Anyone who is in a serious relationship and still in their fertile years will have been asked at least one of these questions – and will, no doubt, have rolled their eyes at whichever well-meaning relative or friend introduced the topic, while spending hours at home discussing the exact same thing with their partner.
Or, indeed, at this week’s #nokids trend on TikTok, featuring young women and their partners gleefully posting about their fulfilling child-free lives – and pointing out how one’s late 20s and early 30s are merely the beginning of adult life.
Deciding whether to have children at all – let alone how many – is far more fraught these days than it was a generation or two ago. Opting out altogether no longer carries the stigma it once did and, for many people, outlandish childcare fees, crippling mortgages, women’s progress in the workplace and a societal shift towards later marriage means large families are simply not on the table.
As a result, couples such as boxer Tyson Fury and his wife Paris – whose seventh child was born a few weeks ago and whose growing brood is well-documented on their reality television show At Home with the Furys – have become the outliers, while a bigger-than-ever cohort of women is reaching 45 without having given birth.
The British Government is clearly concerned. Conservative MP Miriam Cates is outspoken about why she thinks British women should have more babies: “Our institutions, constitution, industry, education, armed forces and even our health service have all been the envy of the world at different times,” she declared, “but this success has only been possible because successive generations have reproduced themselves, ensuring the continuity and renewal of our economy, culture and national identity.”
Earlier this month, Cabinet minister Robert Jenrick joined her when he said Britain needed to have a “mature conversation” about how to reduce immigration by facilitating easier child-rearing through affordable housing and childcare.
But for most people, the number of offspring they have is a result of deeply personal choices – and reflective of their upbringing, fertility, ambitions, relationships and innermost desires. Here, six women with very different attitudes to what constitutes ideal family life talk about how they decided when to stop procreating.
"I don’t see my friends with kids as much as I used to, we’re on a different path." Photo / Getty Images
Emily Harris, 39 (No kids)
For a long time, I assumed the older version of me would want children, even though present-day me couldn’t think of anything worse. This wasn’t helped by my geographical commitment phobia – after university I spent 12 years working in Berlin, Los Angeles and Singapore and so could easily side-step the fertility question.
But when I moved back to London at 34, I realised that most of my friends were trading nights in Soho for nights cooing (or crying) over a crib. Adorable as their babies were, it became increasingly clear to me that spontaneity, freedom, travel and culture were the things I prized most about adult life and I couldn’t imagine swapping them for playgrounds and school drop-offs.
Then, on a third date with my now-husband, he asked me outright if I wanted children. I surprised myself by immediately saying no and, when he said he didn’t want them either, I felt this enormous sense of relief.
We got married last year and took three months off work to travel around East Africa (it’s not like we’ll be taking parental leave) and are thinking of moving to Lisbon. I don’t see my old friends as much as I used to and I’m also aware of how much more disposable income I have to spend on dinners out than everyone else, other than the bankers.
I turn 40 soon and other child-free women have told me that navigating the period when your body takes the choice away from you can be difficult, but I think I’ve made peace with it. My husband is my family and, while I adore the kids in my life, he and I are on a different path.
"I’m clear on one thing: we won’t be having another." Photo / Getty Images
Jacqueline Whelan, 34 (One kid)
When I had my little boy three years ago, I knew immediately that it was the best decision I had ever made. He is the light of my life but, however happy he makes us, I’m clear on one thing: we won’t be having another.
I come from an unusually big family – I have nine siblings – and although we had fun growing up, it was difficult for my parents to give us the attention we needed. From the moment I decided to become a mother, I knew I wanted to do it in the most peaceful way possible. Financially, we give him more this way.
We live in Primrose Hill, north London, but because there are two salaries coming in and my career never took much of a hit, we can afford to send him to a great nursery and even though we both work, we can give him a lot of attention (although we are careful not to give in every time he asks for a treat).
He’s rarely lonely: holidays are spent at hotels filled with children and our area has a real community, which means ready-made friends for the weekends.
To be honest, in this part of London, having just one child increasingly feels like the norm, so we rarely get asked when we’re having a second – other than by our son, who has got it into his head that he wants a baby in the house. Although I’m afraid, on this topic, he won’t be getting his way.
"My husband said we stick, not twist." Photo / 123rf
Rosa Silverman, 41 (Two kids)
There are two oft-cited reasons for ceasing to procreate after the arrival of your second child: the fear of being outnumbered and the even greater fear of having to buy a bigger car to fit your progeny into. Neither figured for me.
The oldest of four, I had always fancied I would have three myself. (Four seemed too much, as my parents would surely attest.) There’s such joy in growing up in a big, noisy family. Always someone to play or laugh or fight with. Wouldn’t the benefits outweigh the spiritual and financial costs?
