there are some pics on my (at)travellingmali Instagram page if you're curious.

As usual after a trip, I think about the questions about kids. The first time we got it was from a honeymoon couple from New York. Clearly they are thinking about children. I just said, "no" to the "do you have?" question, and they said smoothly, "so you're here, doing things like this!" and it wasn't clear if they meant it as compensation, or explanation, and I didn't clarify either. It was easy, and we let it go. Then one of the staff talked about his planned wedding later this year, and the plans that they will get pregnant within the next year, move and change jobs all to ensure good schooling for their as yet unconceived child. DH and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. The thing is, it will probably work out for them. It does for most people. But the ignorance of his confidence that nothing will go wrong really struck us.

We were asked about kids elsewhere. Nowhere were we asked any follow-up questions. People were polite, and easily able to pivot to another topic of conversation. Where appropriate, I asked simple questions about their kids. But I found it all very easy. Mostly.

The highlight was at the very beginning of our trip. On safari, we shared our vehicle with a couple from the UK who were about our age or just a few years older. We had a lovely time with them. I said to my husband after a couple of days that I was sure they didn't have children either. It hadn't been mentioned, almost pointedly, by either of us. In fact, it actually took me a day or two to realise that neither of us had brought it up. How liberating is that? I felt so free and relaxed, and didn't even think about the issue.

Towards the end of our days together, I was chatting to the other woman, asked her to forgive me asking the question, and asked it myself. I felt awful doing it, and so as soon as she confirmed my guess that no, they didn't have children, I assured her that we didn't either, and apologised for the question.  She made me laugh. "If I'd had kids, I would have told you all about them by now!" I agreed, saying that this is why I thought I could ask the question. Neither of us talked about why we weren't parents. I suspect again that we were both childless not by choice, simply the way that we talked about the subject. But there was no need to know. We'd had a lovely time together, have exchanged emails, and hope to meet again.That's all that mattered. 

We were away for over four weeks. It was not school holidays, so we rarely encountered children on our travels. (Well, except for the hundreds of kids on school trips in one part of South Africa - though they just made us smile.) How lovely it was to feel part of a place, of experiences, of life, without feeling that our reproductive status was in any way relevant. There was just freedom. Bliss. Joy.

My Childless Relationship with the School Term

I have little to say this week. It is winter in New Zealand, and apart from the occasional beautiful, calm but cold day, the last week or two has been quite miserable. Of course, it coincided with the two-week winter school holidays, when families travel around the country, keen for a break in the middle of the winter, and those of us without kids possibly do as we do. That is, we hibernate. The habit might have started when we first found it painful to see happy families out and about, but now we do it because it fits our lifestyle. We’ve hardly gone out, postponing movies or shopping expeditions for when the kids are safely back at school, and have largely enjoyed staying inside, being cosy, and curling up with a good book. It’s a good combination. We don’t get in the way of families who are out and about and visiting our city, we get to avoid the possibility/likelihood of colds, flu and covid, save money on travel costs, and don’t resent it because the weather is nasty anyway. 

We are always most active when school is in term, and least active during the school holidays. We plan international travel according to holidays here, and holidays in our intended destination. (Our big exception some years ago was going to Rome in July, which was not a great decision because it was a) very hot and b) very crowded, full of families travelling in their northern school break.) Having the flexibility to travel out of season is one of the great benefits of being a No Kidding traveller. And even when we stay at home, we do everything the opposite of those with kids.

School went back today. We can go out again. See some movies. Eat out for lunch. Shop for those new walking shoes I need. But you know what? It’s just started raining again, and is cold today. Maybe I’ll put off venturing out until tomorrow!

From my post "The Childless Women's Guide ..."

 

 

 

 

Life meanderings

 As some of you will know from my other blog (A Separate Life), I have been travelling this last month.I hinted at it a few weeks ago in this post about reclaiming the country when the children are back at school (and their parents at work), when I said "we reclaim the shops and restaurants and roads and ferries and tourist spots, and secluded outdoor areas. Next week it's all for us! I can't wait." Perhaps you thought there was more than the usual enthusiasm for having cafes and malls and cinemas free of children? There was.

Like many people, we discovered, we waited until school holidays were over before we drove onto the ferry (conveniently berthed about five minutes from our house) and set sail for the South Island. (Or so we thought - there was a delay and the usual 3 1/2 hour trip took 6 hours!) We've spent the last 3 1/2 weeks traversing the South Island, going to places we'd been before, but never really explored. Doing some new things. Reliving childhood memories. Seeing family. Eating too much. Drinking a bit much, though we were remarkably restrained, I thought! Taking a LOT of photos. I've put just a few on Instagram (I'm travellingmali there), and I'm planning to blog about the trip in more detail either on A Separate Life or a new space.

