I live in Crouch End, a part of North London otherwise known as Nappy Valley. Regularly appearing on lists of the best places in the capital to raise a family, the area is full of the type of coffee shops that attract parents of babies and toddlers. If some areas of London are notable for the background noise of police cars and screaming drunks, Crouch End hums with the sound of people speaking to one-year-olds as though they were adults: “Barnaby, would you like a soya milk babyccino?”, “Clementine, I would rather you didn’t throw that saltshaker at me. It hurt. Is that OK with you?”
Cultured, middle-class parents increasingly see their offspring as projects that require vast amounts of time, attention and money. These parents, led by the “child-centred approach”, have little or no time for anything that benefits wider society; instead, their own family unit becomes their universe. And despite there being, in my opinion, no unselfish reason for having children, those of us who choose to remain child-free are routinely called selfish.
In Crouch End, I experience more stigma for being child-free by choice than I do for being a lesbian. It didn’t used to be like this.
Throughout the Eighties, I knew several lesbians who lost custody of their children from previous heterosexual relationships due to the prejudice of Family Court Judges. It was deemed “unnatural” for lesbians to raise children. It is very rare, among the liberal chattering classes, to hear this nonsense today. I rarely sense any uncomfortable vibes from middle-class heterosexuals when they realise I am a lesbian. In fact, for this demographic, I am quite useful at a dinner party: I improve their equality and diversity index. But the conversation always turns to children. Having established that I am in a long-term, happy relationship, the next question is inevitably: “Do you have children?”
I used to say “no” and brace myself for the sympathetic nod, but a few years ago, I started to give an expansive explanation, whether they wanted it or not. And trust me, they really didn’t!
Seeing friends raise children over the years has taught me about the massive curtailment of freedom that comes with it, not just to socialise, but to work, do political activism and sleep. Having children costs a fortune: money that I think can be better spent supporting women (and their kids) to leave violent men. I would far rather my time and disposable income went towards helping children living in poverty than having my own.
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