Happy families

Strolling through Islington in the sunshine yesterday afternoon, cap pulled down to hide my unmade-up Sunday face, I found myself really appreciating my freedom. The sunshine had brought the families out; all around me mums were struggling with shopping bags while devoted dads attempted to prevent small, screaming children from throwing themselves into the oncoming traffic. Parents no older than me snapped at each other while they waited for the bus and tried to contain what seemed to be a small horde of their beloved offspring. There but for the grace of god, I thought. If the Evil Ex and I had stayed together I might be in those poor sods’ shoes today.

Just the thought made me shudder. Kids? Thanks, but you can keep them. I can't even imagine what it would be like to want one, let alone two, three or a whole herd of my own; I can barely get myself home after a night on the town, let alone look after a whole extra person. Swapping Monsoon for Mothercare is just not very high on my priority list.

It made me think about my broodier friends. Even those who don't particularly want kids right-now-this-minute are pretty sure that family life lies in their future. When I say “it’s not for me” or even the less convincing “I don’t know” they look at me like I’ve just announced that I want to marry a giraffe. Apparently, now that I’m 28, I should want children, and the idea that I don’t is as alien to a lot of my peers as the thought of popping a sprog the size of a football out of my… well, you know… is to me. Well, I hate to disappoint, but as far as I'm concerned the only reason for children is so that you've got someone to look after you when you’re too old to do it yourself. I just don't see the appeal.

That’s not to say that I may not change my mind one day. Maybe that’s a (terrifying and heart-attack inducing) conversation that I’ll be having with someone in five years time, who knows? Being in love with a man and wanting to "share that experience" with him may well be a different kettle of fish – but wanting children just because “that’s what women do”; well, to me that just seems a bit crazy. And nothing scares me more than the thought that Rational Me may be overwhelmed by hormones in a few years time and become convinced that this is what I want, when actually it’s just a biological imperative taking away all the things I really believe. (When I say “nothing” I'm obviously excluding spiders, burglars and vampires.)

But luckily all that lies somewhere in the future. Isn’t it nice to have something to look forward to?

In the meantime I've enjoyed a positively blissful weekend. Long, leisurely mornings; a refreshing stroll in the sunshine and some light browsing in the Angel antiques malls; a relaxed restaurant lunch over a glass of wine with the sun pouring through the windows onto my back, while outside harassed parents pushed buggies and chased their beloved children down the Essex Road. Oh, I’m sure that most of the time they’re ecstatically happy with their choice (the 5am wake-up calls, the screaming tantrums and the constant faint smell of baby sick trailing them around), but for today, for tomorrow, for the foreseeable future, nothing short of Sean Bean could persuade me to join their harried ranks.

Our thoughts are with you, brave family-rearing soldiers. While you dandle your little darlings on your knees (and try to stop them choking on a spoon) I’m off to my next glass of wine and the grand plan to run away to Russia with the Boy du Jour.

Bring on the fur hats and vodka!