My biological clock does not need winding

A DAD'S LIFE: Predicting a perfect storm of new baby pressure, writes ADAM BROPHY

A DAD'S LIFE:Predicting a perfect storm of new baby pressure, writes ADAM BROPHY

‘OUR FRIEND’S mum is getting a baby,” my two daughters spout in stereo. Then stand there, arms folded, looking at me as if I’ve done something very wrong. I want to assure them I didn’t knock their friend’s mum up, but guess that’s not where I’ve sinned in their minds.

The clue is in the verb. In their eyes a mother doesn’t “have” a baby, she “gets” one. Babies are awarded on merit and we, their parents, due to our empty inbox, must be up to no good.

We’re approaching birthdays when further reproduction will no longer be a given. This birthday, it appears, brings everyone out of the woodwork with quivering eyebrows and little smiles.

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Every time another waistline starts to expand, the jibes get thrown out there. The school pick-up is where it all happens. A new mum-to-be is announced and all eyes turn to those who haven’t delivered in a while, murmuring an unsaid wonder. I never realised we were obliged to keep breeding.

The combination of an impending 40th birthday and the country’s ongoing disintegration brings together a perfect storm of new baby pressure. The biological pressure is distinct and, for some reason, as the world falls apart, it looks like more people are distracting themselves by procreating. It’s a neat trick, and I hope it works for the country’s sake, but I’m not joining in.

There has also been pressure too from one particular camp that surprised me; the elder gentleman crew. Twice recently I’ve wound up sipping celebratory pints with new dads in their 50s. They’ve both wistfully commented they’ll be mid-70s at a 21st, but then giggled as if to suggest this is the best thing in the world.

I’ve offered congratulations, but over the course of the night admitted I was out of the game. They both, independently, came out with the “never say never” line and carried on with the bevvy. I had to warn them they weren’t so sprightly anymore and should take it easy, at which they only just resisted tousling my hair and pinching my cheek.

Auld fellas at it, putting unnecessary pressure on us young bucks. Bang out of order. Maybe they’ve twigged it, whatever it is, and realised all the planning and following of approved guidelines will not mean squat when it comes to how your life turns out.

Which leads me to an American article by Katy Read I came across last week, republished on thejournal.ie. It’s an alarming read in some ways in that Read laments leaving, in 1996, her full-time job as a journalist to raise her two boys and freelance instead.

Now, with the lads only a couple of years away from college, she finds herself divorced and close to penury. She acknowledges she shared experiences with her children she may not have, had she been working all the time, but states she would advise anyone facing the same decision now not to do what she did.

Read earns $20,000 less than she did in 1996 and feels decidedly unskilled in the job marketplace. I relate to this. Only a few weeks ago I voiced concerns here about where to go career-wise now that my two sprogs are at an age where their demands are more manageable.

In a dark light, I picture my career on a pedestal if I had stayed on the track. But I know that’s inaccurate. You can only make decisions based on the choices given to you at any given time. I made mine knowing full well my decision would affect my future earning power and potential security.

Read was aware of this too. If extraneous factors have further undermined her current, precarious financial position, these were events that she may have imagined happening but could not have predicted with any certainty.

Every day we manage regrets, in every aspect of life. To presume that life would have turned out better had a single decision not been made is a risky game, and at best a guessing game.

If she had stayed the course, Read could possibly have been a media superstar involved in the recent sale of the Huffington Post, but just as easily she could have been made redundant years ago and be full of bile right now.

I’m with the auld dads on this. Play them as they fall because we have no idea how that may be.