Why do we feel the need to explain ourselves when it comes to kids? Why is it such an awkward question to answer? Photos / Babiche Martens, Getty Images
I think I might be a chronic over-sharer. I was at a wedding recently chatting to the lovely lady sitting next to me at our table. We'd never met so were having the obligatory "get-to-know-you" chat. Kids came up, as they often do. After we spoke about hers she asked
if I had any. I said no. Then, as I often do, I felt this overwhelming niggle to explain myself. I went down the rabbit hole of whys and excuses: "It's not that we don't like kids. It's just that we don't know if want our own just yet… or ever".
All of this is potentially too much information to unload on a stranger. The fear is that by saying it out loud you instantly look like a child-hating, miserable banshee. Selfish. Cold hearted even. Ready to build a cage in the woods with bars just wide enough for children to slip a finger through. I promise you I have no such plans. But here I was throwing myself under the wicked witch bus before dinner had even been served.
Why do we feel the need to explain ourselves when it comes to kids? Why is it such an awkward question to answer? For some people having kids is an absolute and that's a wonderful thing, but it's not that way for everyone. For others, kids aren't such a simple and obvious next step. The pangs aren't slapping them in the face saying "Oh dear lord have a baby now before my ovaries explode!".
Even with those pangs, it's not always that easy. Most people will know someone facing fertility struggles: it's agonising and heartbreaking and every time they're asked "When are you going to pop out some babies?" there's a heat that rises from below as they try to figure out the best way to say "We're bloody well trying. It doesn't just magically happen for everyone" without making anyone feel awkward.
