I am just back from a weekend in Leeds visiting old university friend and her husband, and meeting their 10 week old boy. It was a very nice weekend, with catching up and the chance to read three novels, but frankly, having watched her parent wee George, I have come to the conclusion that I am clearly not unselfish enough to have children and actally raise them properly (as opposed to packing them up in a wicker basket and popping them on a bus across Africa with me).
I really do just like my lifestyle of being able to trot wherever far too much. If a suitable consenting adult would like to sign up to come along, I would be ok with that, but children aren’t so much consenting as dragged. I was listening to Fi talking about how she only wants to go back to work part-time, and would rather not go back to work at all than go back full time while he’s small and my head was just yelling, “I could never do that.” And I barely have a career (this PhD thing is supposed to help with that, though).
So I broke it to my parents on the phone that I thought they might not be getting grandkids. My father laughed and told me I’m clearly not maternal. My mother suggested I might change my mind sometime soon. Then amended her statement and removed the soon as she heard the raised eyebrow down the phone. I remainded ho hummingly non-commital and said, I thought if I had children I’d like to get them when they were two or three, and could be left in nursery for a few hours a day while I had a job/life. To which her response was, “Well, you have them, and we’ll look after them till they’re two or three, and then you can have them back.”
Not exactly what I was expecting…
