Listen to this story being read by Jess Kingston, here.
When I was 31, I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I was married and I lived in a lovely home, but I also felt restless and unfulfilled. I’d spent years building a career in HR that I wasn’t sure I really wanted any more.
Questions about childbirth (answered by mums and non-mums). Post continues below.
“What you need is a baby,” sniffed a family friend. This was the first comment in what was soon to be an ever-growing cacophony.
I’d never have to worry about what to do with myself ever again, I was told, because I could focus all my energy on a new little person instead.
People reasoned that it might actually be selfish not to have at least one child, because my husband and I had the means to care for it, and besides I’d make such a lovely Mum (when plants are known to wither and die in my presence).
Casual acquaintances I’d meet in the gym would explain just how much I’d regret not having a mini-me around when I was old and I needed my bottom wiping. People I’d only just met would ask me what on Earth I did all day, as though children are the only possible time-fillers for women over 30.