DON’T YOU WANT A BABY?

AUDIO QUACK

🎈Happy 1st Birthday to Audio Quack 🎈

Skip Introduction | 2:21

I’ve never been overly gushy about babies. They’re cute, especially in a bear onesie or wearing tiny versions of adult shoes, but I don’t rush to hold one. I’m worried that I will do something catastrophic. What if I hold them wrong, and their head falls off? Or, I pull a face, and they start to cry, and they cry and cry until they turn purple? The frazzled mother will rock her screaming plum of a child while everyone will ask, “Who made the baby cry?!” And I’ll hover uselessly nearby, mumbling, “I thought babies liked silly faces. Sorry. Sorry.”

As you can guess, I was the youngest in the family, so the only practice I had with babies was my doll, Apple (named after the fruit, not the tech company). One day, I cut her hair so short that she looked like a plastic baby Princess Diana… and then I didn’t want her anymore.

So I was doll-less for a period of my childhood until I saw an advert for Amazing Ally. She was a talking doll with long blonde hair. She knew your birthday and asked questions like, “Wanna be best friends?”

“I do…” I said to the screen.

Amazing Ally arrived on my birthday. When I first took her out of the box, I was surprised by how tall she was in real life. She had scarily realistic blue eyes and a permanent pout.

That night, I was sleeping in my bed when I was awakened by her singing “Happy Birthday” from the corner of my room.

“MUUUUUUUM!” I cried.

Her batteries were swiftly removed, and she was hidden in the back of my cupboard for the rest of her days. No more dolls for me.

Perhaps it was this trauma that has made me not want to rush into motherhood.

Most of my friends are also without child. One or two are happy to keep it that way. The others are protesting, targeting pubs and rugby stadiums, raising placards and chanting. “LESS PINTS! MORE BABIES!” “LESS PINTS! MORE BABIES!”

No. They’re not.

In truth, we’re all enjoying the spontaneous holidays, Sundays in bed, and being able to wear headphones for 80% of the day without worrying that we won’t hear our babies crying. We’ve grown up with the assumption that family stuff will just happen one day, as if it’s written in the stars.

STARS: Bella will concentrate on her luxury goods PR business until 3rd July 2026, when she’ll meet Giles in the Pret A Manger on Trafalgar Square. They will have their first baby a year later.

At times I have wondered, what if our lives are not ruled by fate, but by our proactiveness? A year ago I went to investigate freezing my eggs, but after a very graphic consultation… ‘THE NEEDLE GOES WHERE?!’ I put the idea on the back burner. It was nicer (and cheaper) to rely on the written-in-the-stars method.

So, as we wait for fate to do its thing, my friends and I are carving out pleasant lives for ourselves, and as the years go on, it’s becoming harder to think about adapting it all for motherhood.

“Ok, I’ve just got to record my Quack, darling.”

“But you promised to take me to the park.”

“Shh. Mummy’s recording….”

There is also the planet being on fire to consider, alongside the concern that a bunch of maniacs are treating the world like a RISK board game. Hi darling, welcome to the world. Here’s your life jacket.

So, with all that in mind, it feels easier to accept that if kids are not written in my stars – then that’s okay. I’ve got my career, books, headphones, holidays, sourdough, and friends. It’s not a bad life by any stretch…

But just as you convince yourself of this, your friend has a baby.

Imogen brought Baby M to the pub. For the first ten minutes, we craftily positioned our beer bottles to make it seem like Baby M was drinking. How fun babies can be! Baby M didn’t need as much attention as Amazing Ally; she slept through our drinks without even a gurgle. This motherhood thing is not too bad.

Imogen showed me photos of her, Baby M and Dad Frank on the beach, and it looked incredibly dreamy. I want to have a family to walk on the beach with.

Then she said, “Let me show you something that will make your ovaries twerk.” She whipped out a photo of Frank fast asleep with Baby M curled up on his chest.

As promised, I felt a small…. bop.

Hot Dads have us all fluffing out our feathers.

As I was writing this quack in a pub, there was a hot dad in my eyeline, holding a baby with one hand and drinking Guinness with the other. I want a family to sit in a pub with on a Monday afternoon.

Funny, isn’t it? Men go from bar to bar in their twenties with their abs and Paco Rabanne, and we don’t bat an eyelash. But when they’re tired, unshaven, cradling a tiny baby with one arm…you’re like, “I NEED THAT NOW!”