Wouldn't mind another of these at some point...

Posted by Katy Regan at 16:05 on 29 Jan 2010

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Just got back from a few days up north at my parents where I went, sans-child to write without distractions. My mum is so funny. Practically on entering the house, she handed me an article in Observer Woman about only children - fors and againsts. (not that it's looking like I have much choice.) That said, I felt like saying: Mum, it's not over yet. I still have a few breeding years left in me. Fergus may get a brother or sister.  I might - shock, horror - even get a boyfriend one of these decades. (I think she gave up on that when I was about twenty-seven).

"Do you know, your dad and I were joking" she said (joking my arse). "We always said, what with three daughters, we'd be bled dry with the three weddings and look at you! All over twenty five and only one of you married!"  

I know. I noticed.

I am awfully broody though. It's kind of snuck up on me. For years, the idea of another baby left me nonplussed. My experience of the first one was complicated and life-changing enough. Plus, I'm not that great with the tiny baby stage, much prefer it now. Now is fantastic. If I could just give birth to a five year old, I'd be happy. (Although it might smart a bit.)

Still, I guess one must have a baby to get to that stage and I think one day, I'd like another.  Don't care what sex it is. Any old baby will do. I held my friend's baby in a café this morning (given it's an exceedingly cute baby) and found myself just melting at his little wood-pigeon cooing noises, then fantasising about you know, just borrowing him for a while. Christ. Need to get a grip.

Anyway, this new surge in broody hormones has made me think again about why I am single. It's occurred to me of late, that in the past decade I have spent no time whatsoever thinking why I am single, which is probably why I'm single. My personal life has never had a look in. Oh GOD.

Reasons why I am still single at 35

Am scarred by the ‘mental' label I received at school. Once ‘Mental Kate' always ‘Mental Kate' and everyone knows the ‘mental' one at school, even if she has legs up to her armpits and a face an angel  will never be the sexy one, or at least never feel like the sexy one inside. She will always be ‘funny girl' to boys, and ‘funny girl' is usually not foxy girl, (until you get to about fifty when you find Julie Walters foxy.) She is destined to have loads of male friends but no actual boyfriends. Oh, and guess what happened!

Spent all my teens and early twenties with one boyfriend and therefore didn't get my confidence at trapping them (ahem, I mean bagging them..) up, whilst my attractiveness was at its peak and I didn't have grey hairs and the odd one growing out of my chin.

Spent rest of twenties a) drunk b) talking to my friends, who always seemed so much more interesting than some equally drunk stranger in a bar. Have always preferred a good conversation to a good snog with a stranger, but am coming to realise you generally have to have the second to have the first.

Spent from 26-30 having ‘intense but platonic' relationship with Egg. Oh I'm great at those, I am.

Spent early thirties a) pregnant b) with baby / book to write / full-time job. Didn't have time for a wee most of the time never mind to conduct a relationship.

Have always made the vital mistake of working in an industry (glossy magazines) full of Alpha, gorgeous, model-like women so that although I don't exactly scare small children or make people sick in the street, I have never stood out from the crowd (have learned that lesson and now moved to a small town and got a job alone, in my house.)

All this amounts to the fact I am a retard where relationships are concerned. Simply have not met enough boys to know what I want, what I don't want, what they'll put up with, what they won't put up with, what league I'm in, what tribe I'm in. My relationship arse from my elbow, basically.

This coupled with the fact that I am an idealist and not a realist doesn't exactly help.

Still prefer friend's company to a snog with a random. Was recently in a bar with a female friend when a perfectly nice bloke came over to the table and I told him: "Can you go away please? I am talking to my friend." (friend was aghast!) See - there is NO hope for me!

And Lori Gottlieb can bugger off. She was at it again in last week's papers with her: Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr Good Enough. Book and how we should all just  waltz down the aisle with the next man who's nice to us. As if us single types haven't enough to contemplate, now she's at us with the idea this is all our fault because we are all just too damned fussy. Which is true of course. Although as I wrote in a feature in Grazia recently in response to Mrs Gottlieb (am assuming she is Mrs) I don't think anyone walks down the aisle with someone they think is Mr Good Enough. Maybe what  makes Mr Good for Me just changes with age and time?   

And, it's bloody Valentine's Day soon. Yawn.  Have only ever received one Valentine's Day present in my life: Twelve roses from a boy in my form called Adrian Ash when I was fourteen. Made my year those flowers did. The accompanying note said: Katy, I think you're really funny.

Says it all really. I never did end up going out with him!

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