I’ve been close with the same group of girlfriends since high school—five of us in total. They all have kids now, while I’ve chosen a child-free life. We still meet monthly for dinner, and recently they decided to hire a babysitter so we could enjoy uninterrupted adult time. The sitter costs $100 for a few hours, and we rotate who pays for dinner. This time, it was my turn, so I paid the restaurant bill. But when I got home, I was blindsided by angry texts saying I also owed $100 for the babysitter. I was stunned.
They claimed that since I got to enjoy a kid-free evening, I should help cover the sitter’s fee. I pushed back—“I don’t have kids. Why should I pay for your babysitter?” Their response? “You still benefit from the night out.” That logic felt twisted. I hadn’t agreed to this arrangement, and no one had even asked me beforehand. They just assumed I’d be fine with it. I felt cornered, like my boundaries were being ignored in favor of their convenience.
I love my friends, but this felt unfair. I didn’t choose to have kids, and I certainly didn’t agree to subsidize their parenting choices. It’s not about the money—it’s about the principle. I’m being asked to pay for something that doesn’t involve me, and I’m expected to do it without discussion. That’s not friendship; that’s entitlement. I’ve refused to pay, but now I’m the villain in their eyes. It’s isolating, and I’m questioning whether our bond can survive this.
The online response was overwhelmingly in my favor. Parents and child-free folks alike agreed: no one should expect others to fund their childcare. One commenter said, “Kids are extra, and anyone choosing to have them knows this.” Another added, “Four people can’t each pay $25?” It’s comforting to know I’m not alone, but it’s heartbreaking that my friends don’t see it that way. I just wanted a night out—not a moral battle over babysitting fees.
