I became a mum at 26. We didn’t own our own home and we weren’t married. But that was all OK, because that was part of The Plan. We moved from our town centre flat to a little cottage in a village, with the intention of saving and enjoying life as new parents. We had always discussed having two or three children, about four years apart.

The Plan involved buying a house before another child came along, getting married at some point and continuing with my career as a journalist. That evolved along the way, as we realised that childcare is blooming expensive and my meagre salary would barely cover the cost of a morning at nursery. So we made some adjustments and Ta Da! The Refined Plan was born.

Except that didn’t really work out either, because my work situation changed. And then we decided that we might not want to live in this area until we bought a house. And, actually, we weren’t quite ready for another baby yet. It dawned on us that perhaps The Refined Plan was not so much a helpful guide as a heavy weight hanging around our shoulders, taunting us with what we were yet to achieve.

And so, here we are.

We have made the bold decision to ditch the plan (see? I’ve even removed the capital letters). Instead we are running with a new way of doing things. It’s called the See What Will Happen And Enjoy Life In The Now route. Not so catchy, but far more fun.

The thing is, this lack of clarity over a big life plan seems to irk some people. Apparently, if you are a good, responsible parent, you need to map out each five years of your life and get from A to B seamlessly.

As my two year old hurtles toward her third birthday, I’m constantly reminded – often by complete strangers – that she doesn’t have a little brother or sister. Sometimes they look at my belly, as if searching for a bump, before seeking my empty arms for any sign of a newborn. They always appear disappointed when nothing is there.

I didn’t know this would be the case.

As if being a parent isn’t hard enough, with the minefield of decisions and constant “Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right?” questions, there is yet more thrown at us. Not only do we have to put up with divisions and judgments about whether we leave the house to go to work or stay home to look after the children, breast or bottlefeed, puree or baby-led wean, use a buggy or a sling – but now, it seems, our very choices about HAVING children are thrown into the spotlight.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been told to, “Hurry up and have another” before my child gets too old to “get along” with any potential sibling. When I joke that we’re not quite “ready yet” for another baby, I’m met with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, as if I’m irrationally peculiar for not immediately planning our second baby once we became pregnant with the first.

Life doesn’t work like that though. Life has a habit of throwing curve-balls and putting new opportunities and hurdles in our way. Life doesn’t always allow us to plan each year perfectly, map out each century, define each day.

Our new Not Plan doesn’t mean we aren’t motivated. It doesn’t mean we are existing from day to day without making provisions for the future. We still have wishes and wants and things to achieve together. We still have a journey to make as a family and an adventure to carve out.

But it won’t fit into some tidy, neat little grid. It won’t, because life isn’t a spreadsheet. Sometimes you’ve just got to ride the wave and accept you don’t know what’s on the other side.

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Maybe it’s because some of the other mums I know, who have children the same age as Frog, are pregnant.  Or maybe it’s because Frog is now 16 months old, so it’s getting rapidly too late for her to have a brother or sister who is just a couple of years younger than she is.

Whatever the reason, I’m broody as hell.

Everywhere I look there are babies babies babies. And not climbing, talking, non-walking toddler babies. But babies babies. Tiny ones, gurgly ones, sleepy ones. The ones that make you forget the hell of waking five times a night for six months, and just remember the blissful moments; the first smiles, the snoozy cuddles, the days when everything was new. Remember when there was still an element of novelty to changing a nappy? Those are the days I’m talking about.

The thing is, we chose to have Frog at a relatively young age. I was 26 when I got pregnant. Despite what many people thought, it was a deliberate decision. We weren’t married, we didn’t own our own home, but we knew we wanted a fairly big family (three in an ideal world), so we knew we better get cracking.

Although it seems like we planned everything down to the finest detail, that’s not really the case. We didn’t discuss age gaps between siblings, or plan when we’d start thinking about baby number two. We just sort of assumed it wouldn’t be for a while. And biologically, time was on our side.

I have no idea what the “right” age gap is between siblings. In fact, I’m pretty sure there is no “right” gap.

I suppose on the plus side, a closer gap means there may be more shared interests between the children. But then it also means those early years could be harder, dealing with a newborn and a toddler, both in nappies with the typical demands that newborns and toddlers make.

And I guess a larger gap means you run the risk of having two children who have nothing in common at all, who grow up to be too far apart in age to relate to each other in any real way until they become adults.

Or do you?

The (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine has two brothers. They are both younger than him; one by 19 months and one by eight years. Yet he’s equally close to both of them. When he talks about his childhood, both brothers are there in equal measure. And now that all three are adults, that bond hasn’t been broken. They were both his best men when we got married in August. He speaks to them both pretty much every week. There is mickey-taking and pretend fighting and more mickey-taking. They are brothers. The age gap is not an issue.

And there are four years between my sister and I. She was annoying when I was eight, but I rather like her now. In fact, she’s my best friend – always has been.

For us, it’s not the right time for another baby yet. And I realise we’re priveleged to assume a second baby will just happen naturally, when we’re ready. But whenever that is, I hope the number of years between Frog and any future brothers or sisters doesn’t affect her relationship with them. I hope she can count on them as friends, whether they’re two, four or eight years younger than her.

And until that elusive brother or sister comes along, she’ll have to make the most of just hanging out with me…

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What’s the age gap between your kids? What’s the age gap between you and your siblings? Do you think it matters?

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