I’m in my 30’s and I’ve been married for 4 years now, so people are totally comfortable asking ‘when will you have babies?’ which I always find a bit strange because it feels like they’re saying ‘tell me about your fanny’
My replies vary in length, with a direct correlation between time and booze, the drunker I am the more I enjoy talking about it.
The short answer is
Quarter past never.
I don’t like the noise, the smell or the financial implications. I think the world is run by brutal pigs who will ultimately destroy it, and I am a loner. Being married is just about manageable because Mr Berry doesn’t mind that I go into hiding for weeks at a time. I am an introvert, I prefer the company of no one and if I spend too long surrounded by people I get frustrated and belligerent. I’m a bit of a prude and in my experience you have to be so comfortable talking about poop, womb juice and random bodily functions that no place (the dinner table, dude?) and no ear is sacred. I am fastidiously tidy, I don’t like chores, I get cross with people who don’t say please or thank you and the last time I checked, kids are messy and ungrateful until their twenties (at best).
Twenty years tidying up after someone who will ultimately find me a bit embarrassing and (if my STH was a girl) hope they’re nothing like me?
Last year my mum fell off her bike and broke her shoulder so I went to their house a few times to do the things she couldn’t manage, like hoovering and ironing and cleaning the bathroom. Every time I went over the outpouring of gratitude was overwhelming and I thought, jesus, she did all this shit for my brother and I for over 18 years. I don’t remember ever once saying thank you. We literally used to chuck our dirty clothes in the corridor and they’d come back washed and folded a few days later, like a hotel service. Fuck that for a way to pass the time.
People always say that once you have kids your life changes completely. But I put a lot of time and energy into making my life how it is now, so changing it completely seems like a terrible idea.
The only reason I would consider getting knocked up, would be to make these jokes.
1. This photo with the caption:
Look what Josh made when I was asleep.
2. This photo with the caption:
My beautiful new baby, Bernard Sinclair Jesus Jones.
During the pregnancy if people asked me about names, I would tell them my short list:
For a boy
For a girl
I actually really like the sound of Oreo Jones….
Since I have just ruined the punchlines of my best pregnancy jokes, my biological triangle can piss off.
Don’t let that stop you asking me about my uterus though. No seriously, my having unprotected sex is totally your business and I quite enjoy it when people delve into their conversational treasure troves and dig up such wonders as
‘but you’d be a great mum’
a) I probably wouldn’t
b) I’d be a great surf board too if I was made out of… Wait, what are surfboards made out of?
c) I’d rather be a great writer who goes on great holidays and wears great shoes
‘you’ll change your mind when you’re older’
If I do it’s because my mind has been addled by age and hormones and you shouldn’t let me have babies because I’ll probably leave them in a supermarket or accidentally store them in the fridge (like my phone and my keys)
‘It’s different when they’re your own’
Yeah, I know, I can’t block my ears and go LA LA LA until they leave
‘Please have babies, I want you to have babies’
Have your own fucking babies, and don’t ask me to baby sit, I’m busy.
(Yes I do count staring into space as being ‘busy’)
New parents are like 13 year-olds with crushes, they can’t think about anything else, they can’t talk about anything else, all their conversations go straight back to the baby and they glaze over if the topic ever veers into ‘grown up’ territory. I’ve also noticed that new parents can’t deal with current affairs, bad news or climate change, which is another (not actually) interesting side affect to STHs.
I know this post will be unpopular with the mums who will fight to the death defending their decision to have kids. I’ll fight you, but you’ll win because you’ve got that self assured righteous indignation super power that comes from having a person popped out of your hoo ha (also you’ve got those big strong mum arms and I’ve got a hangover).
Congratulations, by the way.
Having said all that, I stopped taking the pill because it makes me angry and hungry and it’s chummy with cancer. So one day I might be eating my words and my hat, covered in pickles with a side of fries.
Watch this space*
*points to crotch.