France is planning to slide into the mailboxes of every 29-year-old in the country, reminding them to get on with having kids before it's "too late."

If that doesn't already send your eyes rolling back into the far reaches of your skull… let me continue.

The measure — which is part of a 16-point plan aptly titled Plan Fertilité or Fertility Plan — aims to provide "targeted, balanced and scientifically-based information on sexual and reproductive health" the second they hit that 29-year milestone.

The official government letter will include apparent helpful tips about fertility, the biological clock and preservation options (because nothing screams 'Happy Birthday' like a government reminder of your expiring eggs).

According to Europe Reloaded, the letter is expected to begin with the words: "It's time to think about whether or not to have a child."

Imagine waking up on your 29th birthday, staring down the barrel of your 30s — the apparent societal deadline for having your life figured out — only to be slapped in the face with government-approved correspondence essentially asking for a status update on your womb. It's a no from me.

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France's Health Minister Stephanie Rist, said that while "the role of politicians is not to dictate whether or not to have children", the plan, which will roll out later this year, intends to prevent people from having an "if only I had known" mentality.

I'm sure there are those out there who truly believe these letters will be a groundbreaking initiative to encourage family planning in France as birth rates plummet to post-World War One levels. But, beyond the fact that it feels like an eerily fitting plot point for an episode of The Handmaid's Tale, there is one glaring problem.

This initiative rests on the assumption that 29-year-olds are not already thinking about whether to have children.

In reality, I don't know a single person in their late twenties who isn't already doing the mental gymnastics of the 'kids vs. career vs. can I afford a block of cheese' debate.

And yes, the letters will be delivered to both women and men, but when we're talking about a biological process that relies so heavily on a woman's body, we know exactly where the societal pressure is actually landing.

Need we be reminded?

Frankly, women don't need to be reminded that their body clock is ticking, especially not by an official government-mandated piece of paper. Society doesn't let us forget for a single second.

I turn 29 next year, but my girlfriends and I have been having the "do we want kids and if so, when?" conversation at brunches and over wine-stained dining tables for years now. 

The topic became a catch-up staple the second we blew out the candles on our 25th birthdays.

Do I want kids? Will I be able to afford them? What about my career? Who will I have them with? Do I really want to put my body through that? Am I able to even fall pregnant? The questions hang over us like a dark cloud whenever the conversation arises.

Now, as we watch the years tick closer to our 30th birthdays, it feels as though we all carry with us the quiet but persistent knowledge that 'baby time' is coming, and we need to figure out our entire futures — and if we even want kids — before, as the French government so ominously put it, it's "too late".

I know my girlfriends and I don't exist in a silo, and it's not a coincidence that so many of us feel this way.

Boys will be boys, girls will be mothers.

For our whole lives, motherhood has been presented to us as an inevitability rather than a choice we have every right to opt out of. It's never been a matter of 'if' — it's always 'when'.

As little girls, we were gifted baby dolls and miniature prams while our brothers opened monster trucks and building blocks. When we got our periods, we were told we were 'women now' — with all the heavy expectations that phrase carries.

Just before I turned twenty, someone close to me told me in earnest that "a woman without children is like a garden without flowers." Even then, it was a stark reminder that, to some people, my worth—and the worth of the incredible women around me—is entirely tied to our ability to procreate.

Since then, the older I've gotten, the more intensely I've felt that pressure to have children before my body clock times out, and I remain forever a flowerless garden — a veggie patch perhaps?

Dating app prompts ask, without hesitation, if I "want kids" or not.

Well-meaning family members ask questions about when I will find "the one" and settle down. Their eyes light up with relief when I tell them I've met someone — after being single for years — as though my future still has hope.

I've watched characters from classic movies and TV shows — think Rachel Green from Friends and Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice — lament their age as they approach thirty, realising their fertile window is beginning to close.

Rachel Green's 30th birthday spiral is one many women can relate to.

My Instagram feed has begun flooding with baby announcements and gender reveals, each one a loud reminder that others are getting a move on, so I probably should too. Even doctors are slipping mentions of my biological timeline into standard appointments.

I have never felt more acutely aware of the fact that there is a ticking clock attached to my uterus.

The 'Plan Fertilité'.

These French fertility letters plan to target 29-year-olds because it's the minimum age men and women in France can access gamete preservation (egg and sperm freezing) without requiring a medical reason.

The letters are part of a wider plan designed to remind citizens that social security in France can cover the cost of gamete preservation procedures — egg freezing for women (29-37) and sperm freezing for men (29-45). It also includes providing free fertility check-ups, funding for endometriosis, strengthening care for polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), and increasing the number of fertility preservation centres across the country.

Of course, these are great measures and being informed about fertility and fertility healthcare options is vital.

But in practice, these letters simply feel more like a catch-all method to scare people into birthing the next generation for the sake of the economy, than a means to educate.

I also can't imagine the heartache these letters will cause for someone who is already in the throes of a fertility challenge, has just experienced a miscarriage or has just been heartbroken by the person they thought they would start a family with.

I'm far from the only one who feels this way. Many across France and Europe have criticised the French Health Ministry's move, with some arguing there are better ways to support women than a 'reminder' in the mail.

French psychologist Marie-Estelle Dupont told Le Figaro newspaper that the government should focus instead on making motherhood more viable for women.

Speaking on the radio show France Inter, comedian and radio host Charline Vanhoenacker mocked the idea, joking about a future where, when children ask their parents "Why did you have me?" they would respond, "Because Stephanie Rist asked us to."

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This conversation also isn't just happening in France. As discussions about declining birth rates continue globally, suggestions that women should be held accountable are becoming concerningly common. 

This is all very scary too, when you consider the wider global climate and how many women are losing autonomy over their bodies every day.

So how about, instead of pressuring women — and men — to procreate for the sake of the population, we focus on the real barriers, like the cost of living and housing, and leave everyone else — and their mailboxes — alone.

Feature image: Getty. (Stock image for illustrative purposes).