They Don't Pay Me Enough

There is no other way to say it. International airline travel sucks.  I had two flights each way.  There, it was 5 hours plus another 8. On the way home it was 10 hours plus 6.  I splurged on a pricier neck pillow, and the recline angle was pretty decent, but sleeping while sitting up is no fun.  It's just not natural to sit in such tight quarters for that long. Ridiculous even. Like how? But if you want to walk the cobblestone streets of Paris it's what you have to do. When your husband is living overseas it's what you have to do. 

Rome, Italy

This trip wasn't planned, but if I was a regular wife it would have been. You know, the kind of wife who says, "Sure I'd love to honey! When do I leave?" when her husband asks her to come to Germany and stay at a romantic lodge in the mountains of outer Bavaria.  Who wouldn't want to get away and enjoy that with their husband?

Well not me, because I'm not a regular wife.  We talked about it in August. Well, texted about it, because sometimes you just don't get around to talking about all the things you mean to when your husband lives nine hours ahead.

"Impossible," I said. 

Because it was. There isn't any possible way that I can get away for that long during that time of year.  I have one job! And it's showtime. The work floods in on the 18th, and I have a hard deadline on December 2nd.  Like really hard, as in the most important and biggest deadline of the year.  We lose 2 days for the holidays, but if I went to Germany when he wanted I'd have exactly 4 days (Tuesday to Friday) to do five times the amount of work that I would normally have 10 days to complete.   Impossible.  I could swing an extra 2 days max, but who spends 15 hours and a cool G on a flight for a 6 day visit? I really wanted to, but it was impractical, and I am nothing if not practical.  

I would see him two weeks later for Christmas and that was that because that's life and you simply don't always get what you want.

We didn't talk about it again until much later. We had a nice week together in Hawaii, but as Thanksgiving approached I knew something was wrong.  We don't argue, but for two months I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach I couldn't shake. Hawaii was weird. Something was wrong, and when I flat out asked him what it was, I found out he had stronger feelings about the situation than he let on.  Election day was hyper emotionally charged for more reasons than one.

"Well, it's too late now," he said.

"Probably, but it wouldn't hurt to look."

So I looked, and my heat sank, because the cost was $600 more than when I was "just browsing" in August.  Yes, there was a total breakdown in communication.  We should have had that conversation a heck of a lot earlier, but the bottom line is that I should have known. I should have known that it was not okay leave him alone for Thanksgiving, and I had to fix it.

 

"It's way too much money," he said.

"I know.  Way too much, but I'm tempted to do it anyway."   

I mulled it over.  I talked to my mom.  I called my boss at home.  What would the lead girl in the Rom-Com do in this situation? She would cancel her airline ticket to Vegas and book the damn ticket to Stuttgart. She would do whatever it took to get to her man.

I'm not the type to say screw them, they'll figure it out.  That's not me.  I'm the girl who tried to come back to work 2 weeks post op, but stretched it to 3 because I was told to stay home, and then worked in pain all week because of the very same deadline that was keeping me from my husband.  I offered to work from home while I was in Germany, and I still didn't know how I'd get all the work done, but it was the only option I could come up with.  Mind you, it doesn't really work like that in our office, but desperate times called for desperate measures.  I had to make this happen.  I booked the flight on Friday and one week later, I was on a long ass flight to Stuttgart.  No easy task for someone who suffers from travel induced anxiety.

At least they keep you occupied on international flights. Plenty of movies to choose from.  I watched four on the way there, and five on the way back.  Five!  High Strung has to be one of the most cliche dance movies that ever lived.  Dance battles in the subway station, spontaneous dancing on table tops, a scholarship at stake, and a love that depends on winning it all in a dance competition.  Loved it! I was ready to try for a nap until I saw that and it passed another 1 1/2 of time.  

My meal after I demolished the chicken

You get hot towels before meals, and there were two (plus dessert) sandwiched between 3 beverage services giving me the opportunity for two glasses of wine plus coffee. I had three on the way home, and those flight attendants are not nearly as stingy with their pours as bartenders.  The food is good and perfectly designed to fill you up.  They offered it, and I ate it.  Eating is something to do.  They feed you on short flights too.  We had quiche on the way to Rome.  They make you feel so cared for, and then you get on a domestic flight and feel like a squatter who is lucky to have a bag of peanuts tossed in your direction.

