Why I don't want children

A vulnerable post, this one

I was going to write about something more serious today but then Greg went on Instagram, posted some (frankly, far too adorable) photos of Barney going on a steam train and someone commented “OMG have an actual child already, you obviously desperately want one.” Many, many words have been written about the seemingly unstoppable need certain people have to see other people procreate. I’ve written some of those words myself, but I’ve not said much about why me and my husband don’t want to have a kid. It’s a personal thing, and nobody is entitled to know your reasons, but we’re all friends here and I feel safe enough to tell you mine. I’ve written them as a list for ease, and they are in no particular order. Please don’t judge me, I’m being honest and vulnerable here.

A baby would really interfere with my aesthetic. Can you make a newborn look mothy? Perhaps, but people might frown if I wrapped it in a Persian rug and put a large diptyque candle on its head. See? People are so judgemental when it comes to parenting! You’re expected to clothe one in a cute pastel onesie, but that wouldn’t work for me. The baby would stick out like a sore thumb in my house, and that’s before it grew old enough to want toys. Toys are always hideous. Either they’re plastic and garish, or they’re wooden and beige and the baby doesn’t want them, because babies might be dumb, but even they know the allure of plastic tat. 

During one of the many painful talks me and my husband had where we searched our souls to see if we wanted a kid, one thing came up again and again. The baby couldn’t ride the dog. I’ve looked into it, and it’s not stable apparently - even if you get a good saddle. So I’d have to get a pushchair, which just feels wasteful when we’ve got a large dog willing to do the job. And a little, dare I say it, ungrateful of the baby.

I like to go for a run midway through the day, lollop through the city at my own pace and maybe get a little coffee at the end as a treat. I’m not entirely sure about this, but I believe most babies can’t run? I assume this is laziness (or they’ve not read Jog On, my seminal work about running and mental health. And actually, why hasn’t my hypothetical baby read my book? That seems really thoughtless), so I’d have to leave them at home. But apparently you can’t leave babies at home alone. Like, it’s actually against the law. So I’d have to pay the dog to look after the baby, which would be fine but the dog is actually fairly busy during the day and isn’t always available. I can’t make the schedule work!

What if the baby liked Simply Red?*

I drink too much wine, diet coke and coffee to breastfeed. The baby would be alternately hopped up on caffeine or slurring its words. That’s a lot for a tiny creature to deal with and I fear this would make the baby annoying. I guess I could mix it up with formula to build up tolerance, but that seems like a lot of work just so I can enjoy my three God-tier drinks at will.

There is no room for the baby. Every space in my home has been carefully filled with tat. Old side tables, standing lamps, flowers where you might not expect them, endless chairs. There is no space for my baby, unless I keep her (awww, I’ve decided she’s a girl, I’m getting attached already) in the microwave. I wouldn’t turn it on, obviously!! I’m not an idiot. But would you leave the door open for ventilation, or close it so she gets some peace and quiet? And if you leave the door open, the automatic light comes on which would annoy me (and her, I’m constantly having to think about her needs too). I suppose at a push, she could sleep in the bathtub, but my husband is in the habit of taking baths which last for hours, so the microwave works better. I think we can all agree on this, at least.

What if the baby bought a Banksy print on canvas and wanted me to put it up (in the microwave)?

I don’t like that babies don’t have fully bedded in eyebrows. Seriously, look at your baby and tell me those little wisps of brow don’t annoy you. Eyebrows frame the face! Why don’t they fill them in? I’d have to draw them in every morning, but if you’re going to do the eyebrows then you might as well do some mascara, and then the baby will look too ‘done.’ 

What if the baby thought the royals were a hardworking family who do Britain proud?

What if the baby was a basic? It’s a real fear right? The baby could come out looking promising and within weeks, might have ordered a ‘this house runs on hugs’ sign for the kitchen. Or conversely, what if the baby was an intellectual who only read the LRB and judged her parents for being basic? I couldn’t take a baby browsing my bookshelves and laughing at my choices. Or worse, telling my MY OWN BOOKS ARE LOWBROW. I hate the baby!

Some babies are Tory. They just are, you can spot them a mile off (if you don’t get this, your baby is a Tory). I’d have to throw it in the canal** and start again, which would be laborious. And there’d be no guarantees that the next one wouldn’t also be a Tory.

What if I decided to become a mommyblogger and used my baby for content and then my baby grows up and decides to sue me for earnings later in life? What if me and my baby were looking at each other across a courtroom, both of us fully glammed up like we’re Rebekah Vardy and Colleen Rooney, dishing the dirt on our relationship in front of an old man in a silly wig? I don’t think I could handle the ingratitude. That money was supposed to be my pension! My baby would never have made that money on her own, she didn’t even have eyebrows.

What if the baby clapped at the end of a flight?

What if the baby grows up to be anxious and takes all the attention away from me? Mental illness is my entire personality, I have nothing else. I can’t let the baby one up me like that. What if she wrote a book about her own struggles and it outsold Jog On (my seminal work about mental health and running)? What if she blames me for her own issues? I imagine she’d say living in the microwave contributed to her adult state, when all I was trying to do was give her her own space. The imaginary baby is a monster, I was right to remain barren. I’ve done the world a favour and you should all be thanking me for my decision to remain childless.

*I actually like Simply Red, I am a child of the 90s, it’s built in.

**I once made this joke to a school friend I’d not seen for a while and she grimaced and said “nice to see your humour hasn’t changed Issy.” I haven’t seen her since.

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