Breed why don't you

Yesterday I celebrated my 35th birthday. Apparently I am now at an eligible age to run for the United States presidency. I am also apparently at the age where people find it appropriate to ask me if I want children. Tick tock goes the biological clock.

I visited my parents last week and we discussed my cousin's new baby. My aunt described my cousin as 'an older mum'. She's 37. In my world, anybody giving birth under the age of 30 bears a social stigma not unlike a teen pregnancy - a sorry state to be patronizingly pitied. I realise of course that 'my world' encompasses a two kilometer radius around my house and is not necessarily reflective of the greater population. In fact, according to Google (is there anything you can't do), the average age for women to have their first baby is 29. Indeed, my own mum had three kids by my age - and still managed to look better in a bikini than I ever will.

How did she manage that hair style with three kids?

Now here's the controversy. I don't want kids right now. The problem with this however, is that 'right now' will not always be 'right now'. There is the risk I'll wake up at 44, having done all I want to do as a single, professional woman, and think 'geez, a kid would have been nice'. But, by this time of course, the biological clock says no.

I had a hilarious conversation with my dad a couple of months ago when I declared that kids were not in my plan. Rather than try and talk me out of it, dad responded with something like 'well darl, if your mother and I had our time again, we likely wouldn't have had any either'. Mum was shouting in the background 'but we love you kids'. According to dad, kids are 'too much bloody worry'. I can understand this. I never really took to dogs for this reason. Too much responsibility - what, with their sad 'please walk me' eyes and their unconditional love. No thank you.

I'm a godmother to one of my dearest friends' first born. I'm mad about that kid - though she's still too young to really know who I am. She tried to push me off the slide the other day and it hurt my feelings a little. I don't care to imagine the pain of being a mum to a teenage girl who declares 'I hate you. I'll do what I want. I'm 15 now!' (Sorry mum, it was a tough time for us both). This is the joy of being a godmother. She'll go through a period of hating her mum, as all teenagers do, but, I get to play impartial observer. The sage giver of advice. The 'maiden aunt' with humourous tales of a life lived large. At the very least I'll help her buy her first bottle of vodka when she's underage.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. I'm 35 now. And I don't want kids. Stop asking me.