I’ve got a confession to make… I don’t think I want children. Shock! Horror! Outrage! I am aware this is the primary, most heinous sin against womanhood and I fully expect an army of earth mother types to come and whip out my womb at any moment; how DARE I not want to subject myself to the wonder of an episiotomy, the thrills of breast feeding, the unmistakable joy of waking up at 4am to a screeching bundle that will all too often smell of poo and get sick on my shoulder. A child that I will be morally obliged to stay at home and care for full time in the pretence of “being a good mother”. An education that I have worked at for (so far) 16 years will be swept aside, as will my future career, and in its place my days will be filled with blending organic butternut squash and getting friendly with Iggle Piggle. Pretty soon baby brain will set in; I’ll become one of those women who have nothing else to talk about but their children. My tweets will be about teething and colic, and phone conversations with friends will become interjected with cries of “Put that down! Don’t do that! Darling please don’t do your poo-poo on the carpet, mummy has talked to you about this!”
And of COURSE when anyone asks how I like motherhood, I’ll be expected to gaze at my children adoringly (tears are desirable), and gush “Well, they’re just the light of my life, they are the reason for my existence, I’ve never felt such an overwhelming rush of love”, whilst watching them re-pot a hyacinth in my Chanel handbag.
It’s not that I dislike all children; I find some of them lovely. When my cousin’s little boy Finn was born, I loved nothing more than watching him slowly drift off to sleep in my arms, with his little warm hand resting on mine as I fed him his bottle. He’s now 3 years old, and he and his big brother are cute and funny; I enjoy playing with Moonsand and reading them bedtime stories, and I start planning their Christmas presents in August - I love treating them.
But then I leave them with their lovely mummy and daddy and I skip off home. The worry about coughs and colds, healthy packed lunches, choosing the right school etc is not on my shoulders. And as they get older and become teenagers, I won’t have to drive myself crazy every time they go out wondering if they will get drunk/get someone pregnant/break a limb. Instead I’ll get to take them to Alton Towers when they should be at school, which is definitely more where my expertise lie.
I suppose it’s natural to feel like this at only 20, maybe I’ll feel completely different in 10 years time… maybe I won’t. Just, at the moment, the idea of having my own children makes my blood run cold. I like the freedom of going places and buying things without having to consider childcare or feeling selfish for spending money on myself.
And that doesn’t mean I’m not compassionate, caring, tender, and other motherly adjectives… it’s just there’s so much I want to do with my life before I ever get tied down with things like that, more than I could even begin to explain here. I just don’t know if children would ever fit into the equation, and I wouldn’t just have them to adhere to some kind of social expectation of women, but then palm them off on nannies or my mother. But by all means, I will be cool Auntie Amy. One of those Aunties who aren’t actually related to you. Any Godchildren going, send them my way; they will be welcomed with open arms and fed copious amounts of E numbers, until it's time to go home.
Disclaimer: really DO NOT mean to offend anyone with children. Honestly. Just my personal views...
Saturday 19 June 2010
Thursday 17 June 2010
Good times
There’s one thing you should know about me and my friend Lindsey; we attract weirdos. Honest to God, if there is a weirdo within a 30 mile radius they will gravitate towards us. There are many, many examples of this but this is the most stand-out:
Manchester, February 2010, Kelly Clarkson gig. Lord in heaven above this was one weird-ass night. We were queuing for HOURS in the bloody freezing cold (of course we had not dressed accordingly) and noticed the middle aged man in front of us - who had come completely alone - was listening to our conversations. We knew this because he sniggered when Lindsey gave me the snog/marry/avoid options of Jedward, Minty in Eastenders and Louis Walsh. Then when I decided to go and get Lindsey and I some chips to warm us up, he was like “oh excuse me, will you get me some chips too please?” and thrusts a fiver in my hand. HE DIDN’T KNOW ME FROM ADAM! I could’ve done anything to those chips! But I didn’t, obv, and off I popped to get the chips.
