I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.
It was years ago.
I’d just got back from a jolly abroad and I was talking with a close family friend in their 50s about families and children. I was expressing how I didn’t really know if I wanted kids anymore. And if we were to have the conversation now, I’d be more convinced that I don’t.
(For context, I spent most of my teenage life dreaming about raising 5 children of my own, probably somewhere in the country, and they’d run to greet me after school everyday with open arms. Not just because I’d be holding another homemade cake.)
“Of course you’ll have kids, Gabs. Don’t be silly!” she told me. I was told it then, and I’m being told it now. By everyone. Despite telling people that I don’t think I want children when confronted with the question that seems to be more frequent this side of 25.
At the very least, it’s not a hard ‘no’. But right now, it’s close.
And at the very most, this change-of-heart is a feeling that I’ve been nurturing for a while. Yet it seems that everyone’s adamant to change my mind.
***
It’s ironic then, that I like kids. Love them, actually. I’m first to offer to hold a baby (that’s if I’ve managed to wait and not ask first), and I’m usually last to give them back.
I’m ‘good’ with children – I know how to turn a tantrum into a giggle. I find it effortless to pull silly faces at kids in supermarkets, to put real effort into giving each and every fictional character their own voice when reading to my nieces. And I know what to say and how to say it to lessen a worry a child might have to make them feel safe. Cared for. Loved.
I don’t have kids, but I reckon I’ve got instincts any Mother would be proud of. Even if that’s the type of Mum that ‘opens a bottle of wine as soon as she’s put the kids to bed’ – my ex always thought of me highly, eh. To be fair, I’ve barely proved him wrong – from what I remember of a 30th party the other weekend, I spent a large portion of the evening holding a friend’s baby in one hand, a glass of fizz in the other. There’s a new meaning of ‘celebrating life’ for you!
But that doesn’t mean that I want to have kids of my own. Or that I should want to have kids of my own. You can really like something or be really good at something but not want to pursue it. I mean, I love brownies and I’m pretty decent at making them, but I don’t want to bake for a career. You know?
***
I know that it’s easy to class my current undesire for children because I’m single. People tell me that if I met the right guy tomorrow and he wanted kids, I’d change my mind. If I met the right guy tomorrow, firstly – where the f*ck has he been hiding? And secondly, I don’t think that’d be the case at all.
***
The last few years have been a real ride in beginning to really understand who I am, what I (think I) stand for, what I believe in, what I disagree with, who I like, who I am, who I’m becoming, and who I want to be. It’s been bumpy, but it’s been joyous. And with each day, I’m more determined to not allow ‘some guy’ to unravel it. Even if he was Mr Right, unreserved about saying what he really wanted – kids. Because I’m also no longer naïve enough to believe that Mr Right isn’t just Mr Right Now in disguise.
***
So what’s brought this to the surface? Well, everyone’s got an opinion on everyone. God, it’s exhausting! And everyone seems to have this opinion of me that I’m hiding some inner desire to have children behind being daft or stubborn or silly or resentful of being single.
Even if I was, can’t we just let it be?
Not everything is linear, and I’m fast-realising a life that takes more of a squiggly and adventurous line is more my thing, anyway. And I really just don’t relate to that ‘burning desire’ that so many of my girlfriends speak of about having a baby. And that should be enough.
***
I could end it there, but what’s a piece on here without mention of a guy?
A couple months ago, I went on a date with a man in his thirties. Everything was ready – he’d booked a wine bar, I’d thought hard-enough but not-too-hard about what I was going to wear, and we’d exchanged a few voicenotes in the run up to the date.
(I figure that I probably wouldn’t go on a date now having not received a voicenote first – I don’t think I’m quite old enough to vet a date by Facetiming them beforehand, but voicenoting’s definitely the first step. And bloody insightful, too.)
During the pre-date messages, I managed to establish a lot about this guy. Let’s call him… Tom.
1.Tom has a very large dog (not a euphemism) that he’s very precious about (again, not a euphemism).
2.Tom likes wine (yay), and he likes wine enough to sustain days’ worth of messages about wine (double yay).
3.Tom was meant to get married this summer. (…)
He seemed surprised the latter point didn’t put me off. I mean, I can see why it might put some people off, but we’ve all got a past, right? I’m sure we could’ve all nearly been engaged or married to the wrong person at some point – you or I just happened to make an escape just in time. So it’s no surprise that this particular topic led onto some big questions – and despite these being prior to a first date, I felt glad.
Because he asked me if I wanted kids. (He also laughed at what initially felt like rather an outrageous question.) And knowing how I feel, I didn’t want to waste his time. If this guy’s absolute desire was to have three hundred children, I really was not the girl for him.
I typed, deleted, re-typed a message, ultimately scrapping many drafts for a really honest voicenote. (Again, voicenotes for the win.) I said that right here, right now, no. No, I don’t think I want children.
I gave him the whole sha-bang of how I’ve gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. That things change and maybe one day, I might feel those desires again. But right now, I couldn’t relate to 15-year-old-me any less. Worth us still going on a date?
***
We did meet for wine. We shared hours of conversation. He told me about his big car (still not a euphemism) and I remember thinking that it was definitely a family car in disguise. But I could tell Tom yearned for children, and I saw Tom just the once more.
***
If I could invent a word, it would be one that depicts ‘selfish’ as a good thing – when you do something for yourself but it doesn’t negatively impact anyone else. Like having a large glass of wine in a bath full of bubbles on a Friday evening. I can’t explain it, but I hope you get where I’m trying to go with this.
And yes, maybe I’ve got too used to being single. Selfish. This other word I’m trying to coin. But what’s the alternative?
I still feel like I’ve got so much of the world to explore before I feel like I’ll be ready to contemplate settling down, having kids, getting a dog – doing what we’ve been conditioned to do for so many years. That’s not to say these things stop if you have kids. Or marry. Or do any of those gorgeous life events.
But I can’t relate. Because I’ve never been more young, free, or single, or with less responsibility than I have now. My ovaries aren’t burning, but my desire for adventure is – and that’s something I want to do for me, not anyone else.
***
I’ll leave you with this – I’ve the fondest memories of my childhood. Of the relationships I shared with my parents growing up and that’ve been nurtured into nothing short of special into my adulthood, too. For those of you that know Dave and Lou, you’ll understand that few words suffice for what we share. And if you don’t, re-read that last sentence.
Not wanting my own children – least right now – is most certainly not a reflection of being a child myself. If anything, I’m inclined to say it’s the opposite. Only future me knows how it’ll pan out. But what I do know right now is this – if I do have children, I’d want them to have nothing short of the advice, freedom, and support in any and every decision (no matter how wild) that I had from my parents. And still have. Alongside their unwavering ‘just be who you want to be, Gabs’.
And if that means in ten years, I’m nursing my second child (and eating some humble pie) reading this back thinking ‘if only you knew’, then that’s ok. More than ok. People are allowed to change their minds. God knows I do that plenty…
Leave a comment