I'm torn when it comes to having kids. There are times when I'm broody. That would come when I see a cute baby in a stroller, a mother bouncing a little girl on her knee, or reading mummy blogs. Those are the times where my broody, maternal instincts would come so strong, that I would immediately feel a surge of longing for one of my own. My insides turn to mush when I see cute baby clothes on sale. Show me a tiny bootie, and my voice turns incoherent.
But other times (and this happens a lot more), where I don't want children. When they're screaming, crying, fretting and yelling for goodness-knows-what. See, for me, when someone actually hands me their baby to carry, I'm stumped. I just don't know what to do with them. Put me in a room with children, and I want to run to the nearest exit. My husband's great with kids; he knows what to do with them, how to make them laugh, keep them occupied. I just look at them and go "Errr ... what now?".
I also happen to be in a country where disciplining children the way my mother disciplined me is absolutely not accepted. No rotan, or else they'll call child services. Oh boy.
People tell me that when the time comes, I'll know. I'll know what to do, and I'll do it well. When I put the wee bootie back on the rack and my voice goes back to normal, I know one thing.
I know that the time isn't now.