Why should childfree women defend choosing to spend our money and time on ourselves?

Jenny McEntegart has made a choice not to have children. So why, she demands, does she have to consistently defend her decision? 

I’m a single woman in my late thirties, with a biological clock that is getting louder by the minute — I’d felt comfortable having it muted.

Bobbi. My friend’s kitten, a beautiful ball of black fluff with little white markings on her paws almost like socks. The most unsuspecting catalyst for a heavy edit on both this article and my stance on whether I want to procreate or not.

Yet, she managed it. My first night cat-sitting for my friend, I was comfortably perched on the couch scribbling down my thoughts when Bobbi dashed upstairs. Worried she would make a mess, I followed her. Stepping into my friend’s toddler’s room was a sobering moment. The type that catches you off guard and makes you freeze on the spot. Bobbi lay on the three-year-old girl’s bed, and I found myself surrounded by everything I had so confidently dismissed in the words I had written downstairs.

I looked around, teddy bears had been tenderly tucked into bed, tiny shoes lay strewn across the floor, drawings done by little hands that have not yet mastered the most effective way to command a crayon sat on a desk, and bedtime story books confronted me. Ouch. So, I sat with Bobbi for a minute with the words of that distasteful, disrespectful comment resounding in my head. You know, the one all single women in their thirties will have had barked at them inappropriately: “You’ll regret it when it’s too late.” It was quickly followed by another thought... I have wine in the fridge.

I returned to the laptop with a glass in hand, unsure of where to start. I’m a single woman in my late thirties, with a biological clock that is getting louder by the minute. Before Bobbi ambushed me, I’d felt comfortable having it muted. Although I love children and am quite a hands-on aunt, I haven’t
experienced the same sense of urgency to have children as friends. I’ve always considered myself to be more suited to the fun aunt role. It wasn’t the room, or the contents thereof. That was nothing new. I read stories to my nieces all the time.

It was the timing. The visual representation of life with a child while drafting an article on living life childfree felt confrontational and admittedly, I didn’t like it.

I was fully immersed in a no-baby mindset. On the train to Dublin, I’d been reading Caroline Magennis’ book Harpy, a compassionate and comedic exploration of the countless and valid reasons why women choose not to have children. Confession: I’d wrapped the book cover in a bid to both avoid funny looks from older women (oh the Catholic guilt!) and to avoid an unspoken overshare with strangers regarding my plans for motherhood, or rather my decision to abstain from it. With an increasing number of people choosing to live alone and not have children, the volume of literature and podcasts on the topic has grown significantly.

I’ve never been a “cat person”, I don’t dislike them, but I’ve never fawned over a cat like I would a dog. Cats are self-sufficient and not overly imposing — the polar opposite of children — so when my friend asked me to cat sit, I thought, how difficult could it be? As someone who enjoys time to myself, I was also confident that cleaning a litter tray, feeding, and watering the equivalent of a moving and moaning houseplant would not prevent me from enjoying the luxury of an empty house.

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I had left my small town in the Midlands and headed for some suburban serenity in South County Dublin. I was looking forward to enjoying some of the various and numerous attractions the city has to offer, from scenic to social, both only a short DART ride away. The night before, I took to Instagram in search of entertainment. I discovered comedy nights, scenic walks, and quirky cocktail bars. I alerted my city gals to my arrival and organised long overdue meetups. 

My days began around noon and were spent reading, perusing markets, taking leisurely strolls, embracing the beautiful views the outskirts of Dublin have to offer. Some evenings were spent laughing with friends I hadn’t seen in far too long as we exchanged dating horrors over dinner in charming restaurants. Other evenings were a more casual affair, kickstarted by the popular text, “Want to call over? I’m too lazy to wash my hair. Nibbles and drinks in the garden?”

