Last year, I hit the most terror-inspiring age for women. It’s not 40, or even 105. It’s 35.
I was excited to turn 35. I love being in my mid-30s. I have the energy and inclination to still go to music festivals but the money and back problems to pay for glamping. My 30s are the Aer Lingus to the Ryanair of the 20s. I still do the same things and get to the same place at the end of the day but I do it in a more comfortable seat.
I have accepted certain inalienable truths, which has exponentially improved life. Diet, sleep and exercise do make a difference, unfortunately. You can’t change people, just their access to you. Low-waist jeans are unnecessary and the enemy of self-esteem.
This should be the golden age. But according to people, medical journals and some IVF clinics, I should be panicking because at the 12th stroke of the clock on a woman’s 35th birthday her fertility “falls off a cliff”. It doesn’t “have a fall” like an older person.
It doesn’t slide down a hill. It doesn’t come to a gentle stop with a ding like the Luas. It has a dramatic and violent end. And in my case it’s happening right now.
I think, like all that rotten banana bread we made during the pandemic, it’s unwise to do things just because everyone else is doing them and you don’t want to miss out. I don’t want to become a mother right now purely out of fear that I may never become one. You can put banana bread in the bin if you regret making it, you cannot do that with a child.
[ Back home as an adult: ‘I’m 37 and waking up in my husband’s childhood 4ft bed’Opens in new window ]
So I sat in several waiting rooms at IVF clinics that pipe out spa-style music to distract you from the fact there is probably some poor man with a cup in the room next door and the future of his family depends on what happens in there.
I had the same set of ovaries at each visit, but have received different advice on egg freezing every time. Some practitioners said I had arrived just in the nick of time. I’ve also been told there’s no need to panic and things are looking okay.
The IVF industry is built on people’s deepest desires to have a baby and their fears it will never happen, and it comes with no guarantees. With some clinics targeting women in their 20s on Instagram to freeze their eggs “just in case”, even though retrieval rates suggest the procedure isn’t a fail-safe insurance policy, it’s hard to know who to trust and when to seek a second opinion.
They were all united, though, in telling me it would cost thousands of euros to freeze my eggs.
I’m using my house deposit to help the future me to have children, after putting off having one when I was younger in the hope I could afford to buy a house without the bank punishing my borrowing capacity. There are people who think this is what I should rightfully get as a woman who selfishly put it off. But it never felt like a real choice if the two options were “baby” and “no financial security”.
In the working-class community where I’m from, women have children young. In my kindergarten class, I had the oldest mother – she was 35. I am the first woman in my family to finish high school. To go to university. To have at least a degree of financial freedom.
I am also the only one in my family’s history to be this old without children. For some the two are not connected, but for me they are. It’s entirely possible for a woman to have children young and achieve all her dreams. But it’s really bloody hard.
[ Rise in births to mothers over 40: drivers, risks and mitigationOpens in new window ]
If I had a baby in my 20s it would have been on government benefits at the mercy of endless social-housing waiting lists. I’m not saying this because I judge mums in this position but because I’ve seen how difficult it is through friends, and I’m not confident I have the strength and grace these women have.
The people who give out about women “putting off having children” and declining birth rates are often the same who criticise families relying on welfare.
With housing the way it is, we need to accept people will delay having kids. Just don’t call it a choice.