We only ask that attendees donate a small amount to our CFBC charity fund, at your discretion! Here’s the link to make your payment.

Let me know and I can confirm you, we’d love to have you there!

I x

Iris seems fun. I like that she is making it clear that she has a full-to-the-brim life that she loves. My first question when I meet her will be whether she feels any pressure to be seen to be ‘having it all’ in a different way: travelling, sex, friendships, hobbies. Having to ‘make up for’ not having kids, in some weird way. Ambition with a capital ‘A’. I feel like this with my friends sometimes. When they give updates about their families, partners or babies, I seem to fill my silence with career news. I also wonder if she ever feels like she has to be seen as outwardly happy all the time, in case people think she’s made a huge mistake. Either way, it feels so inspiring to hear from a woman like Iris, who seemingly has no regrets about her life choices. You hear these stories of women over fifty who suddenly think, ‘Oh shit, I’m never going to be a grandmother, what have I done?’ These are the stories I see a lot of. I’m not saying they aren’t valid, but they can be scaremongering. It feeds into the whole ‘it’s better to regret what you’ve done, rather than what you haven’t done!’ theory. I worry then that some people might go into motherhood even if it’s not right for them. I am excited by getting to know Iris. Gill will be pleased that I’ve already secured a place at the CFBC club – sometimes these closed groups are hard to access. Journalistic brownie points to me! What about bringing a friend or two? I have no idea who the hell would want to come with me. Maybe I’ll ask Zeta. Or maybe Bea? Or, oh my god, Colin would be funny, plus he’s judgement-free. Bea could pretend and come as a child-free woman in disguise. Isla’s so vulnerable right now, it wouldn’t feel right to subject her to this – she might see it as a sort of betrayal.

I feel tight knots of excitement form in my belly – I am going to be around a hundred women who might feel exactly the same as I do.

17

That night, I wake up in the dark, pouring with sweat. My entire back is drenched. Despite my growing excitement about the CFBC club, my troubled subconscious is rearing its head. I rub my eyes as the dream comes back to me.

I am carrying a huge heavy baby car seat with a big handle. It’s important, this baby seat and its contents. I don’t know what my baby looks like inside this seat, but I need to protect it, and we need to reach our destination. I am carrying this big bulky car seat down a busy street. My legs feel heavy and I can hardly lift up each leg. It’s like they’re not my own and they are made of something different, like metal or stone. The baby seat is perched on my arm like a handbag. But it’s so heavy. Everyone is walking slowly, and my arms are aching from the weight of it. I am pushing past, battling through the crowds, stressed, needing to get somewhere quickly, weighed down. My knees are buckling. Cracks appear in the pavement. The weight is getting worse, but I have to avoid falling down the cracks. The roads are ripping apart and I am balancing on the edge. My stomach is lurching. I can hear a baby crying. There is gunge on my feet. Green slime. It’s sticky and it’s making it so much harder to walk. I feel an urgency.