As I sat there feeling somewhat disorientated, rereading what I had written, it occurred to me. The existence of a baby would complicate, if not fully derail, all the enjoyable activities I was looking forward to. At the risk of sounding harsh, and even cold, when we become parents, we instantly become a secondary consideration. We trade a little of our identity and freedom in exchange for the cute cuddles and joy a baby can bring. Which of course is fine if that’s what makes you happy. The problem does not lie with all parents. It only arises with the ones who assume, and vocalise, that a baby is what should fulfil you — those who are shocked, and sometimes appalled, when a woman in her thirties drops the bomb, “No, I’m single, no children”. Hear that pin drop at the dinner party? The presumption that you’re somehow incomplete if you don’t have children is the issue, not children.

Jenny McEntegart: When we become parents, we instantly become a secondary consideration. Picture: Ger Rogers

Motherhood is packaged as heartwarming moments, first words, first steps, giggles, and hugs. But an aesthetically pleasing highlight reel is hardly a sufficient basis for a lifelong commitment. It is demanding work. Beneath the superficial surface-level depiction in TV adverts and staged social media photos exists the night feeds, nappies, sleep deprivation, financial strains, and sometimes career compromises. The women who parent while working outside the home face the “Would you not cut your hours? You’re missing precious years you will never get back” brigade, while the stay-at-home mothers are shamed for not working.

So, who is drawing the short straw? Personally, I don’t believe one trumps the other. I’m not going to victimise us childfree misfits of society who are harassed with intrusive questions and patronising comments because I’ve witnessed friends who have kids be inappropriately interrogated too. The questions are different, but the lack of awareness, sensitivity and basic manners remains the same. “Just the one? Would you not give him/her a sibling to play with?” “You are tired with two? Imagine what it’s like with three!” “Aw two daughters/sons, you’ll have to go again for the girl/boy?” It’s relentless, for everyone.

There is an obvious solution to this creepy and unsettling phenomenon: Stop asking questions.

It may have been accepted by previous generations, but in 2025, the information age, where we all walk around with a device that affords us access to a wealth of information in our pockets, there is simply no excuse for such a brazen invasion of others’ privacy.

Infertility issues, miscarriages, and stillborn babies are not experiences people want to disclose to acquaintances at work parties or when drinks are flowing at a wedding. Such occasions appear to be where people often get the notion there is some kind of perverse social licence for intrusiveness when done in the name of overpopulating the planet. Just stop being weird.

As Bobbi fell asleep beside me, I reached the conclusion that although choosing to be childfree may mean a different trajectory, it does not mean less than. 

There is no right or wrong, it’s a personal choice and ought to be respected as such.

Why should us childfree women defend choosing to spend our money on ourselves and our time doing activities we enjoy? Similarly, why should mothers feel guilty for having needs? Does a little indulgence equate to low-level neglect? Even the existence of a term for it — “mammy guilt” — validates this unfair and expensive emotion. A trip to the hairdressers? Having their nails done? The opportunity to go to the toilet without hearing “mom” yelled out three times?

Motherhood should not be synonymous with self-abandonment, where you are expected to abstain from all personal indulgences. Just as single status should not be shamed as selfish. Who decided a single lady spending her money on festivals and fashion because that fills her cup constitutes failing as a woman? 

And who decided mothers who take care of their own needs are guilty of a dereliction of duty? Most importantly, why are us women, both childfree and those who chose motherhood, still tolerating such antiquated arrogant judgements? Now those are the questions I would like answers to.

My friend thoroughly enjoyed her holiday with her husband and child, while I enjoyed a week playing tourist in Dublin. Her trip was filled with civilised family fun. She did not have a drink or visit the spa; she remained attached to her child 24/7, as is her duty, right? While I recklessly left my dignity at home, (if it’s conceivable that I possess any when fast approaching 40 without any offspring), so that I could revel in a week of drunken promiscuous sex of course.

Isn’t that all that us single women are interested in? Prioritising our selfish rackety lifestyles over having a baby.

As for Bobbi, I managed to keep her alive for the week. Surely that redeems me to some degree?