Rushton was 27 and, like me, erring on the side of not having children when, in 2019, she was rushed into emergency surgery with abdominal pain. I’d spoken to her over Zoom that same morning to talk through her own mixed feelings about motherhood. “I think the first thing to do is validate your own ambivalence, or indecision, or indifference – whatever it is,” says Gina Rushton, from her darkening bedroom in Sydney. The dismal daily news alerts, the baby boom within my circle, the steady release of my finite eggs: all of it seems to force the issue, reopening the question even when I’ve felt content to mark it closed. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” she says.Īt the same time, she lights up while talking about her little boy. Over a glass of wine, she says she recently went six weeks almost entirely without sleep, while working full-time. The friend I’m meeting for lunch has a one-year-old. And I’ve felt daunted by the decades that lie ahead, if I do indeed remain childfree: how will I generate meaning and momentum, entirely on my own steam? Because we’re socialized to believe that ‘you just know’ if you want kids or not, validating the idea that it is a question is really helpful Gina Rushton I’ve felt keen resentment that men are granted the luxury of a longer window in which to decide, and left to do so on their own terms. I’ve never forgotten being told by a fertility doctor I once interviewed for a story: “If you think about it, women have to get almost all their life events into a period of about 15 years: career, having children.” Meanwhile, time keeps passing and, with it, my life. People have started prepping for doomsday. Closer to home, the costs of housing, heating, childcare – everything – is rising. My social media timelines are full of grief for the children dying in Gaza. 2023 is set to be the hottest year on record, and the future looks increasingly apocalyptic. It’s hard to feel sure of anything these days, let alone whether to take on the responsibility for another human life. This is convenient, given that I’m 32 and single.Īnd yet, without my bringing it up, the question seems to keep rebounding on me, like signposts along a highway warning of the last chance to turn: am I sure? ![]() Even decisions don’t seem to readily stick.Īll my life I’ve felt fairly sure that I don’t want children of my own. The rest seem mired in uncertainty, waiting for the opportunity to arise – or pass. I can count on one hand those friends who have always been certain that they want children.
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