In my early 30s, when I was deputy editor of ELLE magazine, I lost count of the amount of times colleagues and acquaintances told me that I had ‘done things the right way around’. They were referring to the fact that I already had two children and was now ‘free’ to pursue my career, uninterrupted by maternity leave breaks and unburdened by the supposed ticking of a biological clock.
It was quite the turnaround from the pitying looks I’d received from school friends when I became pregnant at the age of 16.
My stock answer to those envious colleagues was a small smile or a brief, ‘It wasn’t always easy.’ Needless to say, that was something of an understatement. Not necessarily for me, though I certainly struggled at times, but certainly for my children.
That I was not the dedicated, infatuated, baby needs-aware parent they deserved is a sadly undeniable fact. I often went out at night when I should have been home reading bedtime stories. And I sometimes spent mornings after said nights cowering on the sofa when I should have been building Duplo towers, pushing swings or covering tiny hands in paint to make prints.
I still blush remembering one aborted trip to Thorpe Park and my daughter’s shaming reproach: ‘Mummy, you promised, but then you went out and got all drunk...’ More than that, I worked overtime on my career – largely to prove that I was more than a teenage mother statistic – ahead of two children who loved me and needed me.
I sometimes spent mornings after said nights cowering on the sofa when I should have been building Duplo towers, pushing swings or covering tiny hands in paint to make prints
Of course, becoming a mother at 16 is an extreme and certainly not what TV presenter Kirstie Allsopp was advocating when she said this week that if she had a daughter, she would advise her to: ‘Start work straight after school, stay at home, save up your deposit – I'll help you – let’s get you into a flat. And then we can find you a nice boyfriend and you can have a baby by the time you’re 27.’
At its essence, I agree with Allsopp’s statement: what we all want to give our children is choices. We want to equip them with the skills, education and security that will afford them the opportunity to get what they want from life. We don’t want them to miss out on something precious.
And, away from the vitriolic Twitter outcry (Allsopp does seem to have a talent for pushing buttons, though many of her most offended critics appear not to have read the quote in its more measured context), what she was trying to do was ensure women make informed choices when it comes to the fertility window and our careers.
I am now 36 and yes, I know single friends who are worried that they have missed their chance to have children and couples who are visiting fertility specialists after years of trying to conceive, but I also have more christenings to go to this year than visits to my bikini waxer. There are no hard and fasts here.
Where Allsopp and I part ways is the idea that finding a nice boyfriend and having a baby is all a woman might want out of life. My eldest, now 19, is a girl – a woman. Every year that she celebrates a birthday and doesn’t come to me to tell me that she’s pregnant, I notch up as another success. While I have promised her that, should she find herself in my situation, I will look after her child and let her get started in life, it is not something I want for her yet, because it is not what she wants, yet.
Parenthood is fantastic, the most rewarding, heartwarming thing in the world – when you are ready. I know this because last June, after three years of trying, I had my third baby. I felt like a first-time mother in many ways, so different was the experience. I went to sensory classes, sang nursery rhymes, divested myself of all modesty with a group of women I’d met only months previously, but who now knew intimate details about my nipples. And do you know what I also learnt? That I am a better mother now.
My eldest, now 19, is a girl – a woman. Every year that she celebrates a birthday and doesn’t come to me to tell me that she’s pregnant, I notch up as another success
And it’s not just me who thinks that. My eldest readily agrees. Often vocally. She sees me coming home every night for bath time, working a four-day week – because being older means I have the seniority, salary and confidence to negotiate flexibility – and spending weekends in nasally-assaulting swimming pools and soft-play areas and feels, rightly, that her baby sister is getting a better deal.
I can’t change the past, though I will always feel guilty about it. But what do I want for the future? In September, the 19-year-old leaves for university. She not only wants to go, she needs to go. I know this because I know my daughter – despite, or perhaps because of everything, we are incredibly close – and I am certain that the broadened horizons of further education will improve her life.
If, after four years, she tells me that she wants nothing more than to start a family, I will be thrilled. I will tell her that her student loans are her problem, but I will be eager to meet my grandchildren. Because deciding to become a mother when she has the option of a career is fine. Becoming a mother because you have no option isn’t.
So forget giving your child a London flat (literally, at these prices), options are the best tools we can bestow. They give someone choice. Choice to make up their own minds. Rather than be pigeon-holed or lectured by anyone else into making a decision about the window in which they should become a parent.
Jennifer Dickinson is senior editor of Net-A-Porter. You can follow her on Twitter @Jenny_Dickinson
Picture: Getty
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.