Comes back and Lindsey, bless her soul, is giving me the look. The Look. The look that says “oh my God get here now don’t leave me with these frigging mentals again”. She was SURROUNDED by a gaggle of girls who’d been stood behind us and Chip Guy, who were all crazycrackalackaHUGE Kelly Clarkson fans: Chip Guy had been to see her 12 times, including flying to American several times especially to see her perform live. On his own. One of the girls behind told us, through drags of spliff, that she’d won a competition to meet Kelly because her bedroom was entirely devoted to her. She then got out her phone and showed us a 360degree span of her room which was - I shit you not - covered to within an inch of it’s LIFE with Kelly Clarkson posters, drawings and memorabilia. All the other girls ooo’d and ahh’d at this. Me and Lindsey just looked at bit scared. They all stared discussing how many times they’d seen her perform, what their favourite songs were, etc etc. Then they turned on us, asking “What’s your favourite song on the My December album?”. PANIC! We had never heard the My December album. We were not aware of one song off the My December album. In fact, we weren’t exactly massive Kelly Clarkson fans, not compared to this lot anyway. We just liked singing ‘My Life You Suck Without You’ really loud in the car and making up our own words to ‘I Do Not Hook Up’ (if you’d like a copy of these parody lyrics, feel free to contact me. I expect to be inundated). We mumbled a bit and shuffled our feet; at this point they knew we were not one of them, and they literally turned their backs on us. We were cast out like a lioness abandons her sickly cubs. It was for the best.
You’d think we’d be safe once we got inside the building. Not so. There was lots of pushing and shoving and we ended up standing behind a group of about 6 teens who all looked like they had asbos. One of them got a little packet out of their back pocket, and then they all bent their heads and started…. snorting. Now admittedly I’ve led a very sheltered life, but I have seen Skins so I’m not daft. Lindsey and I were ALARMED and tried shuffling away while eying them up to see if we could see any gun/knife shaped objects through their jackets.
But then coke-boy spots us. Coke-boy stares at me. I poop myself a little bit. Coke-boy says “You’re tiny, you’re not going to be able to see a thing! Do you want me to get you to the front?”. Right, well, I’m 4ft 11 (shut it) and the room was tightly compact with people well over 5ft and indeed I could not see a thing and, yes, I would like him to get me to the front. But 3 seconds earlier I was pondering whether or not he was carrying a weapon. MORAL DILEMMA.
They literally bulldozed their way through and plonked me at the (almost) front, dragging Lindsey behind. Much to the annoyance of a silly girl in front who jabbed her stiletto heel in my foot and kept twisting it round like a mad woman (OWWW!), I gave her a few jabs in the back and she and her friend started having a good old whinge about me and kept turning round to glare at me. They did look a bit rough/hard and it did cross my mind that I’d be going home with a black eye. Lindsey even planned her mode of attack if they started “Right I was going to punch her in the face, right, then grab you and run out and get in the car and lock the doors!”. Lindsey is ace.
Luckily they got sick of me and just buggered off to the back - so we got right to the front! Kelly Clarkson was brilliant and, aside from Lindsey almost fainting because of how hot and stuffy it was in there, it was a drama-free night after that. We decided when we were in McDonalds at midnight that we wouldn’t go to a standing gig again, it was just far too much hassle, we didn’t want to be in a situation like that again, we’re not violent people and besides, it’d be much better if we waited until the people we liked did stadium tours so we could have a nice sit down.
So yeah, we’re going to see Ellie Goulding in November, in Manchester. It’s a standing gig. Pray for us…
Manchester, February 2010, Kelly Clarkson gig. Lord in heaven above this was one weird-ass night. We were queuing for HOURS in the bloody freezing cold (of course we had not dressed accordingly) and noticed the middle aged man in front of us - who had come completely alone - was listening to our conversations. We knew this because he sniggered when Lindsey gave me the snog/marry/avoid options of Jedward, Minty in Eastenders and Louis Walsh. Then when I decided to go and get Lindsey and I some chips to warm us up, he was like “oh excuse me, will you get me some chips too please?” and thrusts a fiver in my hand. HE DIDN’T KNOW ME FROM ADAM! I could’ve done anything to those chips! But I didn’t, obv, and off I popped to get the chips.