The trip was blissfully child-free. Sure, there were children some places, and some of them were amusing, cute, or both. They enhanced our trip. But the places we went weren't flooded with them, and that made it very relaxing. I know I'm privileged to be able to travel for this long at a time of my choosing. I know not all of you can do it. So I'll stop there.

I had the inevitable "are you having a nice Mother's Day?" question at a hotel reception. It was funny, because even when she said it, she didn't look as if she wanted to. "I'm not a mother," I responded. "So ... no." She immediately apologised profusely. It made me wonder if she'd been told to ask the question of women of a certain age (what that might be, over 18?), and had - for whatever reason, objected to that. I felt for her. Her apology was very much for the question, whereas I also received (somewhere, I can't remember where) an "I'm sorry" when I said that I did not have children, which was wholly pitying. Kind, perhaps, but judgemental too. Tone of voice and context is so important.

Anyway, it's kind of nice to be home. The holiday was a good break between clearing up FIL's house and estate, and the rest of my life. I feel a little like I did when I was coming out of the grief of the permanent no-kids diagnosis. What shall I do with the rest of my life? What is the next big thing? And then I remember. Life is the next big thing. And I need to live it. We don't have the responsibilities we have had the last decade, so things can change, if we want them to. That's what I'm figuring out now. But there's no rush. 

Hitting the Road

This week we (my husband and I) are doing something fabulous, simply because we don’t have children. We waited till last Tuesday, as Monday was a public holiday, Labour Day, the last one before Christmas, and a time when a lot of people like to travel, because it is also a time when spring has generally arrived in most locations, and temperatures in some locations get positively summery. Not to mention that it was the first long weekend since Auckland went into a brief lockdown in August, and people were keen to travel. So Labour Weekend is always a busy time on the roads, and best to be avoided. But on Tuesday, when everyone was back to work and back at school and university exams are in full force, we set off on a road trip, one we had been planning to do for the last year, but life and death and COVID intervened.

My favourite road trip in New Zealand is around the South Island. I wrote about it here. But this one is exploring roads less travelled by us at least, as we have headed in the opposite direction. And although the north is much more populous than the south, we're taking advantage of the absence of both international tourists, and domestic tourists who will spread out and take over the roads in late December until early February. Especially this year, when no-one is making those overseas trips!

We would not be doing this if we had children, as they would still be school age. Though many of my friends are now also free and easy (well, except for the fact they’re still lucky enough to still be earning salaries) as their children have left home, reminding me and all of you that this isolation doesn’t last forever. Having children who have left home is not the same as having no children at all. But it does make socialising with friends easier, and it does mean that their day-to-day worlds no longer revolve around their children in the same way. It does get easier. And in the meantime, we hit the road!

Travelling (and coming home) without kids

Our latest trip overseas is over. Today is my first day full back. I'm feeling a bit jetlagged, but managed to have a good night's sleep last night, despite going to bed at what our bodies thought was seven pm (but was really midnight here) and waking up at 3.37 am, and that has helped a lot.

We spent just over seven weeks away, and had an amazing trip to Japan, Korea, and Vietnam. It was a trip for my husband's birthday. It was a significant number (with a zero) and neither of us can quite accept that he's that old! But we had a great time, went to some great places, ate some fabulous food, and - apart from the fact we're still waiting for our bags to arrive - didn't have any major accidents, illnesses or travel problems. We know we are very lucky.

And yes, as I noted a while ago, we couldn't share our travel with children. But even though I commented frequently to my husband that our niece "Charlie would have loved this!" I also knew that her parents would hate the very things their daughter would love. Life is a compromise.

We loved our trip and were very thankful that we were able to do it out of school holidays, in our own time and at our own pace, following our own interests. Well, we compromised between the two of us, but that's easier than compromising with a child, I'm sure. My brother-in-law and his family had just been to Japan a few weeks before us. They did completely different things than we enjoyed doing on our trip. (Well, except for one thing I will show below.) They visited anime museums and Disney and Universal Studio parks. My BIL wanted to go to museums but didn't have time to do any of the things he wanted (except for one brief escape in Kyoto), whereas we visited a number of really excellent museums, and enjoyed the temples and palaces and history. (Which is not to say all kids would dislike museums - we have a nephew who is a museum buff, but would want to spend too much time there even for us.) We saw a few families travelling, some with young children, and we shook our heads in a combination of admiration at taking on the task and gratitude that we didn't have to deal with the complications of travelling with kids.