Stuttgart, Germany

I imagine that in the movies the girl would have surprised her man. She would have booked the flight without a word and showed up at her husbands apartment triumphantly, suitcases in hand, and a loving smile on her face.  But this is me we're talking about, and as romantic as the idea of a surprise trip across the country is, I live in reality.  I needed his input just to get the flight booked.  The sappy music montage cutting between me navigating the transportation system of Stuttgart and my lonely husband on the couch drinking hard alcohol straight out of the bottle, would never happen.  It turns out that his apartment is pretty secure.  You can't get past the outer door without a pass key.  Also, I am so directionally challenged that I would have been lost and stranded somewhere in Stuttgart, and if by some miracle I managed to find his apartment he wouldn't be around.  My husband isn't one to sit idly or drown his sorrows in alcohol.  He would have made other plans and been long gone. 

It was still pretty perfect.  I headed through customs, then into baggage claim and looked for him in the crowd standing behind the glass.  He waved.  You guys, my husband is so cute.  I waited for my luggage and when I saw him in new cold weather active wear I'd never seen before I knew I made the right decision and that whatever I had to deal with to make it happen was well worth it.  He made a similar sacrifice for me, because he knew how important it was to me that he be in Hawaii, and I needed to do the same for him.

The price of that last minute ticket was utterly outrageous, and totally impractical, but the most practical choice isn't always the right one. Once I decided I needed to get to Stuttgart, the price didn't matter.  What mattered is that I was there for my husband, and we got to be together.  I got a chance to see what his life is like in Germany.  We ate Italian food in Italy, drank beer in Germany, and got to sleep in the same bed for nine nights.  You can't put a price tag on that, and when it comes down to it, they don't pay me enough to put work before my marriage.

When Your Husband Gets His Own Apartment

It's a bit unsettling when you find out that your husband is getting his own fancy apartment.  It's weird to think of him paying rent on a separate home, sleeping on sheets I will never wash, while living in a place I may never see.  A place that is not our house where we live, together.  I've been replaced with a weekly cleaning lady so I think he's going to come home more spoiled then he left.  I know it's because of work and is only temporary, but still.  It's kinda weird that he's living the downtown high rise pedestrian lifestyle dream in a faraway city without me.

A photo posted by Cece (@mahoganydrive) on Jul 30, 2016 at 7:32pm PDT

You'd think I would have been prepared when he left, but nope.  I wasn't.  Not prepared at all, because emotional limbo is no kind of preparation at all.  It's one thing to be told something is happening, but until you have a date being strung along for seven months causes nothing but turmoil.  I went on two trips, not really knowing for sure if he'd still be there when I got back.  Any day now. He's still here.  Departure date unknown.  He's still here.  The 15th.  He's still here.  Any week now.  He's still here.  No information, no news, no date.  He's still here.  Next Friday.  He's still here.  My friend said, well at least you have a date now, but what she didn't understand is that we've had several dates since January and yet...he's still here.   He got paid to sit in his bean bag for the month of January, and had his last day of work twice and went back by the time he finally left.  Of course I was thrilled to have him as long as I could, but the uncertainty and the inability to plan was maddening.  I quit working out after I got back from Vegas.  I just wanted to be around him.  I didn't want to be rushing from work to home to exercise to shower to dinner to bed during his last days here.  We finally got word from the Army, that he was leaving for real for real, just days before he hopped on a plane.  And of course it fell on a day I was supposed to be out of town.  I mean, who can realistically pack up their life to live abroad with a few days notice and not lose their mind?  Not me.  Oh no.  Not me, but fortunately I'm not the one who had to do it and MJ keeps it cool.  Somehow he keeps his wits about him and gets on with it, meanwhile I'm an angry hot mess over the entire situation.

