My youngest son starts primary school this September. I’m incredibly excited about this.

I’m excited for him, of course, because he loves nursery and I know he’s only going to love this move even more but I’m even more excited because I get more time to write.

Currently I have to squeeze writing books and my OU assignments in the two hours he’s away, early mornings when everyone is asleep and the weekend. I also have to fit it in around my self-sabotaging, procrastinating tendencies.

With this move, I will get five whole hours of actual time during the day, when I can concentrate on getting work done. It’s fantastic.

Unfortunately this next stage has raised some uncomfortable, personal questions.

To be clear: none of them are asked with malice or judgement but they’re still questions that tend to bring out a lil bitta rage in me.

“When are you trying for number three?”

“He’s starting school? Time for another baby then.”

“Two boys? When are you going to try for that girl?”

Even writing these out makes me completely baffled as to why we have let this be part of normal conversation with relative strangers?

Growing up with an Irish Mammy, I am somewhat used to this line of questioning regarding children – it comes with the territory – but these have been genuine questions from people I barely know and I don’t understand why they think it’s perfectly ok to ask this?

These aren’t new.

The umbilical cord hadn’t fallen off my first-born before we were being asked when we were going to try for our second.

“Don’t want them to be lonely.”

“Only children are spoilt.”

All the usual bullshit, you name it, I’ve heard it.

After my second son was born it was:

“Ah, you’ll need a girl to finish up.”

Hang on a second, I’m still waddling around in those super attractive paper pants you sport after childbirth and you’re telling me I’m not done yet?

Shut the front door, ladies, you’ve just put your body through hell and back but Sandra from down the road has informed me you’d better get back to it and pop out that girl you’re missing out on!

I never knew my empty womb could cause such concern to those around me. Look at it, sitting idle, like some sort of lazy bastard.

But wait, there’s more!

Not only can I have too little, I can also have too many.

From what I can gather the rules are:

1 child = bad

2 children of the same sex = also bad

2 children of different sexes = good, stop breeding.

3 children, all of the same sex = you should stop but we’ll give you sympathy and make you feel like you’ve failed because you couldn’t breed a mix.

3 children with a mix of boys and girls = you’ve done your part for the human race, stop.

4 children and above = FOR GOODNESS SAKE, KEEP YOUR LEGS TOGETHER.

I can genuinely say, with hand-on-heart sincerity, that I don’t give a rat’s ass if Steve from the school gates has viable sperm. I don’t feel the need to ask him, outside my child’s classroom (or anywhere else for that matter) why he’s not busy lobbing the stuff at his wife to help increase the human race, so why on earth does he feel it’s ok to ask me why I’m not having number three?

I’ve gotten better at making ‘no’ a complete sentence in various aspects of my life but giving that answer to the ‘Are you planning on having any more children?’ question doesn’t seem to provide people with enough in-depth information to my private life.

I have been a culprit of this too. I have asked these questions to people and it’s something I feel really shitty about now. It’s none of my damn business when or if you even want kids. I don’t know what you’ve been through or if you’re even compelled to have children. You want seven of them? Cool. You want 42 iguanas because children are bloody awful, go for it. It’s none of my business nor is it anyone else’s and you shouldn’t have to explain this – so don’t.

If you feel the urge to ask a woman about her plans regarding children, I beg you not to. You have no idea what she has gone through up to this point. Maybe she has never wanted any but feels unnecessary guilt about having to explain this choice to complete strangers all the time. Maybe she desperately wants children but has fertility issues. Perhaps she has suffered multiple miscarriages and feels like a failure. Maybe she decided on adoption and wasn’t approved or maybe she has been so traumatised by pregnancy or loss of a baby that she can’t face even trying again.

If you’re now at a loss as to what you can talk about with people, stick to the weather. If a person wants to talk about children or their plans, let them be the ones to bring it up. If a woman is not drinking at a social event, bite your damn tongue before asking ‘are you pregnant?’ If they’ve been married for a few years and there’s no sign of kids, don’t ask ‘what’s taking so long?’

Just don’t.

Trust me on this, you are not the first person to ask them this question and they don’t need an inquisition into their personal life at any time, so please: mind your own womb.

Now, if you excuse me, I have further research to do on finding out if I can exchange my children online for some iguanas.

