You told me you were pregnant with your first child at the same time I made the decision to remain child-free. You welled up with tears, but I told you not to feel sorry for me, and put your emotions down to hormones. I knew that having a family meant everything to you, and I have watched with joy your two growing up over the last six years.

Now when you come to visit, you see how relatively stress-free my life is, how I have surplus cash and time to spend on myself, and you moan about the pressures of motherhood. From the difficulties of trying to shop with children in tow, to school, competitive mums, meal times with fussy eaters, tantrums and health worries, your whole life from dawn to dusk is one big stress, and I have to nod and wince and sympathise as best I can. You fail to understand that these “problems” are all your choice, and they are the same reasons I chose not to go down that road. I’m not sure why I foresaw all of that and you apparently didn’t.

But for every piece of freedom I have, you have a little hand that reaches up to hold yours in the assurance that you will keep them safe. For all the extra income I have, you have a soft, warm head that falls asleep on your chest. I may have time for hobbies, but you have inquisitive little eyes that take in every new experience in awe, and you have the pride of being able to give them that. I still do not regret my decision, and I know you don’t yours, but I hope you know that you will have many experiences that I never will, and perhaps vice versa. Our lives are different, but no better or worse. I’m glad we’ve stayed friends. But no more moaning, please.

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