There was two incidents where we were reminded we were childless. Once, in Japan somewhere I think, when we gave the inevitable reply to the question of whether we had children, we received a very kind response from the questioner. The question didn't bother me, but the kind response did make me bristle a little, simply because I don't like the assumption that our situation deserves pity. But they were kind, not judgemental, and that was the key.

The second incident made me laugh a little. In Vietnam, we visited the My Son Sanctuary, a complex of ancient Hindu temples built from the 4th to the 13th centuries, still tucked away in the forest. A key feature of the temples was the focus on fertility, with altars in the shapes of male and female sexual organs. Our guide went on and on about them, talking about the people who would come and pray for fertility at the temples. It reminded me that I am linked to people who have experienced similar disappointments a thousand years ago.

Finally, after an hour or so, he asked us how many (not if) children we had. "None," we replied simultaneously. His eyes widened. I laughed. "We should have come here to ask for help!" I said. He didn't say anything. He clearly didn't know what to say, and I wondered if we were his first customers who had responded this way. I wondered what was going through his head. I wondered if he would do/say things differently in the future. What I didn't wonder was whether he pitied us. Because it didn't matter. We were in an amazing place, learning about a civilisation that was new to us, and I just felt fortunate to be there. (Well, despite the heat that had me streaming in sweat.) What was more disturbing to me was when he caressed part of the "female" part of the altar! (Though if I'm honest, that was actually very funny.)

Still, two incidents in seven weeks is pretty good if you ask me! For most of the time we were in that neutral space, where our No Kidding status - our childlessness - was irrelevant. Where we could concentrate on each other, on where we were, and on what we were seeing and doing.

Coming home too was easy. Well, as easy as three flights (one with a delay that saw us making a connection in the nick of time, one an overnight flight), and 24 hours travelling with virtually no sleep can be. We heard babies and children crying on the plane, one crying "mama" quite regularly, others being shushed, and we relaxed into our seats, with our pillows and blankets, our movies and (e)books. Being able to have 2 1/2 hours sleep yesterday afternoon helped a lot, though with children we may not have been able to do that either. And last night we relaxed and caught up on the last two episodes of GoT, rather than getting kids ready for school today.

Yes, we know how lucky we are.

If you made it through that, here are a couple of relevant pics:

Sensoji Temple, Tokyo
- my SIL and family went at night
because it was the only time they could do so.
I loved her photos, so we went too.

My Son Sanctuary -
where people prayed for fertility
hundreds of years ago.

Perpetuating the stereotype

Right now, I’m working on one of the stereotypes of the No Kidding. You know the one, that because we have (ahem) “nothing else in our lives” (apologies) we just travel the world. The words in quotation marks are so obviously wrong, when I look at my life and the lives of all the women I know who are in this No Kidding community, but they are so often behind the subtle digs of others.

I recently was on the wrong end of a subtle dig from someone in my life. She’s said openly and pointedly to me before that when old and dying, no-one wishes that they had travelled more. (I haven’t had a chance to point out that our FIL has openly said, now that he is unable to travel, that he wished he had done so much more in the thirty years since he retired.) This time, she noted that the only photos that matter are the photos of family and social get-togethers. This was after I had praised her for being good at her photos of people. Maybe I was being over sensitive, but it felt as if she was getting a subtle dig in at my nature (not high on her list of important things) and travel photography.

Comments like this have made me think about travelling and question why I like it, and what the point is of exploring the world. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it takes me out of myself, which is something this person could usefully try once in a while! Okay, that might not have been nice, but sometimes …

Anyway, my photos remind me, and others, of the beauty in this world, of our impact on others, on how lucky we really are, and of how important it is to be grateful for what we have, and where we live. I have no reason to be ashamed of that. In fact, I’m very proud of it.

So back to my first point. I’ve written before why I love travelling. Yes, my husband and I are that stereotype of the childless couple who travels. But here’s the thing. I would have travelled if I had had children too. It’s one of the sadnesses of my life, that I haven’t been able to share my joy in new places and new things with my children. I would have loved to share my love of Thailand with children, to have spoken Thai to them and introduced them to the country, the food (especially), and some of the culture and philosophy of sanuk (similar to joie de vivre) and sabai (calm and gratitude when everything is good). I don’t travel just because I am childless. I travel despite being childless.