In case you haven’t realised it yet: I’m, like, inspirational as f**k now 💋

Patience isn’t a virtue of mine, it never has been but I’ve decided to take this seemingly negative trait and use it for good.

I’m so sick of hearing phrases like: ‘give it time’ or ‘some day’.
For years I felt like I was always waiting for permission to get what I wanted and was fobbed off with promises of ‘some day’
(There’s a special place in hell for people who say that phrase to me).

Things work differently in my brain now. Unless there’s a justifiable reason not to do or achieve something then, as far as I’m concerned, it’s simply an excuse I’m hiding behind.

Over the last few months I’ve been really looking at my fears and insecurities. More often than not, simply calling them out into the open helps to diminish their hold on me. 

It always helps to remind yourself: fear is a damn liar.

With all this in mind I’m calling bullshit on that old adage: “good things come to those who wait”.
F**k that, anyway.

As far as I’m concerned: “good things come to those who show up and work for what they want”.
As the good Lord and saviour Britney Spears told us: “You better work bitch.”

I have zero tolerance for ‘some day’, I’ve got shit to do.

Being an adult is shite. One of the worst things is trying to make friends at my age. I’m rubbish at it. Seriously, as an introverted extrovert (it’s a thing, I promise) I genuinely break into a cold sweat at the thought of having to speak to new people or generally go anywhere that I’ve never been before. Music makes up a huge part of my life. I sing around the house to the point where my children ask me to ‘just stop that’ on regular points throughout the day. It’s easy to gauge my mood depending on what I’m listening to. If it’s Queen, you’re safe; if it’s Kanye West just run and hide.

Fun fact: WHEN I win the lottery my first splurge will be to put on my own production of Jesus Christ Superstar and cast myself as Judas just so I can sing ‘Heaven on their mind’ and people won’t be able to stop me. He gets the best songs and there’s no way I’d ever be able to reach *that* note in ‘Gethsemane’ – I don’t have the gravitas for Pilate. Yes, I’ve thought about this A LOT.

This paints me as someone who can actually sing – I can’t. I can hold a note, but anyone that’s heard me attempt karaoke can attest to the fact that I should probably just sit the hell down. I make up my own words and a key is really something to dabble in more than a necessity to the process. I’m currently in my office wailing along to ‘Eleanor Rigby’ as I type. You can’t stop me, family, my chair is against the door and my headphones are in so I can’t hear you shout. Suckas!

I’m getting off point: making friends.

I’ve always held the belief that I pretty much peaked at primary school and one of my favourite things to do there was sing in the choir. I got to sing and I also got to hide behind much better singers in the process (hooray!)

In my attempt to actually get out of the house and meet people – the worst – my mother suggested I join a local choir. I hadn’t sang publicly since primary school but I knew a few people that had already joined which made the whole process a lot easier.

It was easily the best decision I’ve made this year. For two hours a week I get to be no one else but me. It’s so much fun. It’s such a huge release to just sit and sing and laugh with a group of women who all just sing for the fun of it. It also helps that Kathy, who runs The Choir Studio, is basically the nicest human you’ll ever meet. It’s like Snow White runs a choir – seriously. She’s the only person who gets away with calling me ‘Lizzy’ simply because I don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. It would be like hitting a puppy to disappoint this woman.

I’ve met so many lovely people through this and it’s such a huge lift to my mood each and every week. I wish I was one of those people who feel the fear and do it anyway, (there’s basically a list of things I’ve always wanted to do, and for one reason or another, I don’t) I doubt I ever will be BUT I’m very proud and relieved that I took the leap and went that first week.

The whole point of this post is to emphasise the fact that there’s no age limit on trying something new, especially if it’s something you previously loved.

You want to sing? Sing.

You want to learn how to kick someone’s ass and defend yourself? Right on.

You want to burlesque like a boss? Fucking do it.

You want to ride a unicycle without a seat? Phone a healthcare professional and take a long hard look at yourself.

Can you imagine what you could achieve if you weren’t afraid? I think Monday would be a pretty spectacular thing if that was the case.

I’m not there yet but I’m working on it and that’s wholeheartedly down to a bunch of women who like singing for the sake of it and I’m forever grateful.