My husband, who has only one sibling, thought otherwise. We had a boy first and then a girl and, with our daughter’s birth, we had completed the set. Sure, we could roll the dice again. See what a third would look like. Or we could consolidate our gains. Spend more time (and money) on the two children we already had.
I tentatively suggested the former, less sensible option. My husband, less tentatively, suggested we stick, not twist.
Now our children are a feisty 7 and 9, I feel nothing but profound relief that, unusually, I let him win. Life is full enough. Like most working mothers, I already feel far too thinly stretched. We lack time for all the homework and children’s activities we ought to accomplish, none of which would be easier if we had three.
But if we’d had a second son? Would I have bulldozered my way through my husband’s objections in the hope of a daughter? Almost certainly, yes. Some things are worth the cost of a Peugeot 5008.
"My middle child wanted to throw his sister in the bin." Photo / Getty Images
Kat Pateras, 58 (Three kids)
I was 32 when I fell pregnant with my daughter and 34 with my son and everyone assumed that, because we had one of each, we were done. But about five years later, I realised I had an overwhelming desire for a third.
One person said I was being greedy but I couldn’t help it: I felt this desperate pang to be pregnant again and feel all the excitement and emotion that comes from holding a newborn. By this point, I was older and struggled to conceive and eventually had IVF at 41. The clinic transferred two embryos and the pregnancy started as twins, so for a while I thought I would be a mother of four, but one died in utero, which I found surprisingly sad.
My daughter, however, was a perfect baby and I always remember the day I brought her home. My son had gone from being the youngest child to the middle one and wasn’t happy – and asked if we could throw her in the bin, which made me laugh.
Unlike him, I never found the transition from two to three particularly hard; much more difficult was the fact that my husband and I split up soon after her birth, so I had to navigate being a single parent and all that entailed.
But raising my three children and watching their individual personalities emerge has been the privilege of my life. Now they range from 24 to 15 and all still live in my house in London, and I think they really are my best friends.
"By this point, you know what you’re doing." Photo / 123rf
Lucy Cavendish, 56 (Four kids)
I have four children but I would have had more given half the chance. I had my first son when I was 28, but split up with his father shortly afterwards and it took a while to find a new baby-daddy to settle down with. I then had three kids in quick succession – at 36, 38 and 40 – and I definitely remember that being more tiring, although I’m not sure if it’s because I was older or because there were so many of them.
For me, the transition from three to four was the easiest of the lot – by that point there are children everywhere but you know what you’re doing and even the birth was relatively easy. I would have kept going but I always said 40 was my cut-off age – and my husband said we’d had enough.
To be honest, I think I only persuaded him to have our last because it had been all boys until then and we both really wanted a daughter, which, happily, we had.
I always loved having lots of kids, even though it can be chaotic and expensive – and I can’t deny the teenage years are hard, mostly because social media means you are dealing with a world that’s very different from the one you grew up in.
But now my children are in their 20s and late teens, I’m just delighted I brought up a set of individuals I like being with so much. People make out that child-rearing is terribly complicated but all you have to do is be curious about their lives and love them a lot.
"I dressed them in the same colours to make washing easier." Photo / 123rf
Noreen Goodwin, 52 (Eight kids)
When people hear I have eight children, their reactions range from awe to shock, and I constantly get asked how I handle the chaos. But the truth is that our lives are pretty ordered.
I was one of six and told my husband I wanted to replicate that. I was 25 when we started and we had two girls followed by four boys and assumed we were done, but then I got pregnant by accident.
I was actually rather embarrassed to be 36 and have a contraception mishap, but when our delightful daughter was born we were glad it had happened.
Our eighth was planned – partly because I hate odd numbers but also because everyone else had a natural best friend and I was worried our youngest would feel left out. Luckily it was another girl, who is now 12.
Routine was essential with a family that size: we all had dinner together, followed by staggered bath and bedtime. I never felt like the children ran the household – they all mucked in on cleaning and cooking, although we also had help and I think the washing machine has been on constantly for almost 20 years (when they were little, I would also dress them in all the same colours as it made laundry that much easier and they looked cute).
My husband owned a successful company, which meant that financially we were fine, although I couldn’t work for a long time because there was simply too much to do.
At times I did feel overwhelmed by the lack of downtime because of homework demands, but that’s become easier as they’ve got older. And thankfully they’re all good friends and are rarely competitive with each other.
As for me, I’ve recently returned to the modelling career I had before I got married, which has been such fun. I love my children to bits but I always say that having eight of them is not the most interesting thing about me.