So I try to share my love of travel indirectly with others. A friend went on safari with her boys after I had raved about it to them, and after they had questioned me and asked to see my photos, and at the age that I thought they would love it. They did. I think about families and their kids, and what the children would love or not love about particular locations. I would dearly love to travel with some of these families to see the look in my nieces’ and nephews’ eyes as they see something new for the first time. But they travel with their friends, or with people who have children who can play with their children. Not the boring old childless couple.

And so we travel alone. There's no alternative. Which is fine. I’m lucky though. Tremendously lucky. I have a husband who enjoys travelling, and is as enthusiastic about it as I am. (Though we do have different travel preferences!)

So this afternoon I have been furiously planning our next trip. There’s a lot to do. I need to make some bookings. I'll let you know when I have.

#Microblog Mondays: Coming home

We got home safely, taking a necessary detour up through the centre of the South Island, rather than along the beautiful coast road that has been destroyed in the earthquake, where the seabed has been lifted by two metres, and where lives and livelihoods have been destroyed. I felt guilty that I enjoyed the drive so much, over a mountain pass that I have only travelled once (I think) before and I had forgotten how beautiful it was, through lush green farmland, rocky hills, and dense native forest, with some obvious earthquake damage to roads and bridges on the way, though thankfully still navigable.

Getting home too was no problem, finding only that a few magazines had slid off a wonky pile, a book fell off my desk, and a pot had wobbled over. I am very thankful, as I didn't know how our house on stilts would fare in such a prolonged shake, and I know how lucky we have been so far, living only a few kilometres away from the city where buildings are being demolished as a result of earthquake damage.

Finally, a note to say that travelling in New Zealand in November was blissful for the No Kidding amongst us, as we encountered very few families with children (school isn't out yet, either for Kiwis or our tourists until December). We were able to relax and enjoy our trip, without reminders of our own situation or that of others, and without worrying about what others might be thinking of us.

The only time I was reminded that I didn't have children was an hour or so out of Wellington, on the deck of the ferry going through the Marlborough Sounds, when we got chatting to an American man who explained that he and his wife bring all their nieces and nephews to New Zealand as a college graduation present. They have visited here about five times (and the day before the election said that they were seriously considering moving here), and yes, you guessed it, they do this for their nieces and nephews because they don't have any children.
 

#Microblog Mondays: (More) Miscellaneous

I’ve been working on a number of longer posts (watch this space), and so haven’t posted mid-week this week, and didn’t have a pithy eight-sentence post ready for today either. Clearly, my plan to write a blog schedule has gone by the wayside, but hopefully you’ll see some evidence of my labours soon.

It’s my mother-in-law’s birthday on Wednesday, and I plan to bake her a birthday cake. I don’t get to bake birthday cakes for my never-born children, or for any nieces and nephews, so I’m quite happy to do it for my elderly in-laws. I’m thinking a lemon layer cake - because she lost a lot of her tastebuds several years ago with radiation treatment, but can still taste tart citrus flavours - but first I need to find a good recipe, and must remember to make sure I have the right pans before I start.

I am finally able to start thinking about where we might travel next, possibly in November or December when my husband’s contract will have ended. There are advantages to being unencumbered by the need to provide a memorable Christmas for any children, or to travel only during school holidays. Anyone have any suggestions of good destinations at that time of year?

A snapshot in time

I’ve occasionally read posts by people who, after they have had their babies, have wished that  they could send a snapshot of their lives today back to their younger selves, a year or two ago, so that they could see that they would be okay, that they would get their “happy ending.”

I read these posts, and wish too that I could take a snapshot of my life now, and send it back in time to show myself when I was "in the trenches," or just at the end of my journey (and the beginning of the next one). I wish that the woman who had been stuck in the trenches, or was enduring loss, or was suffering in those first days, weeks and months after learning I would never have any children, could see the snapshots I’d send now. Could see in fact, the snapshots I’d have sent over the last ten years. I wish those who are now right in the midst of despair could see themselves in the future – happy and fulfilled, not despairing or bitter or sad, not living grey lives of unremitting sadness. I know many of them can’t imagine they’ll ever be in that position. And don’t want to imagine this. But they will.

Still, which ones would I send?

I could send a snapshot of me sitting at the computer, volunteering, helping people who were going through loss and infertility, learning more about myself every day, feeling valued, and having that reinforced by responses like this:

“ … this year was made so much more bearable by your kind and thoughtful and encouraging words.”

