The Baby Gap

The Baby Gap is my name for that period of excruciating uncertainty many women go through as they approach the end of their fertile years and wonder what on earth to do about their desire to have a baby. Why haven’t I met a partner with whom to have a family? How on earth am I going to meet one in time to fall in love and have a baby? Should I try for a child on my own? Should I freeze my eggs? Should I look into adoption? How do I date sensibly when my biological clock is ticking like mad? And how on earth did I end up here?

I began writing a book about the Baby Gap a number of years ago. I still hope to finish it but I ended up writing my book on falling in love first. I believe that’s because I came to understand that the reason I had ended up in the Baby Gap was because I had blocks and barriers to love that were keeping me single and that I’d never explored. As I worked through those blocks, removed those barriers and fell in love, I felt I had stumbled across an approach to relationships that could work for other professional women like me. Hence the book, How to Fall in Love, which I wrote, inspired, in just five weeks.

I still come across many women who are approaching the Baby Gap, in the middle of it or who’ve come out the other side. Many of these women have become my clients or have become members of my groups (I have a free Facebook group, Being Real, Becoming Whole) and a paid membership community of Love Ladies.

For a flavour of how it felt for me being in the Baby Gap, read this post from my very first Just As I Am – An Experiment in Self Acceptance blog from April 2, 2011. It talks about that sense many women in their 30s and 40s without children have that there’s something missing in their lives.

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The Baby Gap

I wasn’t going to post today, it being the weekend and me trying to practise balance and all that. But then I love writing on my blog and really felt moved – by some feelings that came up last night – to write today, so here I am. I’ll make sure I do lots of balanced things for the rest of my day and weekend, promise. Sometimes, too, the writing just flows. At other times, my thoughts are more jumbled – I think yesterday’s post is an example of that or maybe that’s my perfectionism talking. I hope I made some sense with my musings on truth.

So, the baby gap. No, I’m not referring to the junior section of the U.S. clothing store and nor am I talking about the period of time some parents deliberately leave between having their various offspring. I’m using the word ‘gap’ here more in the context of that familiar warning on the London Tube – ‘Mind the Gap’, meaning watch out for the void, the chasm, the space where there’s something missing. So what’s this all about? Well, you guessed it, I’m talking about the absence of babies or children.
I was out last night with a delightful group of ladies having a lovely time over chocolate brownies and pink fizz to celebrate a birthday. Now, I’ve learned over the past few years the futility of comparing my life to anyone else’s (‘compare and despair’, ‘the grass is always greener’ and all that). But it’s actually not that easy to turn off the feelings. I’d say the majority of the women, or perhaps all, were younger than me, some by 10 or 15 years, and several were already well into motherhood, with one or two babies. Those who didn’t have babies were in their 20s. Now this isn’t to say that I didn’t have a lovely time and wouldn’t do it again in a flash but inevitably – as a 40-year-old single woman without children – some feelings come up when I’m in that situation or they surface when I get home. I think I do a much better job today than I ever did in the past of accepting I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be – and this blog is indeed about self-acceptance, in all areas – but that doesn’t stop me questioning certain things or pondering my future.

I guess the big question is will I ever have a child of my own, naturally, and if I don’t what will that feel like, emotionally and physically? Will it bother me? Will I just move on or will I have a lot of feelings to ‘work through’? Will I try IVF? Will I adopt a beautiful child and love it as though I’d given birth? I guess the wonderful and scary thing about the future is we can’t predict it. Deep down, I have to say, I do trust I’ll have a child naturally but I have no real reason to believe that, other than an instinct and a sense that my body, inside, is pretty young and healthy. I guess I’ve also learned that there isn’t much point pondering this question for too long or worrying about it but then I don’t think I’d be human if I didn’t ponder it a little, from time to time.

