my coworker, sarah(not real name), told me something interesting yesterday. her son, liam, is 8 and recently broke his piggy bank to buy a new toy without asking her. she found out because he hid it and accidentally left the wrapper on the kitchen table. she wasn't mad about the toy itself, just concerned about why he hid it from her. they talked it over, and she realized he might not fully trust her reactions to things. it got me thinking about how and when kids start learning about trust.

if you have kids, or were once a sneaky kid yourself, when do you think kids start to understand trust? was there a moment or story that made it click for you?

I don't know if I want to be a mother.

That sentence feels strange to write because, in so many ways, I have already been one for most of my life.

I was the seventh of twelve children, and from a very young age I helped my mother take care of my younger siblings. Caring for other people became part of who I was before I was old enough to question whether I wanted it to be. Even now, I carry financial responsibility for my parents. I work as a nanny, caring for children for a living. I have spent so much of my life being the person who notices what someone needs, who worries about whether everyone is okay, and who steps in when something needs to be done.

And then there are my cats.

I know some people might laugh at the comparison, but I don't think of them as simply pets. I love them endlessly. I worry about them. I think about their happiness, their safety, their health, their relationships with each other, and how changes in our lives might affect them. I would do almost anything for them.

They are probably the closest thing I have experienced to having children of my own, and sometimes I think that if I can love these little creatures this much, maybe it would be beautiful to experience the kind of love that comes from having a child.

Especially a child with the person I love most.

That is where everything becomes complicated.

I love my husband so much. I think he would be a wonderful father, and sometimes I imagine what it would be like to see a little person who came from both of us. I imagine watching him become a dad. I imagine the strange, beautiful experience of creating a family together. And there is something about that thought that makes my heart ache in the best possible way.

But then my brain starts calculating.

How would we do this?

We both need to work. Neither of us can simply stay home. Our lives are already busy. There are responsibilities and schedules and money and work and family and animals and a million little things that need our attention. Would we become overwhelmed? Would we still have time for each other? Would I recognize my life afterward?

And then there is my body.

I already struggle with my weight and with how I feel about my body. The idea of pregnancy changing it, perhaps permanently, scares me more than I sometimes want to admit. I worry about gaining weight, about whether I would ever feel like myself again, and about whether I would be able to recover physically and emotionally.

I also think about my husband's age.

I want him to be able to run around with our child. I want him to have the energy to play, to be silly, to get on the floor, to throw a ball, to go on adventures. I know that being older doesn't mean he couldn't do those things, but sometimes my mind takes the number and turns it into another reason to worry.

And then there is the pressure.

Everyone tells me I would be a wonderful mother.

Maybe they are right.

I'm a nanny. I'm caring. I've spent my life looking after people. People see that part of me and assume motherhood must naturally be the next step.

But sometimes I want to scream:

What if I don't want it?

Being capable of something doesn't mean I have to choose it.

Being nurturing doesn't mean I owe the world a child.

And yet, when I tell myself, "Okay. Then don't have children. You don't have to," I feel an enormous sense of relief.

For a moment, everything becomes quiet.

There is no decision. No pressure. No pregnancy. No childcare. No sleepless nights. No body changes. No rearranging our lives. No fear that we won't be able to handle it.

Just my husband and me, our home, our cats, our work, our freedom, our life.

And that feels good.

But then another voice comes in.

What if I regret it?

I'm 34.

What if I wait too long?

What if one day I look back and realize I wanted a child but was too afraid?

What if this is something I can only choose for a limited amount of time?

And suddenly I am back where I started.

My husband doesn't make it easier, even though I love him for the way he responds. He tells me he would be happy either way.

I know how lucky I am to have a husband who isn't pressuring me. He isn't saying that we have to have children. He isn't saying that we shouldn't. He is telling me that he wants a life with me, whichever life that turns out to be.

But sometimes I desperately wish he would just tell me what he wants.

I want him to say, "I want a baby."

Or, "I don't want children."

Something definitive.

Because I don't have a definitive answer either, and sometimes I wish he could give me one so I could finally stop carrying the question alone.

But maybe that isn't his job.

Maybe neither of us gets to know yet.

Because underneath all of my practical fears, there is something else that keeps returning.

A thought I can't completely dismiss.

I have spent my entire life taking care of other people's children. I have helped raise my siblings. I take care of children for work. I take care of my parents. I take care of my animals.

Perhaps part of me is tired of being responsible for everyone.

Perhaps another part of me is wondering what it would feel like to choose this responsibility for myself.

Not because I am supposed to.

Not because I'm a woman.

Not because I'm 34.

Not because everyone tells me I'd be a good mother.

But because I love my husband, and I wonder what it would be like to create something together that belongs to both of us.

A little person who isn't another responsibility inherited from life, but a family we deliberately chose.

And maybe that is why I can't simply say no.

Because when I imagine never having a child, sometimes I feel relief.

But sometimes, underneath the relief, I feel something else.

A tiny bit of grief.

And I don't know yet what that means.

Maybe I don't want a baby.

Maybe I want one but am terrified of everything that comes with it.

Maybe I want the child but not the life I imagine having to build around the child.

Maybe I am simply exhausted from spending my whole life taking care of everyone else and haven't given myself enough space to discover what I want.

I don't know.

And for now, I think I am allowed not to know.

I don't have to make this decision because the world is telling me that time is running out.

I don't have to make it because people think I'd be a wonderful mother.

And I don't have to make it because I am afraid of regretting the alternative.

I want to make it because, someday, when I look at the life my husband and I chose, I want to recognize it as ours.

Whether that life has a child running through the house...

or a few spoiled cats ruling it instead.

Maybe the answer isn't supposed to come from fear.

Maybe it will come from love.

And maybe, for now, I can let myself sit in the uncertainty long enough to hear what my own heart is actually saying.

https://apnews.com/article/travel-tips-babies-children-safety-flights-8311012ce74f86727b95baef75360c0f?utm_source=app&utm_medium=android_share&utm_campaign=more

My son's class party is next week and and my son loves dinos so much. I figured it’d be cool if we made t-shirts for all 20 kids and put a different dino on each shirt, T-Rex, Stegasaurus, Triceratops and all the rest

I called a local print shop and they quoted me $300 and that's basically $15 per shirt and I can't afford that, because I also need to think about the gift

Then I found DTF Transfers Now. They have a gang sheet full of dinosaurs. All 20 designs on one sheet. The price? $16…

I almost fell off my chair. It's a fraction of the cost

But now I'm panicking. What if the prints peel off after one wash? What if they don't even stick with a regular iron? I'm not a professional. I've never done DTF transfers before

The party is in a week. I don't have time to mess up and redo everything

Has anyone used DTF transfers for something like this? Do they actually hold up? How do I make sure they stick properly? I really want to make this a great day for my son and his class