I am in Dorset at the moment, where I've come for a few days of calm and quiet in order to get some serious writing done on my book. In fact it hasn't turned out quite like that; I haven't written a huge amount more than I would in London (although not less, so the trip isn't a waste of time). Instead I have been walking, swimming, reading, eating and doing a lot of sleeping. I am slightly surprised by the amount of sleep I can get done; the total silence and darkness outside at night is probably helping with that.
Sleeping, inevitably, means dreams, and while I know it is odious and dull beyond measure to talk about one's dreams, bear with me on this one - I promise not to go into detail. Last night I had my most recent recurring dream, a dream I am having with alarming frequency. I have always been one for recurring dreams; I have lots involving various forms of transport going out of control (plane crash / boat sinking / I have forgotten how to drive); dreams about needing to pee but having nowhere to go, quite often combined with my other recurring dream that I have gone back to school and am being forced to do my A Levels again, so the dream takes place in a school toilet full of cubicles, none of which are suitable for some reason - this one I have so often that I got quite freaked out when I was in an actual school toilet recently; and my favourite recurring dream, that I am in New York and it's amazing. I've been having this one less recently, ever since I did go to New York and it really was amazing. It's like my subconscious can't be bothered with it any more.
My new recurring dream is that I'm pregnant. It's always slightly surprising, I never know who the father is, and my family are always there to offer support / interfere, depending on the tenor of the dream. It's not an anxiety dream, I am never particularly worried about being pregnant, nor is it an especially happy dream. It's just me with a massive bump, idly wondering what having a baby will be like. Last night I was mainly concerned about whether I should get my hair cut first.
I suppose the pregnancy dream is normal for a woman of 33. These are my worrying about having babies years. Thing is I am not remotely worried about having babies (posts about pain relief notwithstanding.) I know I am supposed to have strong feelings about having a baby, maybe be beginning to panic as my biological clock ticks increasingly loudly, or otherwise have a militant position that there will be no baby for me. In fact I feel about babies about the same way I feel about dogs. I like dogs. I play with other people's dogs. I feel no desire to have a dog of my own. However, if I were married to someone who desperately wanted a dog, I would probably get one.
Because I know that wanting to have a baby is a normal, natural thing, every so often I check in with myself to see if that wanting is there. No. Nothing. I guess I must be abnormal / unnatural. I wonder what wanting a baby is like. I wonder what people want about a baby. Is it the baby itself, is it having a child to play with, is it the anticipation of adult children? What? I once caused huge consternation by saying to a group of female friends that I supposed people wanted children to keep them company. I was shouted down. Apparently this would be an incredibly selfish reason to want a child. And anyway, your child might not want to spend time with you. Meanwhile I literally could not think of another reason to want to have a child except to spend time with it. But apparently there is something else. Something unselfish. You want the child, but the beneficiary of this wanting is the child, not you. This must be what is called the gift of life, and it's a gift I have never felt the urge to give. Generally I only give people things I'm pretty sure they will like. I am not confident enough to say that about life. I'm not even entirely sure that I like it yet. Sure, it has its moments, but it's really hard work. (The other theory, I suppose, is that your child is your gift to the world. But that is so unbelievably arrogant that I can't believe anybody thinks this way. Can they? Do they? Really?)
So I don't want to have a baby. Or rather, I don't *want* to have a baby; there doesn't seem to be the right vocabulary for saying that I don't actively want one but I don't not want one either. I've spoken to the not-wanters as well. They have such strong feelings about what it will do to them, to their lives. But I think if I were to have a baby I would probably like it. But I could say that about all kinds of things I'm unlikely ever to do - move to a new country, start a new career, cut my hair short. I might like any of them, I just don't want them badly enough to find out. So on the subject of babies, the biggest decision I am ever likely to make, I am neutral. (Although, in a way, neutral is the same as not wanting something, because if I am neutral on the subject of having an ice cream, I don't have an ice cream.) Neutral! It's pathetic. I sort of feel that I have failed the human race. Or run in it, not even come last, but just got indifferent halfway through over whether to bother crossing the finish line.
Of course, I am reproducing in book form, so maybe that has killed the desire in me. There are tens of thousands of my offspring crowding out bookshops and bookshelves all over the world, worming their way into the minds of readers, living their lives in your memories. I am reproducing as a meme; a parasite. Basically, I am bacteria. Who needs pregnancy?
But then what are the dreams all about?
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