At this stage in my life, I can say I know women and men in a whole range of situations in relation to babies and children – mothers of many, women who have deliberately and contentedly opted out of having any, women who are struggling to conceive naturally, others who are struggling to conceive through IVF, others who have been successful with IVF. I know single women my age and older, some who long to have children and some who have accepted they won’t. Some who accepted that fact with ease, others who had to work through feelings of regret, bitterness, anger even. I know single mothers and fathers, parents of children with disabilities, parents who’ve gone through the unimaginable heartache of losing a child. I know ‘miracle’ mothers, those women who’ve been told they could never have babies but then suddenly got pregnant or others who had the same experience but then sadly miscarried. I know women who’ve terminated pregnancies earlier in their lives only to wonder if that was their only chance. It’s an emotional rollercoaster just writing about it – imagine what it’s like to live it! I also know women who’ve adopted or taken a child into their care. A friend who’s bringing up her natural daughter on her own recently commented to me that I would never know what it felt like to have a child naturally if I never did. I guess that’s very true. But then another friend who’s become the legal guardian of a beautiful girl told me she didn’t think she could love the child any more even if she had given birth to her. It’s as though she was her own.

I can’t say I particularly know where I’m going with all this but it was on my heart so I wanted to write it down. I honestly think I would feel a sense of loss if I didn’t conceive and give birth. It just seems such a natural thing to do. But nor am I under any illusions (or maybe I am because I really don’t think you know what it’s like until you’re actually in it) about how difficult it is, at times, to be a mother or father of a young baby or bring up children, particularly as a single parent. I definitely wouldn’t be sitting here writing this blog if I had young children, that’s for sure – but then am I writing this blog to fill the baby gap? Or maybe I would be writing this blog as the little one slept.

I have so many other questions related to this fascinating topic. For example, do men feel the same? If men without children are hanging out with a group of fathers, do they feel a sense of loss? Do they ask themselves, will it happen to me? I guess it depends on the man. Just as it’ll depend on the woman. And here’s another topic I often discuss with friends my age: is our constant searching for a ‘purpose’ – a fulfilling and satisfying career or a mission in life – a product of the fact that we’re in our late 30s or 40s and don’t have children to worry about, something that would have happened far less often if we’d been born 20 years ago. But then I think women and men who do have children often ask themselves the same questions, around their careers or their purpose or where their life is heading. And of course, there’s the moment when the children leave home after all those years. I’ve probably also been prompted to write about these topics after catching some of Jeremy Vine’s Parenting Week on BBC Radio 2 (there are some advantages to working from home).

But going back to my own story, I also try to hold on to the fact that everything happens for a reason and that God knows what he’s doing. Unlike some of the lovely ladies I was with last night, I don’t think I’d have made a very good mother in my 20s or early 30s. The binge-drinking, overeating, undereating, overexercise, overwork, compulsive partying, risk taking etc would have left very little time for good parenting. Or would it? Maybe having a child would have changed everything, but then I’ll never know.

Let me just say here that I hope I don’t sound flippant in addressing these issues. I wouldn’t describe myself as someone who wanted a baby just for the experience, or for the sake of it, or because I believe it’s my right as a woman (although I admit there’s probably a bit of that going on, particularly the last point). I think I do understand the responsibilities that come with having a child and the potential for harm if my reasons for doing so are selfish. But as I said above, it feels like something I’m drawn towards and that I’d miss if it didn’t happen.

So the conclusion I’ve come to after all these musings is that, although I’m bound to think about it now and then, there’s not much point in ‘minding the baby gap’. I can write this blog because I don’t have little ones running around me. I can jump on my bike and cycle over to Camden to meet friends for coffee. I can find a park to sit in and soak up the spring sunshine and I can plan a trip to a friend’s wedding in New York in May. I guess, like anything else in life, it comes down to appreciating where you are and what you do have rather than hankering after something else, which ties in nicely with the topic of accepting our bodies as they are instead of waiting until we look like Cindy Crawford (or whoever our role model is) to start living our lives to the full. God willing, I won’t always have just myself to look after, but in the meantime I can do my best to enjoy the freedom that comes with being 40 and not having children.