Comes back and Lindsey, bless her soul, is giving me the look. The Look. The look that says “oh my God get here now don’t leave me with these frigging mentals again”. She was SURROUNDED by a gaggle of girls who’d been stood behind us and Chip Guy, who were all crazycrackalackaHUGE Kelly Clarkson fans: Chip Guy had been to see her 12 times, including flying to American several times especially to see her perform live. On his own. One of the girls behind told us, through drags of spliff, that she’d won a competition to meet Kelly because her bedroom was entirely devoted to her. She then got out her phone and showed us a 360degree span of her room which was - I shit you not - covered to within an inch of it’s LIFE with Kelly Clarkson posters, drawings and memorabilia. All the other girls ooo’d and ahh’d at this. Me and Lindsey just looked at bit scared. They all stared discussing how many times they’d seen her perform, what their favourite songs were, etc etc. Then they turned on us, asking “What’s your favourite song on the My December album?”. PANIC! We had never heard the My December album. We were not aware of one song off the My December album. In fact, we weren’t exactly massive Kelly Clarkson fans, not compared to this lot anyway. We just liked singing ‘My Life You Suck Without You’ really loud in the car and making up our own words to ‘I Do Not Hook Up’ (if you’d like a copy of these parody lyrics, feel free to contact me. I expect to be inundated). We mumbled a bit and shuffled our feet; at this point they knew we were not one of them, and they literally turned their backs on us. We were cast out like a lioness abandons her sickly cubs. It was for the best.
You’d think we’d be safe once we got inside the building. Not so. There was lots of pushing and shoving and we ended up standing behind a group of about 6 teens who all looked like they had asbos. One of them got a little packet out of their back pocket, and then they all bent their heads and started…. snorting. Now admittedly I’ve led a very sheltered life, but I have seen Skins so I’m not daft. Lindsey and I were ALARMED and tried shuffling away while eying them up to see if we could see any gun/knife shaped objects through their jackets.
But then coke-boy spots us. Coke-boy stares at me. I poop myself a little bit. Coke-boy says “You’re tiny, you’re not going to be able to see a thing! Do you want me to get you to the front?”. Right, well, I’m 4ft 11 (shut it) and the room was tightly compact with people well over 5ft and indeed I could not see a thing and, yes, I would like him to get me to the front. But 3 seconds earlier I was pondering whether or not he was carrying a weapon. MORAL DILEMMA.
They literally bulldozed their way through and plonked me at the (almost) front, dragging Lindsey behind. Much to the annoyance of a silly girl in front who jabbed her stiletto heel in my foot and kept twisting it round like a mad woman (OWWW!), I gave her a few jabs in the back and she and her friend started having a good old whinge about me and kept turning round to glare at me. They did look a bit rough/hard and it did cross my mind that I’d be going home with a black eye. Lindsey even planned her mode of attack if they started “Right I was going to punch her in the face, right, then grab you and run out and get in the car and lock the doors!”. Lindsey is ace.
Luckily they got sick of me and just buggered off to the back - so we got right to the front! Kelly Clarkson was brilliant and, aside from Lindsey almost fainting because of how hot and stuffy it was in there, it was a drama-free night after that. We decided when we were in McDonalds at midnight that we wouldn’t go to a standing gig again, it was just far too much hassle, we didn’t want to be in a situation like that again, we’re not violent people and besides, it’d be much better if we waited until the people we liked did stadium tours so we could have a nice sit down.
So yeah, we’re going to see Ellie Goulding in November, in Manchester. It’s a standing gig. Pray for us…
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