I never had an overwhelming urge to have kids. I wasn’t one of those women who grew up wanting to be a Mum.
I got married when I was 25 and waited 7 years to have a baby, much to the dismay of my whole family. I was way too busy working and having fun and dancing on tabletops, and in gutters, and in carparks, and well … there was a lot of dancing 😬 anyway, I was having fun.
I eventually decided to think about having a baby because it was “time”. I was 32; it was academically the right moment in my life to have a child.
If you’d told me five years ago, that today: my whole identity, the thing I’m known for, the topic I want to talk about all day every day, the area I make money in – would be ‘motherhood’? I would’ve laughed (aka would’ve told you to fuck off).
Pardon me ma’am but you are mistaken. I am not one of those pathetic “Mum types” who talk about their kids all day and bang on about motherhood and shit. That’s not who I am at my core. I’m a journalist, I have a career, I want to achieve things and contribute to society and not get stuck on the Mum train like a loser. A baby will be a cute accessory to my already full life.
And yet, here I am. And this is me. And I am happy.
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