I could send snapshots of my travels, perhaps most recently of me hiking up to the Monastery in Petra, at the start of a five-month trip, to show that there is still excitement and adventure in my future.

I could send a snapshot of me  (and my husband) meeting Klara (and her husband) for the first time, or of a reunion with my ectopic internet friends a few months later, still close after over ten years.

I could send a snapshot of me chairing the Board of Directors after we had signed a huge contract, feeling relatively confident (never 100% - that just feels like arrogance to me), and managing to herd difficult personalities towards a result I wanted.

I could send a snapshot of me with my nieces, young and old, enjoying their company, loving them, shopping for them, no longer afraid of the feelings they might prompt.

Or I could send a snapshot of my husband and I celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary, happy and enjoying life.

Just because we didn’t get the result everyone who is still “in the trenches” desperately wants (to put it mildly), we can still take snapshots to show that a No Kidding life doesn't feel empty or shallow, but rich and fulfilling. Although we can’t send a snapshot back in time to our younger selves, maybe there is as much or more value in these snapshots if we take them and show them to those who  follow.  

Gifts of Infertility Series - #9 - Our No Kidding Lifestyle

Finally I come to the obvious. One of the true gifts of infertility is living a No Kidding Lifestyle. I’ve blogged about the advantages of this before, so won’t wax lyrical about this. Not this time. No, I’ll just add a quick list below of my previous posts as a reminder. It is by no means exhaustive. Feel free to add more of your own.

• Cruising and adults only destinations and restaurants
• Being able to savour the moment
• Freedom from the school year calendar
• Sex
• Staying young
• My relationship
• Some of the joys of no kids
• The things I can do because I don’t have kids
• Not having to endure some of the negatives of having children
• More negative “what might have beens”
• A few more negatives we avoid
• Saving the world

Gifts of Infertility Series - #6 - New adventures in exotic lands

I have enjoyed a number of very special opportunities and experiences as a result of my infertility and loss. They range from simply meeting people I would not have otherwise met, to some fun experiences overseas:  

• That first raucous evening in an Italian restaurant in London back in January 2005, or a more recent meeting with friends at a pub in Reading
• My adventures in Coventry, Gloucestershire and Leicester, where I threw caution to the wind and stayed with people I had only ever met on the internet ... having invited myself!  (“They could be axe murderers for all you know,” said my slightly concerned husband.)
• A cream tea (I LOVE clotted cream) after exploring Warwick Castle with two of the axe murderers 
• Not-as-civilised-as-it-sounds-but-way-more-fun wine tasting in London with Sarah and Ruth on a warm summery day a few years later
• A day with the lovely Laura, exploring Westminster Abbey, pretending to shop for 4000 pound handbags in Harrods, and a champagne afternoon tea at Claridges (now one of my “must-dos” in London)
• Discovering the charms of English village life with Kathryn and her family, including a little one who shared a due date with my second lost little one
• Walking through a market in France with my internet friend who had flown in to Geneva specifically to spend a weekend with me and my Kiwi friend who was living there
• Discovering Slovenia, a country I may never have visited if it hadn’t been for Klara (and enjoying the delicious Lake Bled cream cake that it turns out is very similar to the Denheath custard square near my home town)
• A spectacular detour through the Dolomites a week or so later, as recommended by Klara’s husband.

One of the most special experiences, though, was attendance at the ectopic charity's ten-year birthday party in the House of Commons in London. It was very cool to be allowed into the Houses of Parliament, to stand in a room and look out of those windows at the river Thames, when normally I am on the other side, with a camera, photographing it from within. I loved emerging from the House of Commons as night fell, to take a photograph from inside the walls. And I was amused to see how the English love an afternoon tea, tucking in with relish! But of course what made this experience so special was that most (not all) my special friends were there. Some of us had a drink in the ancient pub on the corner beforehand, and later some of us squeezed into a taxi and headed off for dinner.

These are special memories, experiences I would never have had otherwise. And I hope for many return visits. But I hope there will be new experiences too, in the future, with some of you, in Canada and the US (California, Oregon and the East Coast), or Amsterdam, Sweden and Finland too.  And I have hosted visitors here in New Zealand too.  The fact that I hope to do this more in the future might seem obvious, but I have to say it too.

The key thing though is what brought us together.  We were more alike than we were different. Infertility and loss has made the world seem smaller. And that’s a wonderful thing.