Dialogue: Clock says time for baby talk

By ELISABETH EASTHER

I had never credited the biological time clock as being any more than a myth until lately, perhaps because of the boom in beautiful babies. My biological clock must have just been set to radio and now I think it's playing my song.

I have had it on snooze for a while and was relaxed about procreation, having made a deal with a friend. We decided that we would have ourselves inseminated if we reached our use-by dates in a similar childless state. But she's getting married soon, so there's that plan out the window.

I know lots of people having babies, which is brilliant but it's no small coincidence. I've simply reached the age bracket where your peers start multiplying and your colleagues start insisting that parenting is a must.

Cath has five great children, loves the whole deal and is an amazing mother. But why she picked me for the positive procreation talk, I have no idea. Do I look like I need a little push?

At the other end of the scale are the mothers who don't talk about their young for fear of boring the footloose and fancy-free like me. There's a tired old cliche about people becoming tedious after giving birth. The subject, however, doesn't bore me. I find it captivating and I can't get enough.

When Helen told me about a woman whose waters broke during a prenatal yoga class, I was gripped. Wow, I wanted to know everything. I nearly burst with curiosity.

Sometimes I think parents protect the childless from the gritty details so as not to put us off. Then, when you're holding that little baby and feeding it at 3 am or you're screaming, giving birth, it's too late to change your mind.

Whenever I envisage starting a family, I am quickly overwhelmed by the thought of the hours and the crying and the mess. I can barely deal with the hours and the crying and the mess of being me.

Also, when do children stop needing a parent's constant attention and when will I feel I am able to provide it? I swing between wanting to rush off and do it yesterday and having my tubes tied before it's too late.

My dog Flipper had to be adopted by my parents a few years back because of my nomadic lifestyle. Much as I love her, it is best that she's in their care. They never leave her in the car when they go to movies. (In my defence, it only happened once, in cool weather, she had water and the windows were down.)

Certainly, you can never do that with a baby. There are laws against it. In the end it came down to my never being in one place very long, Flipper didn't have a passport and she needed stability. If I can't keep a dog, though, how would I cope with a baby?

Despite my domestic instability, I still start sentences with, "When I have children, I'm going to blah blah blah." I have accepted that motherhood is a possibility. I'm supposed to want it, would probably love it and, in the meantime, not having children doesn't mean that I cannot participate.

Supposition, hypothesis and eavesdropping have taught me a lot. At yoga the other day, I overheard an account of a caesarean. I pretended that I was engrossed in my swan pose but I was listening like a hawk.

I'm surprised how much I enjoy my friends' babies, even though I worry about dropping them or that they might start crying. Making up songs and pulling faces for infants when no one is watching is great fun and I love that I'm going to be a part of those grinning babies' lives as they grow up. Could vicarious parenting be enough?

Recently, my brother announced that he and his wife were expecting a child, which lets me off the hook if ever I were on one. I only wish I hadn't observed the frenzy of excitement the news generated. It was as if my dear, reserved family were on drugs. There was whooping and everyone laughing and saying they loved each other.

It was beautiful, and I can only imagine the level of excitement the actual baby will generate.

Despite the ticking clocks and biological bombs, I know that I will be fine if I don't have a family. I'm fascinated by the miracle of life but am no more ready to have a baby now than when I was 5 and it was totally out of the question.

The scary question is: will I regret not having children? That whole time limit thing does up the ante for women. I am sure that I would cherish my young. I'm supposed to - after all, I am female.

Still, I think that I would rather have no children and regret it than have them and not feel up to the task.