I told my Mum I was Unsure About Having Children. Her Reply Opened My Eyes

To me, my mother is Mummy and Mum; the fount of all knowledge and the source of love; the keeper of the rulebook and the holder of the cheerleader’s pompoms. She’s all of those things, but she is also a madwoman, who on her first night out in England from Zimbabwe was shocked by how cold it was after leaving her flat in a short skirt and heels, no jacket. She was pushed into hockey, literally, by her friend, who shoved her out of the line when the coach asked for a volunteer.

I am named after that friend. My mother is both a protester and a nurturer; she has been teargassed at least twice (that I know of) while protesting in the name of human rights. Her life is a series of near misses and question marks, which I enjoy learning about and am sometimes horrified by.

Given the obvious richness of her experience, I have asked her many times why she decided to have children. I couldn’t figure out why somebody who had such a full life would want to risk changing it for anything. When I was a teenager, she jokingly responded that she was bored.

But as I get older, my curiosity has only grown. Because of her difficulties with endometriosis, the chances of her having children were slim. Becoming an older, black mother sounded even harder, with the risks associated with so-called geriatric pregnancies and systemic racism within maternal health settings.

One day, we were having a conversation at home, laughing about one of those interior design shows in which the couple had a child on the way and another running around, when I asked her again why she decided to have children when everything about it sounds so stressful and tiring. “I wanted to be a mother on my own terms. Not anyone else’s,” she told me. And then she went on: “Everyone has this magical idea of a baby.

But those babies don’t stay babies.” By this, I understood that she never felt any pressure to have children because she had always looked at children as separate beings – not as possessions or boxes to tick or part of a life plan. What it said about her attitude to life – the determination to raise a person rather than be a mother for the sake of it – really floored me.

“What about getting married?” I asked her, and she answered with an indescribable look that I have yet to capture on camera. She told me she had never wanted to be a wife. Not that she thought marriage was a bad thing; in fact, her own parents had a long, happy marriage. But her father once told her that marriage and giving birth were not exactly achievements.

Living a life worth talking about, where you made a difference, big or small, caring for other people – that is what mattered. That was the example she should give to children she might have. And that’s what she tried to do. And so, in her mid-30s, she decided she was ready to pass on what she had experienced and learned to a new generation.

I told her: “I don’t think I’ll ever have children.” I had said so on many occasions, usually after babysitting a younger cousin or friend’s child – the best form of birth control. However, I wondered, did my mother wish to be a grandmother? My early childhood is filled with fond memories and pictures of her mother, my Gogo. She was excited to be a grandmother, for her daughter to have daughters.

But she shrugged and said: “Good. You could change your mind, but someone who realises early on that they don’t want children is someone who recognises the immense responsibility it is.” If children were meaningful to me, that was good. If not, still good. She had a life before, during and after me.

She has her bookcases full of novels, a rack full of good wine and holidays planned for herself in business class. We were her joy – but not the only thing in life that brought her joy. Her approach has always been: live a good life, do something meaningful. Basically, just don’t kill anyone.

I do not have children. Maybe that will change; it is highly likely it will not. But I am always comforted to know that whether I raise dogs, alpacas, cats or even children, my mother will be fine with my choices.

Michaela Makusha is a freelance journalist

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