He finally gets to book a flight and then it gets canceled.  Now he is leaving in the afternoon instead of the morning so I can't even drop him off at the airport.  Had I known he was leaving that day I wouldn't have made plans to be in L.A. all day, but nobody could give us that key piece of information until it was too late.  Skipping it would have given me about four extra hours with MJ and allowed me to take him to the airport, but then what?  The outcome is the same.  My husband is leaving.  The good-bye will happen, and there is no getting around it.  So I left for LA as late as I could and cherished the time we had together that morning.  I think it was harder saying good-bye at home because we didn't have the TSA airport drop off rules nudging us along.  I had to walk out of the house, leave him there, get in my car, drive away, and when I got home he would poof be gone.  So I hit the road for LA.  I watched my cousin perform in a three hour long Debbie Allen Dance Academy Summer Intensive recital and enjoyed dinner with my family.  I was just fine, until I walked in the door and burst into tears because he left Kohl's cash for me on the counter.  Then I cried when I smelled fresh Island breeze scent because he plugged in the wall flowers we picked out at Bath & Body Works yesterday before our last date night.  Pizza.  His choice.  Then I cried some more because the laundry was folded, and just when I thought I couldn't possibly cry any harder I cried because he left the sweetest handwritten note on my nightstand.  He was long gone by the time I got home last night, but I could still feel his presence.  He was just here.

The downtown bachelor pad

Timing is tricky because Germany is nine hours ahead, but we text all we want on WhatsApp for free and I look forward to Face Time.  I'm not the type that needs to talk to him daily, but I do need proof of life every other day and get ansty if I don't get to see his face for too long.  I need a picture, Face Time.  Something.  When we stay connected in some way I can kind of pretend we are still hanging out.  Like, maybe he's not really living in his very own bachelor pad in another country 6,000 away.

One month down, four to go...unless they need him to stay longer.  But of course we won't have an answer on that for a while.

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I Fell in Love With My Husband at Souplantation

I've been dating my husband for eight years.  I love it.  I don't have to worry about not liking him and figuring out a way to get him to stop calling me. I don't have to worry about doing something stupid and being embarrassed or whether or not he likes me.   I don't have to wonder if we will kiss at the end of the night, or if I should go to bed with him.  The best thing about dating your own husband is that it's a sure thing.  You know exactly what you are getting, yet sometimes he surprises you and you already know the date is going to be great just because you are with him.  Dating for singles?  Not so much.  I look back on my dating days with a mixture of fondness and aversion. Yes, it was fun sometimes.  The free dinners, the flirtation, the anticipation; but it was also exhausting and annoying.  I was a late bloomer and spent a ridiculously long time in my very first relationship.  I was only part of the dating world for exactly three years of my life.  It was plenty.

Date #4 and our first picture together:  April 12, 2008

Back in the old days before Tinder and Snap Chat, when online dating was still a brave new frontier I met my husband the old fashioned way.  A blind date.  It was raining that night.  I waited under an overhang of the convention center, until I saw his silver SUV pull up to the Marriott hotel and made a mad dash to his car huddled under my umbrella so as not to ruin my professionally done hair and airbrush make-up.  I had just finished a modeling gig so the first time he laid eyes on me, I was the hottest version of myself.

I opened the door and jumped in.  "Hello."  And I found myself sitting next to a man with a boat load of crap in the back of his SUV who would later become my husband.  He had just returned to California after three months in Arizona.  We made a quick decision to go to T.G.I. Friday's downtown because it was close.  We both ordered dinner salads.  We laughed.  He checked out my butt when I got up to go to the bathroom.  I didn't find that out until later, but I was hoping because I knew I looked good that night, and who doesn't want to be admired?  After the check came, he dropped me off where I'd parked my car.

They say first impressions are everything and I agree.   The one and done thing was not new to me.  There were guys I would go on one dinner date with and know that I didn't want to ever see them again.  It didn't even have to be anything major. If I wasn't as attracted to him in person as I was to his online profile, or if he was geographically undesirable, there was a good chance it wasn't going to work.  If the conversation was forced, or I just wasn't that interested for whatever reasons, it probably wasn't going to work.  I was quick to judge, but I had a heart.  I felt guilty having him treat me a second time for no reason.  I was living alone, and working part-time while modeling part time.  I didn't have the desire to spend time and money or burn through gas for just anyone.  It just wasn't that serious.  If I wasn't feeling it, your calls would be ignored, and there would not be a second date.

I wasn't so sure about a second date with MJ, but it wasn't a hard no.  I also wasn't that sure about an all day date, but he called and I said yes.  He planned everything.  There was go cart racing, pizza eating, kite flying and an almost movie.  We held hands briefly in Walmart.  It was great.  He was great, but it was a long day, and the homebody in me was ready to go home.  I liked him, but I didn't know if I liked him, liked him.  I wasn't ready to commit to three more hours, or a third date.  We sat in the parking lot of the movie theater and talked for an hour instead, and then he took me home.  It was the sweetest, and funnest date I'd ever been on, and yet still, I wasn't sold.

