Sometimes I wonder how the people who invented the pill imagined the future.
Was there an upper class of childless retirees, sipping cocktails and smacking their still youthful lips together by the pool?
Were children brought up in laboratories and rented to the highest bidder, or grown off shore in new world economies?
Or maybe, instead of a lifetime of hedonism and debauchery, people volunteered their time and wealth to protecting panda bears?
It’s hard to know what they dreamed, but I doubt they expected to still be debating the pros and cons of paternity leave, much less reproductive rights.
It’s a peculiar little world we live in.
The other day an article was sent to my Inbox.
It immediately had me contemplating a new form of glass ceiling I’ve encountered in my quest for jobs and houses.
Part-time work is hard to come by. You know immediately when you see the words “Suits mother returning to work” that you’re doomed.
A person who writes mediocre blogs in their spare time simply can’t compete with the Queen Bees of the labour force.
And yet, I ask you, who’s the safer bet?
The woman whose thankless progeny are determined to make her late to work two days out of three, or the one who’s just figured out that at her current rate of pay she’ll be working till 105 to save for her retirement?
It’s no more logical than the ads for three bedroom rentals. “Perfect family home. Close to schools and transport…”
Like the only people in need of public transport are those who procreate.
Like two childless women don’t need an extra room to house their nephews, nieces and hordes of child popping relatives.
And just before you say it. I’m not childless because I dislike the snotty nosed!
I love children. And that is why I’m childless. (I make a way better Aunt than I ever would a mum. Just ask Pepi.)
But I wonder why, fifty years on from the sexual revolution, this is still a choice we need to justify?
The whole topic makes me want to spontaneously break into a Lily Allen flash dance…
“It’s hard out here for a b****”
(*childless wannabe writer)
Only I just got a call from an employer.
And they want to hire me. Me?!
And here’s the stunner:
My childless delusions of creative grandeur appear to have been deemed an asset!
Of course, if I tell you it’s in the entertainment industry, I know what you’ll be thinking.
And that may well have been my next port of call.
But this is legit. As of this week, I’ll be a ticketing officer (which is my fancy way of saying I’ll be working in a call centre).
Real money, for real work, with real people and stuff.
So now I’m swallowing my words. And busting out another kind of glass…
What did you think the pill would do for you?