People who have kids always try to make it a point to let you know:

A. They have kids.
B. You don’t have kids.
C. Your opinion doesn’t matter because you don’t have kids.


My heart breaks into two and my mouth does that odd thing where I try to smile to hide my tears, but it quivers and I feel previously open parts of my soul shut down.

I am aware everyday of my 30 year old existence that I don’t have kids. I am aware that while I was in college making straight A’s, my friends were building connections with lovers, purchasing homes, having families.

Now I am left in an unfit despair of nothingness and quiet mornings. Empty nights full of Netflix and crying. Hugging my cat when the human touch is lost.

I suppose people don’t know the words they say can sting like daggers. Suppose, maybe they do.