I distinctly remember telling my parents that I didn't feel like going on that third date.

It was my Birthday, and they had taken me to Outback Steakhouse for dinner.  "I don't know mom.  I think I just want to go home after work.  It will be such a long day."

He was cute; and I genuinely laughed when I was with him like I had not done with anyone else, but I was sort of just dating to date.  I really didn't care all that much about having a boyfriend.  I'd been through a lot, was still going through a lot, and felt like damaged goods; better off alone.  It was a Wednesday.  April 2nd to be exact.  I stopped at Walmart to get some grocery shopping done, because there was time to kill between work and our thired date which was to be a basketball game and dinner.  Recreational Basketball; and he was playing.  I sat in the bleachers and watched him run up and down the court with a bunch of other guys in their twenties and thirties.  I don't remember if they won or lost.  I wonder if he does?  Afterwards we went straight to Souplantation, because it was close.  It was actually a step down from T.G.I. Friday if anything.  Him in his basketball gear, and me in whatever it was I wore to work that day, minus the glamour shot look.

Precisely nine days after Souplantation I was in my car on a Friday night driving 1 1/2 hours and almost 100 miles to his house.  I actually wasn't supposed to go up there until the next day, but I'd packed a bag before meeting up with my girlfriends secretly hoping that when I called he would say yes.  Little did I know that his apartment was a mess and the second he hung up with me, he scrambled around his apartment in a mad dash to clean up.

Date #384 something...I lost count (2016)

Needless to say, that third date went exceedingly well, and to this day I can't really explain why.  It was just Souplantation.  There are so many things that can go wrong on those first few dates, but also so much that can go right. He could have been turned off my my heavy make-up  on the first date, or disappointed by my lack thereof on the second.  I could have thought it weird that he ordered a salad, or offended that he would invite me to Souplantation in his sweaty gym clothes.  I could have bailed on that third date because I was tired.  I never called him during those early days.  He could have sensed my reluctance and backed off.  I could have listened to that voice in my head telling me I didn't deserve a man so kind.  He could have given up when I tried to run.  I could have sent him to the place where most men who dated me at that time ended up.  Away.  But I didn't.  Because I fell in love with him at Souplantation, and thank goodness because I would have missed out on so much.  I didn't know it was happening at the time, but we talked and talked in between helpings from the buffet, and something shifted.  Not only did I want to see this guy again.  I needed to.

The fourth date was a romantic gondola ride through the canals of Long Beach while we sipped wine and nibbled from an antipasto platter.  It was BYOB, and we searched and searched for a liquor store to buy the wine.  He carried me on his back for a few blocks when my feet got tired, and we laughed in relief when we made it to the boat on time.  It was our fanciest date yet, but from the beginning none of that mattered.  I didn't care if date night was eating chicken and rice bowls with beer and watching movies at home or making homemade Mexican pizza from one of his recipe books.  I didn't care how much money I spent driving to Orange County every weekend.  I had an SUV.  I couldn't afford it, but I did it anyway.  I didn't care how early I had to get up on Monday morning to get to work, if it meant I could stay an extra night.  It didn't bother me anymore that he was four years younger than me.  I was no longer dating just to date.  This man had stolen my heart, and there was nothing I could do about it.

He was hooked on day one (baby, you know its true).  It took me eighteen days from blind date to smitten, and my only regret is that instead of just sitting back and enjoying the ride, I tried to push him away.  We've traveled Europe, Hawaii times three, dined on rooftops, danced on cruise ships, and eaten $100 steaks, but I fell in love with him at Souplantation, and it doesn't get any better than that.

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We Don't Want Kids

One weekend stands out in my head for the crystal clear lens through which it showed me how different we are from everyone else.  It started with my high school reunion.  At the first one you are an oddity one step away from cat lady status if you aren't married but at reunion number two you are a freak of nature if you don't have at least one or two kids at home.  I found myself saying we don't have kids, so we travel a lot.  Repeatedly.  They wanted answers and I didn't want to go into it so that was the easiest thing to say. "No kids?" a former classmate said in confusion.  "Wow. Your life is a fairy tale."  And I guess in a way it sort of is, when you consider how rare the childfree choice is. 

