Terrible reasons to get pregnant #1: Dungarees

Pretty much nothing could make me have another child right now. For one thing, I no longer have ready access to the necessary sperm. Not that it would be a problem to get hold of. A good friend of mine who is trying for a baby gets hers online from a Danish sperm bank. How very modern is that? You can get hunky Nordic semen delivered direct to your door, fresh from the Viking’s helmet.

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Meet your father

But no. Not even a Dane, however great, could swing it these days. And not just because of all the reasons people usually give about having to fork out for a bigger house and car, and how it’s bad for the environment, and how having more kids is just a status symbol (although I’m not convinced on that logic – no-one I know with more than two is looking more statussed than me. They mostly look like this:

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I’m not particularly arsed about any of that stuff. I just couldn’t face being that tired again, ever. When I consider being as wrung-through as I was when the kids were small, only 10 years older, I feel like this:

Carrie

But occasionally I do get a pang, have a little yearn for a new baba. Not because I’m such a maternal type, but because I want to wear dungarees. Man, I want to dungaree so bad. I’ve always fancied myself as a Land Girl, see, and nothing says Land Girl like a dungaree and a red lip, right? A little head scarf, a turnip here and there….

Until recently, dungarees were strictly maternity wear, but not in a good way. They were still considered part of that whole 1980s, pregnant Princess Di look, a woman-hating sartorial sub-genre that asked gestating females to dress like Mr Tumble.

So when I was pregnant, instead of following my heart and just wearing the dungarees, I spent the whole time in skinny maternity jeans, which didn’t stay up that well. I was constantly yanking them up from my knees, like a builder who’d just come out of the lav – a look that could so easily have been avoided with dungarees. Moral of the story: follow your fashion dreams, girls.

But now dungarees are all cool and non-maternity, and I could get me some after all. There’s an especially kind looking pair in Topshop, all black and tapered to the ankle. I keep Adding to Basket, but then I see the pretty young things prancing around in them, with their crop tops underneath and only one side done up – most of them virgins, never mind pregnant – and I can’t help feeling I’ve missed my moment.

Me in dungarees now would confuse people too much. They wouldn’t know if I was being cool or just dressed as Mr Tumble because I was up the duff. I’d have to face down those embarrassing ‘when are you due?’ questions from people who don’t know me, and thin people, and other bitches.

No, I must resign myself to the fact that my dungaree days are over. And get myself some Scandi-love at & Other Stories instead.

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