A case for not having kids: Why women are putting the conversation on ice
Women can have it all – but what if you choose not to? Some still face questioning about opting not to raise a baby in an increasingly precarious world. Kelly Dennett reports.
Danni Duncan remembers the precise moment it rained down on her, that expectation. She was having her IUD changed by an older, female GP when the topic of children came up.
‘‘She was so abrupt. [She said], ‘oh well, your body clock is ticking, you need to think about it.’ I ended up complaining. It shook me. I was really upset. She was saying it as if it was a given.’’
The conversation though, did prompt some introspection. At 32, Duncan is at an age when many childless women, whether in a relationship or not, may begin to consider the aforementioned biological clock. Fertility experts say this is when they begin to see women in their offices.
‘‘As many other women do, I [once] thought, that’s just what you do – you get older and have babies. I dont have anyone older than me who hasn’t had children,’’ says Duncan.
But, ‘‘The way my life has played out, [is not] how I thought. I don’t own a home, I’ve been divorced, I’ve moved around a little bit, my income has been inconsistent.’’
A future without children feels unique in that, ‘‘[not having children] has never been modeled to me at all. Kids is the logical next step, but I don’t think kids fit into what I want to do.’’
While the question remains unanswered for Duncan, who says she’s leaning towards a childless future, the Instagram influencer now spends time on social media discussing the right to choose, and more importantly, normalising the ‘‘no’’.
And there increasingly is a no. New Zealand’s birth rates have dropped to their lowest ever, having been stable for a good 32 years between 1980 and 2012. Since 2013, women are increasingly either giving birth later in life, choosing not to have children, or having fewer of them. (The reproductive age increased by 11%, and births dropped 2%. The rate is now about 1.6). In a single year, between 2019 and 2020, births dropped 3%.
That trend is on a par with similar ones seen in Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom and the United States. According to reports in England and Wales, half of all 30-year-olds are childless, compared to 1971 when just 18% were. While this may be indicative of people simply waiting longer to have them, it at least suggests people are giving it greater thought, or putting it off. This week, Monash University reported that a quarter of young people were pessimistic about having a family.
You don’t have to search far to see why.
In a book published in April, The Most Important Job in the World: On the contradictions of choice and the mythology of motherhood, Australian journalist Gina Rushton investigates her own feelings about whether to have a baby, encountering a tidal wave of arguments about why bringing new life into the world feels like an absurdity: from the looming threat of climate change and unequal reproductive justice, to the unfair pay and emotional labour women encounter.
‘‘The question of whether or not to have a child became an exercise in tracking my fear about the world,’’ Rushton wrote.
Climate change has featured particularly prominently in discussions about parenting into the future – millennials often cite this as a reason they’re reluctant – with fears both about the effects of global warming on the future population, and vice versa. Even the Australian bush fires prompted Rushton to consider the effects of smoke on pregnancies.
The month Rushton’s book was published more nuclear threats were sent out of North Korea, the invasion of Ukraine ratcheted up, and inflation and the cost of living spiked. Meanwhile it was revealed the US Supreme Court is considering reversing the eponymous Roe v Wade decision that allowed women in 22 states to have an abortion.
‘‘One thing I didn’t expect at all, was a lot of defensiveness from people who were already parents. There’s an unwillingness to accept that for some people it’s a really fraught decision,’’ Rushton says. ‘‘We’re socialised to believe the desire for children just arrives and the answer comes before the question – and for a lot of people that’s just not the case.’’
rationalise that away.’’
Her pregnancy was ‘‘uneventful, it was absolutely amazing’’, and her daughter, Molly Love, was born ‘‘healthy, beautiful and feeding easily’’.
For Love, now 21 years old, having a mum in a wheelchair was ‘‘normal’’.
‘‘I think the hardest thing for me when I was little growing up was people just constantly staring at mum, and I would get so angry. I would honestly be in fits, like this little toddler screaming at everyone ‘just take a photo!’’’
Peterson adds: ‘‘Growing up in this life makes you feisty.’’
Although she had ‘‘amazing family support’’ around her and was quite capable of raising Love, she needed to ‘‘prove’’ she was fit to be a mum.
She underwent two assessments with social workers before being able to take her baby home, and showed them she could carry Love from the bath and lift her up from the ground.
Despite her ‘‘horrific’’ experiences with the health system throughout her pregnancy, Peterson says it was ‘‘the first time I ever felt really beautiful and really at peace with my body’’.
‘‘My body felt beautiful, it looked amazing, and it was doing this perfect job. I’ve lived in this body for years, but all of a sudden it did all the things that a woman’s body was meant to do. I started absolutely loving it.’’
Ten years later, Peterson wanted to have another baby with a new partner, and became pregnant again. She found it hard to get an obstetrician, but because this time they could afford it themselves, the couple sought private treatment.
‘‘If you can go into this with resources, it’s a lot better,’’ says Peterson.
By the time her second baby, Ruby Little, was born, individualised funding was part of the health system, so she had ‘‘heaps of care and heaps of support’’.
Peterson appreciates the irony of parenting with a disability, such as teaching her kids to walk. ‘‘Molly would just hold and push the back of my wheelchair.’’
Peterson and Love are now so close, they ‘‘live together, work together, breathe together’’.
Because of the carer shortage, the pandemic and Peterson’s busy lifestyle – ‘‘I need someone who can keep up with my pace, physically and intellectually,’’ – Love has become Peterson’s personal assistant and support worker.
They also now have a business partnership.
The mother and daughter launched Moments With Love ‘‘after many conversations, [and] a few glasses of wine’’, says Peterson.
It started as a Christmas pop-up store selling gift boxes with items produced by people in the disability community. It’s become a full-time business, and nine of their suppliers are businesses owned by or employing disabled people.
Working together is ‘‘absolutely incredible, but not without its challenges’’, Peterson says.
‘‘I’m a very strong, passionate woman, and I’ve raised a very strong, passionate woman in her own way. When it’s challenging, it’s really challenging.’’
But Love says they’ve learnt how to ‘‘meet in the middle’’ when it comes to running the business.
Profits from Moments With Love go back into the disability community, where unemployment rates are more than twice as high as they are for nondisabled people.
‘‘I would rather enable people that want to work or want to grow their own businesses to not to have to deal with WINZ or ACC or any of this crap,’’ Peterson says. ‘‘If they can be selfdetermining, living their own life, having their own money, having their own joy, fulfilling their dreams – I’d rather spend my career doing that.’’
She says having visibility of disabled parents is important to changing attitudes.
‘‘I saw my mum, I saw my aunties but I didn’t have any role models of a woman being a disabled parent. The number of young women I’ve spoken to that have said it brings them reassurance to see that this can happen, I almost feel there is a responsibility to help educate people.’’
Love says having a parent in a wheelchair meant she matured earlier than her peers. ‘‘I was doing things that most kids probably weren’t, like doing the shopping and putting gas in the car and helping Mum wherever I could.’’
It’s also made her more compassionate and understanding. ‘‘One thing I really like about having a mum in a wheelchair is that I’m not really a judgemental person at all, I can’t be.’’
‘I think the hardest thing for me when I was little growing up was people just constantly staring at mum, and I would get so angry. I would honestly be in fits, like this little toddler screaming at everyone ‘just take a photo!’’ MOLLY LOVE, PICTURED WITH MUM RACHEL PETERSON 13 YEARS AGO