It’s been three years since I had my fallopian tubes removed (a.k.a. elective tubal saplingectomy surgery). 

Other than the initial consultation with my doctor (she trusted me to make decisions about my body without question — shocking behavior), the process was unremarkable: a few hours in a hospital on the really good drugs, a few days of rest and taking it slow, and tiny twin incisions on my lower abdomen that, three years later, are almost gone. ¡Voila! A vision made real: no bebes, ever. 

It’s a fact of life that I rarely consider. Until it comes up with new doctors. “Are you on birth control?” “Nope!” I chirp. “Sterilized.” Or watching U.S. abortion laws trend toward Handmaid’s Tale, when I’m enraged and relieved that I saw the writing on the wall with Kavanaugh’s appointment to the Supreme Court. 

I still get the occasional “Don’t you worry you’ll regret it later?” or “What if you meet a man who wants kids?” from new acquaintaces. My answers haven’t changed. 

I’d rather regret not having children than have children I regret. The former, I can survive. The latter — burdening a child with ambivalent parenting because I was afraid to die alone or needed to validate my life by creating another — I could not bear.

As far as hypothetical unicorn men whose love will be worth taking on a responsibility I never wanted… I made this choice to deter them, specifically. I’ve endured enough “I can change her mind” from sneaky suitors with little storks hiding behind their eyes. I am not the Duke of Hastings and you are not Daphne Bridgerton. My Improbable Happily Ever After will not include a baby trope.

[But, please. If you look like Regé Jean Page and offer a lifetime of witty banter, travel, museum-frollicking, and child-free fucking all over your palatial estate, I’m your girl. No worries about non-consentual impregnation here.]

I marked this day on the calendar last year to start commemorating it. Not as a child-free alternative to celebrating a child’s birthday (I might have a five-year anniversary shindig where I collect on the many baby shower gifts I’ve purchased over the years), but to recognize making my desires manifest.

It’s my dream come true. Odd for the absence of a thing to be a goal, but for years, I knew I didn’t want children while fearing that fate would take the decision out of my hands. So today, to quote President Bill Pullman, I celebrate my independence. The day I declared to the world that my life and body were mine. 

Happy January 17th.

Different context. Same vibes.