‘Morning babe. Good weekend?’ he asks, taking a sip.
‘Yeah, was all right I s’pose.’ After I got back from Bea’s I just lay horizontal on my sofa for hours watching Queer Eye, while Bea was running around a football pitch with her kids and Cec was baby-proofing her house. ‘Is it just me that finds weekends actually quite annoying and draining?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I dunno, just the pressure of it. Having to face up to real life without the distraction of work,’ I say, sighing.
‘I know what you mean actually. The stuff you cram to the back of your mind during the week really comes out to play. I pulled a really fit guy this weekend, though, so I’m happy,’ Colin says proudly.
‘Good for you! You deserve some good news in that department.’
‘My trouser department? You bet I do!’ he says, knowing full well not to broach the topic of my love life right now.
‘I’m just happy it’s Monday, to be honest. Sometimes I think .dot is the only place where I actually feel like myself. Like I’m moving forwards.’
‘Well quite – .dot would be nothing without you.’
‘Thanks, Col. Right, well I’d better live up to my reputation and get on with a few things.’
He air-kisses me and floats off back to his reception desk.
I open the Google home page and crack my knuckles. I need to properly start this assignment from Gill about Millennials choosing pets over motherhood. Let’s start with a broad search. I take a deep breath and type ‘Do Millennials Want Kids?’ into the toolbar.
I love that I’m technically paid a monthly wage to fall down crazy Internet rabbit holes and ask people nosy questions. I love that my Google algorithm has no real idea who ‘Olive’ is, or anything about my personality, as my searches are always related to the varying topics of my articles. My online search quickly leads me to a blog post called ‘Sterilize Me: My Mission to Never Have Kids’ written by a young Millennial woman, who goes by the name of Ariana. No surname, no picture. Her profile is anonymous. But it’s honest and open, as most anonymous-ish blogs go.
Welcome to my blog. I’m Ariana, and I don’t want kids!
[EDIT: You might have seen this blog post get picked by some national news outlets; for any snooping journalists, I am not interested in doing mainstream interviews, or sitting on the sofa next to a certain horrible argumentative man on national TV. I wrote this blog to speak out to other women, I did not do it for online fame.]
I’m 24 years old, and I have been researching ways that I can get sterilized since I was 18. I can’t explain it more simply than this: I know, deep deep in my bones that I never ever want to create another human being. It does not appeal to me, my life, my plans. No one will listen to me! They think I will change my mind! Why? The NHS have said over and over that they won’t perform the operation. The doctors have said no, because I am so young and ‘might change my mind’. But I know I won’t. Also: there’s a strange double standard going on. If you do decide to have kids, you can’t change your mind then, can you! Seems a little one-sided that argument. I feel really unheard right now. And that not wanting kids still feels like a huge awful taboo. The doctors were shocked by my request, and the word got out in the small village where I live, and I have had really horrible notes slid under my door. People are saying that hospital money should be spent on other issues, not my selfish act. Becoming a mother is a very, very serious decision, and so is *not* having them. I wish that I could choose what to do with my own body, and that is to make sure I never have them. Some people are desperate to have kids. I am desperate not to. Please, please, tell me I’m not alone.
@boyo21 Well done for openly admitting that you’re selfish.
@sunshine_girl: I used to feel like this too, Ariana. But, I am 43 now and little Gracey came into my life and I’ve never been happier. I never thought I’d change my mind. Please, don’t rule it out.
@planethappy1: Yes it is a very big responsibility but by far the best thing that happened to me. You might hate other people’s kids, but seriously you will never feel love for anyone as much as you will for your own child.
@sammy15: lesbian
@lookmum156: fair enough ariana but i think you’ll change your mind one day. Doctors are right not to do it.
@saladlover100: bitch whore
@julie_smith: I’ve known from the age of about 12 that I never wanted kids. I’ve always found children irritating, even when I was a child myself. I hear you.
@james_smith_90 MUPPET!!
I take in a deep, slow breath. I feel sick at the judgement that people have towards women like Ariana. It still feels like such a dirty topic, a dirty confession. I realize I’m not shocked by her words, even if I’ve never read anything like this before. And there’s no hiding it: I feel intrigued. It’s a rush. My face gets closer and closer to the screen until the comments begin to blur. I start typing out a comment: ‘Ariana, I just love your honesty. Would you be open to meeting up for a coffee?’ Then I notice my username is set to my real name – @olive_stone_ – and I immediately delete it. I also do a quick check that no one is looking over my shoulder.
6
After work, I WhatsApp Cecily and ask if I can come over. I feel as if we didn’t really speak properly at Bea’s and I’m worried that I was being too jokey and mean.
Me: Hello babe are you free this eve for a visitor?
Cec: ooh that’s a LOVELY idea. Yes please. Chris is out with the lads, I’m on the sofa, feeling like a whale in thick socks.
Me: Not a whale. Yay see you v soon.
I have to see her properly before the baby arrives. Nothing beats one-on-one time. I nip home first, and grab a giant frozen tub of home-made macaroni cheese that Zeta made me when the break-up first happened and I couldn’t quite stomach anything. They say the best gift to give any pregnant woman, or new parent, is food. Not flowers, because that’s just one extra thing to keep alive. I realize on my way over that this is probably the last time I will see her before she is a mum – Cec, being just Cec, on her own. The thought makes me feel a bit teary but then she answers the door and I push out a smile.
Cecily and her husband Chris live in a big Georgian terraced, high-ceilinged, West London house – the kind with sleek white columns in front of the door. The elephant in the room is always that Cecily’s house is much nicer than the rest of ours. Bea’s is gorgeous but also a kid-infested circus. Cec’s looks like an Architectural Digest photoshoot. She has a roll-top bath with a marble floor, for God’s sake. Her hallway is big enough that it has room for a blue velvet sofa on one side as you walk in. I try not to be too jealous that Cecily’s casual sit-down-and-take-your-shoes-off hallway sofa is nicer than my main living-room sofa that took me five years to pay off. It can be awkward when your mate has way more money than you. But she is an award-winning lawyer. I am a not-yet-award-winning writer. We made different choices so it doesn’t really make sense to be jealous. But still, it’s the easiest thing in the world to compare yourself to others – especially your best friends and their velvet hallway sofas.
She answers the door in a red stretchy maternity jumpsuit and gives me a huge hug, excitedly taking the tub of macaroni cheese from my hands. I hang up my faux fur jacket on her wooden coat stand and kick off my trainers. Cec walks down the hallway; from the back, she doesn’t really look pregnant, then she turns to the side and it’s like she’s suddenly swallowed a giant beach ball. It amazes me how flexible she still is as she squats down to pick up a plate from the lower cupboard in the kitchen.