The next day was a pool party and it isn't a party in your thirties without at least one child present.  One baby made an appearance at my high school reunion and at the party all married couples present had kids except us.  The following day we attended our very first pony party.  Things like that happen when all of your friends have kids.  We were the only childfree couple which I would totally expect for a pony party considering the weight limit is 100 lbs, but at least we have the kind of friends where you can always expect adult beverages even when the guest of honor is four.  It was a busy weekend, and I was very tired by the end of it.  I came home and took a long hot uninterrupted shower while my husband retreated to his Xbox.  I had no obligations that needed immediate attention so I fell into an exhausted slumber while I imagined our friends hustling home with kids in tow to the non stop marathon that has become their life.  I'm pretty sure there was no nap or leisurely lounging about the couch in their future.  Every single thing we did that weekend, even the nap was reminder that we are the only ones our age without kids. Not on the planet, although it feels like that sometimes, but at least in our social circle and among those around us.

No kids in your thirties is a fairly unpaved and little trodden path it seems.  In your twenties and early thirties, there are rumblings of three kinds among childfree couples not actively trying to conceive.

A.  We definitely want kids but aren't ready yet.

B.  We aren't sure about kids.  Maybe someday. 

C.  We aren't interested in kids and don't want any.

We are in category C, not interested don't want any group, but it was automatically assumed that we would shift up to category B and then ultimately land on category A at some point.  I mean, everybody does because everybody wants kids right?  And even if you don't, you do it anyway because the maternal instincts are so powerful.  If they don't get you, then eventually you succumb to the pressure of the masses.  It's not uncommon for women in their twenties to still be in their so called "selfish" phase where they are not willing to hand over their life to a child, but as you mature and it becomes the norm among your peers it seems like the natural step.  Even if you were against it, you start to see it as something you want.  If everyone else has abandoned their fears, turned their body into an incubator/food source, totally upended their lives, given up sleep, and freedom to move about the world then made it sound like the best thing in the whole wide world it must be the thing to do.  Preferably, before it gets too late because after you have one, chances are you will spawn another even if you don't know it yet because that's what people do.

You are not alone in your twenties, but the thirties separate the ones who were serious about not having kids from the ones who simply weren't ready.  It's been well over a year since the last hold out in our group had their first and they are already speaking about seconds while the ones who took the plunge years before already have.   Unlike most people we haven't shifted up from category C.  Do you know that some people have told me that they didn't even know it was an option NOT to have kids?  They get this dumbfounded look on their face when I tell them.  "Yes, it's true.  You don't have to have kids.  You can if you want to, but you don't have to.”  Mind blown.  When we say we don't have kids we feel the pink elephant sitting in the corner with large round questioning eyes.  If we don't say it first, they inevitably ask because people are very bold about sticking their noses into the reproductive lives of others.  Also, it's just that much of an oddity to come across a stable married couple of our age who have not gotten around to procreation that even if they had the restraint to refrain from asking a newlywed couple in their twenties they are probably going to ask us. "Why not?"  

From our 2010 wedding

We happily jumped on the home ownership and wedding wagon but the baby train has yet to leave the station and it's kind of a strange place to be right now.  What started with weddings, turned into baby showers, and shifted into birthday parties.  The number of kids at get togethers has multiplied and the dynamic of outings has shifted to accommodate friends with kids.  It used to be that my husband's friends could plan a bike ride or a group dinner with one week notice but the call for social outings are fewer and far between and  group sports have fallen by the wayside.  The social reservoir available to parents juggling life and children seems to have officially run dry.  There is childcare to arrange, time and energy already stretched to the breaking point, and a serious case of chronic sleep deprivation going around.  I'm happy to still have the freedom they don't, but also can't help feeling left out even though it's something that I never wanted in the first place.

I'm not a woman who always wanted a child, but it is really bizarre how you can know one thing and yet your body tells you something entirely different.  The maternal instincts didn't start kicking until my thirties after my nephew was born and after all of my peers had already started doing it. There was a tug of war happening between what I know to be true and instincts beyond my control.  Maternal instincts and the babies of Instagram with their tiny moccasins and gummy grins are an inescapable duo.  Cunning.  Convincing.  Impossible to ignore.  My body ached with the want of it even though it is something I didn't want.  I don't want the physical, emotional and financial strain that goes along with bringing another person into this world and yet maternal instincts threatened to convince me of otherwise.  My mind is objective and calculated but my heart was driven by emotions beyond my control.  I wavered slightly, he did not.  The important thing is that we have always been on the same page regarding this matter, but it should be noted that had he not been so steadfast in his position things could have turned out differently. 

