Oh man, let me tell you about this wild situation with my old mate Lucy. Id chatted with some mums who had loads of kids and suddenly it clicked why people found them a bit much.
Lucy was one of thosethree kids under her beltand she had this attitude like the world owed her something. “Im a mother of three, people should understand!” shed snap. Meanwhile, some poor woman in a shop would be like, “Love, I didnt make you have that many kidslet go of my jumper!”
Shed been like this since uni, honestly. Back then, no kids, just entitlement. But the minute she had her first? Wheels came right off. Kid two, kid threebam, officially a “large family,” and off she went, full steam ahead.
At first, I thought maybe it was just “baby brain” or something. You know how some new mums lose all sense of boundaries? Like everyone suddenly exists to serve them?
“Can you believe it?” shed rant when we caught up. “Im standing in a queue with the kids, and no one lets me skip ahead!”
Id try to be reasonable. “Well, they dont *have* to, Luce. Some people are exhausted from work, some just want to get home…”
Shed cut me off before I could finish. “Oh, come off it! They can wait. Whatve *they* got to be tired about? They dont even have kids!”
“Since when is being tired exclusive to parents?” Id ask.
“Since I had *three* and know what Im talking about!” shed fire back. “But you wouldnt get ityouve never even had one!”
Lucy was *that* type. She genuinely believed every womans duty was to pop out at least one kid, preferably more. Anyone who disagreed? Dead to her.
Me? I never wanted kids. My husband and I were happy travelling, building careers, learning new thingsliving our lives. He was fully on board, no arguments. But Lucy saw it as her personal mission to “fix” my thinking.
“Youll be happier once you have one!”
“You dont understand because youre not a mother!”
“Whos gonna look after you when youre old if not kids?”
Arguing was pointless. I stopped bothering.
Years later, her kids were older, and I swung by hers for a catch-up. We talked for hoursshe was *starved* for adult conversation. No surprises thereher whole world was nappies and school runs. My husband used to ask, “What on earth do you even talk about?” But somehow, we found things.
“Lu,” I asked at one point, “what do you *want* from life? Like, once the kids are grownwhat then?”
She blinked. “What dyou mean? Ill help *them*. Grandkidsll be along before I know it.”
I was stunned. “And thats it? Nothing for *you*?”
“Why would I? My kids *are* my life. Everythings for them.” Then, like clockwork, she switched topics. “Oh, did you know we qualify for more benefits now?”
Classic Lucy. Dodge the uncomfortable questions, steer it back to her. She always got her way, no matter how ridiculous.
Eventually, I got embarrassed being seen with her. The final straw? A scene in a department store. Wed taken the kids shoppingLucy wanted a new jumper from the sale rack. I wandered off, then heard shouting.
There she was, yanking *another womans* jumper, hissing, “Im a mother of threeyou should let me have it!”
The poor woman (who, awkwardly, turned out to be my *colleague*) shot back, “I didnt make you have kids, lovehands off!”
I dragged Lucy away, mortified. My colleague gave me a look. “Didnt peg you for *that* sort of friend, Emma.”
Thats when it hit meLucy wasnt just embarrassing herself. She was dragging *me* down with her. “Tell me who your friends are,” right?
I started distancing myself after that. No dramatic breakupjust excuses. “Works mad, cant meet up!” But Lucy? She *lived* for drama. One evening, she rocked up at mine, fuming.
“You got something to say to me?” she demanded.
“About what?” I braced for the usual “youre ignoring me” spiel.
But no. “Saw your sister yesterday. With her kid.”
“And?”
“That *designer* snowsuit her daughter was wearing? The one *I* saw at yours?”
I froze. “Whats your point?”
“My point is, you shouldve given it to *us*. Not her.”
I swear, the floor vanished beneath me. She *genuinely* thought she could dictate who I gave gifts to.
“Lucy,” I said slowly, “youre *joking*, right? I decide who gets what. Not you.”
She scoffed. “Your sisters got *one* kidshe can afford nice things! Ive got *three*. I *needed* it more!”
What she *needed* was a reality check. But reasoning with her was like shouting at a brick wall. She *screamed*right there in my houseuntil I shoved her out. She *kept* yelling in the hallway. I had to apologise to the neighbours in the group chat later.
Lucy? Never apologised for anything.
Ten years passed. No contact. My husband and I moved abroad, only visiting family occasionally. Then one day, walking through the park where we used to hang out, I *saw* her.
“Well, well!” she grinned. “Didnt think Id see *you* again. Still off playing expat?”
“Just visiting,” I said. “Howve you been? Kids alright?”
She *gestured* to a pram. Kid *four*.
“Congrats!” I said.
“Yeah, well.” She eyed me up and down. “Nothing to congratulate *you* on, though. Still no kids? At *38*?”
I smiled. “Weve got a business overseasgoing great, actually. Lifes exactly how we wanted it.”
“But youre *childless*,” she sneered.
“Different priorities, Luce.”
She *still* didnt get it. Motherhood wasnt everyones purpose. And having kids didnt mean the world owed you.
Then*classic* Lucyshe zeroed in on my handbag. “Ooh, *nice*. Whered you get it?”
“Bought it.”
“Mm. Couldve bought *me* one.”
I *stared*. “Why?”
“Youve got money to burn! One bag wont break you. *Im* a motherI *deserve* nice things!”
“Get a job,” I said flatly.
“Im on *maternity leave*!” she shrieked. “*You* wouldnt understandyoure not a *real* woman!”
She *screeched* after me as I walked off. Still doesnt get it, does she? No one *owes* her anything.
Had kids? Good for you. *Your* choice. Dont have the money? Shouldve thought first, bred later. But nahits *easier* to demand handouts from people who owe you *nothing*.
But hey, what do I know? Clearly, my life goals are *so* beneath hers.
