I wanted to be childfree, but lockdown robbed me of my last chance. Now I’m mourning the children I’ll never have

Isolating from coronavirus alone, I’ve had to accept that my decision to remain childless is now permanent. My life won’t be any different, but having that final choice taken from me still feels like a loss

I’m pre-menstrual and stuck on my own in lockdown. You’d better not come within two metres of me.

Being on my own in lockdown is lonely enough without my hormones making it so much worse – but in the last fortnight I’ve realised it’s something else that’s making this period of isolation really difficult: I’m 45 and I have no children.

Remaining childfree was my choice, and it’s the right one for me. But I didn’t always feel so certain. In my 20s, and long term single, I researched the many ways I might approach having a baby on my own. Then I fell into a long term relationship, got married, and children were almost certainly on the cards. But I kept thinking I’d do it “in a few years”. Eventually my husband and I got divorced, which was no doubt part of the reason we were putting off that huge decision.

Now I’m not blaming that decision on my former husband, who has since gone on to have a child with a new partner. No, it’s squarely on me; I’m pro-choice – and being childfree has always been mine.

But here’s the rub: I always knew that I had a choice. That each day I remained childless was through my own volition. That I had weighed up the pros and cons and decided, on balance, not to have children. There was always time and space to revisit that, should I want to.

But now, thanks to coronavirus and lockdown, any last chance has been taken away from me. My decision to remain childless is permanent – and I’ve begun to mourn the children I never had.

Suddenly, babies are everywhere. I’m endlessly distancing myself from prams and buggies as I go for my solo daily walk. Every time I log into my social media I am bombarded with images of lockdown family life, attempts at home schooling, picnics with toddlers in the garden and videos of other people’s children proudly showing off their latest home crafts.

And through it all I’ve come to realise that there will always been a part of me that regrets being childless.

The truth is, I probably made the right decision. I don’t think I’d make a very good mum. I’m too overprotective of my cat for a start – imagine how smothering I’d be to a baby! But then most people do manage to have children and cope even though, at the start, they are ill equipped or, at the very least, utterly under-prepared.

Despite four (or is it five) waves of modern feminism, there is still enormous social pressure on women to reproduce. Choosing not to have children is still seen as somewhat subversive. So when you do make that decision, it can feel quite monumental – even though you’re literally doing nothing.

That is where I am now. I am, still, doing nothing.

I’m in lockdown, single and coming to the very end of my viable egg reserve. I don’t know when I will go through menopause, but the start of that process can’t be far away now. I have to be realistic: losing six months, a year or possibly even more, of dating time means that coronavirus has finally robbed me of my last choice around fertility – the ability to change my mind about having children.

This is a painful realisation, even though I almost certainly wasn’t going to change my mind. I can’t say that watching my friends with children struggle with bored kids trapped at home has made me broody. I have a fantastic niece and nephew who I adore and miss, but I love being their aunt; I have never envied my sister being their mum.

And, who knows, there’s still time to become a parent in other ways. Maybe I’ll meet a new partner who has children and become a stepmother.

But if abortion was made illegal in the UK, I would feel powerfully that my choices as a woman had been constricted. That if I ever needed one, it would no longer be available. In a strange way, that’s an echo of what I’m feeling now about lockdown.

It isn’t that my life will be materially different without children. It won’t. But that decision is now, finally, not down to me – and that feels like a loss.

So while I know I have made the right decision, while I have too much time on my hands and no one to spend it with, I’m mourning the different paths my life has not taken. And I’m mourning the most significant choice I will no longer be able to say I made of my own free will.