If I see one more bump date, have another baby poop conversation or hear one more person say "it's so worth it," I think I will scream.  Hold on a moment while I stifle that scream with my hands.  Don't worry, it's not you, it's me and it's the same phenomenon that occurs anytime you buck the trend.  I imagine that people who don't believe in home ownership or marriage understand.  Everyone else is on board but you haven't quite bought into the notion that it could make a wonderful difference in your life.  When they say how awesome it is you can't relate and grow tired of feeling the need to defend your choices. The entire world is talking about it, dreaming about it, hoping for it, doing it and you are not.  Having it in your face day in day out starts to feel like a tiresome barrage you can't escape.

I may be tired of hearing it, but I believe you when you say it's worth it.  Once you have a person in front of you that you created it's pretty crappy to say oops we changed our mind it's not working out and we don't like you very much.  There is no going back when it comes to parenthood.  Even parents who feel that way are hard pressed to verbalize such thoughts because this is a helpless little person that you have agreed to take care of for a very long time.  They may drive you crazy with their ability to do nothing but poop, eat, cry, yet control everything and spend all the money, but they need you and you love them fiercely if for no other reason than because they are yours.  As ambivalent as I am I'm quite sure I'd feel the same.  The difference is that I'm not willing to accept the end of life as I know it and the ensuing trials and tribulations in exchange for being the one saying those words.  I'm not a monster.  I am not immune to those adorable baby leg rolls, round tummies and tiny dimpled hands.  Babies are indeed precious.  I adore my nephew.  He is the sweetest thing ever.  His hugs and sweet smiles melt my heart.  I admit, I'm torn between wanting to send him home with mom and wanting him for myself but they don't stay little forever and behind every adorable baby is a mountain of struggles that I don't want to have.

The DINK life suits us well.  Dual income no kids, for those who don't know.  I really enjoy the time that we have to ourselves, the vacations we get to take and a life I don't have to try to split between work, finances, self, spouse and child which seems to be an impossible tug of war that nobody wins. It's startlingly sad how little time working parents get to spend with their children and I barely have enough time and energy for myself let alone a kid who wakes up at the crack of dawn and needs to be entertained all day long.  We get to come and go as we please and our life is our own.  Pregnancy and childbirth sound awful. I'm glad I'll never have to do it. And then there is the money.  Money doesn't buy happiness but you are lying to yourself if you say it can't help.  People with less income have multiple children and I don't believe I can afford one.  They say you never believe you have enough and that you figure it out but I am the stubborn sort.  I don't want to just figure it out.  If I can't do it the way I want to then I don't want to do it all.

I realize that there are things we might miss out on.  I say might because nothing is a given when you have a child.  It is 100% fueled by hope, and just doing your best.  I won't ever know what our child might have looked like, what they would have done with their life or what joys they might have brought to ours.  I won't ever know what it's like for someone to call me mom or experience that parent child bond.  We are a family of two.  We won't have anyone to take care of us when we are old, because you know, having children definitely guarantees that.  

The childfree choice can be a lonely path.  The gap widens between yourself and everyone else. Children present their own set of challenges to relationships but so does not having them.    Our first few years together were a whirlwind with the house hunting, the wedding and everything that goes into early stages of building a life together.  Then it all stopped, and it hit me that this is it.  It is just us and this is how it will be for the foreseeable future. Without bath time, story time and car pools there are no distractions and no kids to shake things up.  Our relationship is what we make it just the two of us, for better or for worse now and ten years from now.  We have to be okay with that.  Part of me wishes I wanted kids just so I can be like everyone else, but I can't do it because everybody else is doing it.  I can't do it because babies are so cute and I certainly can't do it out of fear of future regret that may or may not ever occur.  Some call it selfish.  Some call it lazy.  Others just call it weird.  I call it making a rational, informed, practical decision that is right for us.  We decided the cons outweighed the pros.  We decided we are enough for each other.   

We don't want kids, so we aren't having any.

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