So of course I have to add my tuppence-worth. Except, I have no opinion on what Kirstie said. None at all.
I have no opinion because, in the nicest possible way (and I do want to be nice because I’ve had a Kirstie-crush for years...), her opinion is totally irrelevant.
Irrelevant to her imaginary daughter, to all the real flesh-and-blood young women whose mothers would like them to have nice boyfriends and cute babies and be happy. And to all the young women whose mothers would like them to have a successful career and be individual and headstrong and happy. Heck, it doesn’t even matter to all the young men out there, whose parents will inevitably expect something of them as well.
Because that’s the thing about kids, isn’t it. They tend to want to do their own thing. To be reminded of this Undeniable Fact of Parenting, I just have to look at this face:
It’s a face that says “not on your nelly, Mother”. It’s the face he puts on when his idea of what should be happening is different from mine. Which is pretty much all the time, and he’s 16 months. Lord help us when he turns 16 years.
There are certain things I would love for him to do, to achieve, to be. Yes, I’ll say that above all I want him to be happy (no pressure, son). But as I’ve said before, it isn’t for me to decide. I may not be above trying reverse psychology (why yes, I think you getting a motorbike at 16 is a wonderful idea. Shall I shoe-horn my wrinkly self into some leathers so we can go for a ride together?), but I can’t tell him which direction his life should take, by which age he should or should not have children. I can’t ‘protect’ him from disappointments I suffered or make him try the things I didn’t have the courage for. The same would be true for a daughter, if I had one.
So I think this: Kirsty is entirely entitled to her opinion. Heck, you would hope she'd have one, for this imaginary daughter, as surely the one thing worse than an opinionated (or meddlesome, if you're talking to the child) parent is an indifferent one.
But otherwise, I don't think much. Her opinion just kinda makes me laugh, slightly nervously and with another glance at THAT face. It makes me imagine how the imaginary daughter would huff and prance off into the sunset with an old rocker of a not-nice boyfriend, or go and live in a commune that despises home ownership, or realise that actually she doesn’t like babies that much. Because, you know, Kirstie said it and she just had to go and do the opposite. Because that’s what kids do.