Mum’s the word

Women want kids. And they want kids in a primal, undeniable sort of way.

I know someone who has chosen to remain in a loveless marriage. Because she wants to have kids. And nothing else matters. Even the minor fact that she cannot stand her husband. Her big plan is to have the kids, then leave the man. And who are we to judge?

Another woman I know of, has three gruelling jobs. She finishes one, then falls exhausted into the next, and the next. Her goal is to save enough so she can afford fertility treatment. Again, her biggest dream to have a child of her own.

I grew up with images of self-sacrificing mothers on countless Bollywood films. These women lived, and without a single thought about themselves even died, for their kids. Their lives were interspersed with much emotional wailing and chest beating, all proving the self-less nature of motherhood. They weren’t so much real women as one-dimensional cardboard creatures who existed solely for their kids.

Some of my friends seem made for motherhood. Their glowing smiles when they’re with their kids say it all. Overall, they find being a mum a life-changing, positive experience. And even when they crib about the mindless chores that motherhood involves– it seems that deep-down they really enjoy it.

Why then, am I not rushing to buy pregnancy kits? Or taking pills to boost my fertiltity? Or cooing at the sight of every person under the age of eight?

I’m rushing headlong into the end of my thirties. But I feel no ticking of the dreaded biological clock. I lie –  I do feel the odd twinge at the sight of cuddly babies swaddled in fluffy garments. But that’s where it ends. Show me a child above the age of one, and I’m happy to play with them. And, this is the most important bit, hand them back to their Mum and be on my merry way.

So this is the moot point – is there anything wrong with me?

A lot of women I meet, seem to think so. When I tell them that I’m childless by choice – the first look I get is shock, followed by intense almost instinctive distrust. As if, by making this choice, I have gone against Mother Nature. As if, it is the duty of even woman on this planet to procreate. And how dare I not do my bit?

I don’t claim to understand their dislike. But I can see where it comes from. Most of us women are wired to reproduce. In fact most of the choices we make in our adult lives whether it’s choosing our partner or buying a house – they are linked to our biological urge to have kids. And though we think it’s all down to rational decisions, science has proven otherwise.

But my point is – we are a long way from Neanderthal man or woman. Instead of tending the fire in the cave and waiting for our men to hunt and bring back the meat for dinner – we are putting on our corporate clothes and earning our own dinner. So things have moved on.

Women treat other women who cannot have children – with pity and sympathy. And the few of us who have chosen not to have kids – we get loathing and anger.

Men do not react in the same way. In fact, they understand that having kids is a huge responsibility.

I have nothing against motherhood. I am happy for my friends with kids – it seems an enriching, hugely beneficial decision for them. So my question to my fellow women is this – why are you not happy to leave me my choice?

I’d rather curl up on the sofa with a nice book than rush after a bawling child. I’d rather go dancing on a Saturday night than pick up the kids from dance class. I prefer conversation with interesting adults to baby talk with little ones.

I believe that if you have a child, you need to do everything in your power to give that child a good life. And often, that means you don’t have much of a life yourself. And I like my life – thank you very much.

Is that selfish perhaps? Probably. Does that make me a horrible person? Hell, no. Do I have to defend my decision every time I meet a new group of thirty-something women.  Unfortunately, yes.