There are many wonderful things about getting married. The ginormous party with all the people you actually enjoy spending time with. The potential tax benefits. The, as my niece so endearingly puts it, ‘Forever sleepover with your best friend.’
But there are some vaguely irritating things about embarking on the journey of matrimonial bliss. Namely the amount of people who assume it’s okay to ask when you’re going to have a baby.
My husband and I got married this summer. I’m still fishing confetti out of my bag and our marriage certificate only just arrived in the post. Yet I’ve already been asked about children, albeit harmlessly, a dozen times: from ‘You next?’ or ‘When’s it your turn?’, usually gesticulating towards a pregnant person; to the straight-to-the-point, ‘So, thinking of starting a family?’
Sometimes it’s a simple assumption, like one I had just this morning – ‘Well, because you’ll be having a baby soon’ – despite those words never leaving my mouth.
As a 33-year-old woman, I am besieged by babies. My friends have them. The ones that don’t have them are talking about having them. The ones that don’t want them are too frightened of societal and familial judgement to talk about not having them. Suddenly, tiny babies in ridiculously big prams are omnipresent. There are adverts for nappies, formula and breast milk trackers (whatever the fuck those are) on billboards, trains, and – in a rather ironic algorithmic turn of events – my For You page.
Given my age, you might say it makes sense. The average age for a mother to have a baby in England and Wales is almost 31, and by medical standards I am approaching ‘advanced maternal age’ (or ‘geriatric motherhood’ to the old-fangled), which the NHS decrees as 35. But considering that birth rates in the UK are at their lowest since records began, with women increasingly choosing to start a family later in life (if at all), why do we still assume that all women must want to produce offspring?
The answer is, of course, because to be married and become a mother is the cookie-cutter life imposed on women under patriarchy. Let me clear (and in case my mother reads this): I am not saying that I won’t end up following this life trajectory – besides, I’m halfway there – in whatever way motherhood might manifest for me. But to assume that I immediately want a baby because I'm newly espoused and in possession of a uterus undermines everything else that contributes to my identity. It’s as though I’m only complete, I can only achieve my gold star in womanhood, when I become a mother.
The question I have never been asked is, ‘Do you actually want kids?’
It’s arguably a more intrusive question, but it’s one I’d undoubtedly prefer. Of course it’s really nobody’s business but mine and my husband’s, and it’s something we discuss frequently and frankly. But this question at least acknowledges the autonomy I have over my own body and my own life choices. It doesn’t assume that because I’m now married, I must automatically want to have a child. It looks at me more than just a baby-carrying vessel simply because I'm now somebody's wife.
I love kids. I’ve been an auntie since I was 6 years old, and I’ve known my husband’s niece and nephew, now 6 and 2 respectively, since they were born. The love I have for them is insurmountable. Seeing some of my friends welcome their wonderful children – watching them navigate motherhood while their daughters and sons develop little personalities and interests – has been one of the greatest privileges of getting older.
But I also know that parenthood comes with enormous personal sacrifice and risk, and I’m sure some will think this selfish, but that is not something I take lightly. I’ve worked extremely hard for the life I have, for my career, my friendships and my marriage, and my psychiatric wellbeing. To work hard for these things is also to acknowledge their fragility. Throw a baby in the mix, and they become even more frighteningly breakable.
The reasons why a person may not have children are likely to be multifarious and complex, from the financial burden to fertility issues. Some, like my husband and I, are just simply enjoying being married. There’s a new TikTok trend (or maybe it’s not new, and my algorithm is just rewarding me for putting up with all the nappy ads) where DINKs – double income, no kids – show off their child-free lives. They’re getting eight hours of sleep, they’re travelling, they’re dancing around their kitchen with their pets, they’re simply enjoying spending uninterrupted time together. For now, that suits my husband and I just fine.
