SADIE HASLER: Writing is only way to untangle this mess of ideas in my head

During our small talk a gaggle of mothers took over the cafe with their exuberant offspring. We smiled and nodded hullo.

I crossed my eyes and did fishface at a toddler who stood staring at me with a swollen nappy bum. As the hubbub in the cafe grew louder Sarah and I spoke a little louder to try and continue our very important power business meeting, which no doubt involved our dreams and aspirations for the next ten years or more importantly what to have for lunch that very day.

Then Sarah got elbowed in the head byamother who didn’t even turn round let alone apologise.

Then I picked up a dropped toy to be met with a glare as though I was the leader of a paedophile ring out and about scouting for talent. We eventually felt so uncomfortable, so invisible and surplus to requirements that we left to go and drink coffee somewhere else even though we knew it would probably make my cheeks go pink and my throat go all constricty like I was being strangled. JUST ORDER TEA, HASLER.

In the street we began a conversation about motherhood and kids, dodging prams as we went. Sarah has often said she feels belittled by people who think she’s selfish for choosing to remain child free. She maintains that it’s selfish to have children if you aren’t sure you want them. I reissued my regular mantra that I haven’t a ruddy clue about anything; whether I want kids or not; that I sometimes have a pang, but not much of one.

Not enough of one. Yet.

It’s not often that an ordinary morning spurs you to go home and write about it, but in this case a chord was struck that remained ringing in my brain.

Very shortly afterwards I began writing my new play, Pramkicker, which became something of a melting pot for all the thoughts I had, and a lot of thoughts I’d heard voiced by other women I know.

It felt like a mess of stuff inmy head that I needed to untangle, and writing’s the only way I know how to go about trying to do that.

I don’t normally talk about things I’m writing because I’m not very eloquent at saying what it is.

I get all flustered and say ridiculous things like “It’s about a kind of story but I don’t knowwhat yet.” And then people just stare at me and think I should probably take up collecting stamps instead.

What has been lovely with Pramkicker is that I’ve been talking about it lots. With lots of people.

Because I’ve wanted to know what other women think and feel about it all.

And lots of people have been starting conversations with me about it too, and as always I have been reminded how lovely it is to share things with people.

I’ve received so manymessages from people who have things to say about motherhood, about having kids, or not having them, about quandaries, about regrets, about sad things the human body throws at us, about the ticking of the biological clock, about knowing and not knowing, about how different humans go about filling their lives with different kinds of love. And while it hasn’t made me any clearer on the matter, it makes me realise that whatever happens, with kids or without, I won’t be alone. None of us ever are if we choose to talk to each other.

ý Pramkicker will be at the Clifftown Theatre, Southend September 18 and 19. 8pm, £12 (£10 concessions.)

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here