Charlie Mulliner chose creativity over motherhood

‘There are loads more babies now. Which is great because I love babies. (Intense eye contact). I really do.’

 This is my protagonist, Amber, speaking in my debut one-woman show, Love Hunt. While Amber and I differ in many ways (Like a true Brit, I avoid unnecessary eye contact), we are mostly agreed on this. We love babies. 

It is great that so many of my friends are having children. It is a joy to meet them and watch them grow and become their own little people. It has been one of the happiest parts of my adult life to become an aunt and godmother and unpaid babysitter. But, as the number of children in my life exponentially grows, so does the frequency of the question: ‘When are you having one?’

My friends and I would ask ourselves this question back in our 20s - in that same carefree way you might ask ‘what would you do if you won the lottery?’ or commit to giving someone a kidney. It was an unreality. A future problem. Our priority was avoiding getting pregnant, not necking folic acid to increase the odds.

But blimey, your 20s sail pass, don’t they? Blink and suddenly you’re paying full whack for your train fare and no one asks for ID anymore when you pop to Tescos for a Red Bull. Now, here I am, nearing 40, taking a show to Edinburgh for the first time. My career is as sweetly and nauseatingly unpredictable as ever. And that biological clock I happily ignored for over a decade has turned into an hourglass.

I think I want children. I think. The switch in my head hasn’t flicked in the way I hoped it would. It’s more of a dimmer situation. What I do know is that I’m not ready for them right now. I’m not ready to dismiss the possibility. I want to keep my options open. Or more accurately, I want to be able to be a mother in the future when I am in a position financially and emotionally to support a child properly. I spoke to my friends struggling with the same dilemma. That’s when I first heard about ‘egg freezing’.

Egg freezing involves stimulating your ovaries so they over-produce ovules, which are then collected and kept in a freezer until a later date. Like a delicious curry. The reason so many women my age do it now is because current research dictates that the quality and quantity of your eggs tends to drop off after 36. As a 35-year-old with no imminent plans of impregnation, I very much fall into the tribe of ‘get thee to a fertility specialist’.

With my mind juggling two babies - the potential biological one and my theatrical baby (my debut Fringe show) - I have realised that both these ambitions come with a steep price tag.  I have just invested all my savings into my Edinburgh show - a fairly eye-watering investment. One that I am very excited and not at all nervous to be making (please come).

Of course, the increasing cost of taking a show to the Fringe is a matter for another article (daylight robbery. Bring a friend). When I researched the cost of egg freezing, however, I found that it can range anywhere between £3,000 and  £7,000 for one round. That’s a trip to Disneyland with a character breakfast. 

When you add in all the tests and gubbins, Chat GPT tells me that the price typically goes up another £3,000 – and that’s if you’re lucky not to need a second round. Incidentally, ChatGPT is free to use, a straight A-student, and you can programme it to act like your progeny. Needless to say, these are some scary AI-generated numbers. 

I had a quiet night of the soul (sitting in pyjamas, giving my ovaries a pep talk, encouraging them to keep going until the end of the run). I decided I would take my show to Edinburgh and leave my fertility to fate. 

Cue the ‘deux ex machina’ of the French health system. Liberty, egalite, fertility! I have been living in France for the last few years, studying at what people colloquially refer to as Clown School (I prefer ‘advanced theatre training’). One day, as I explained my situation over coffee and croissants, my chic Parisian friend casually uttered: ‘mais bébé, ici c’est free’* (actually perfect French). ‘Sacre Bleu!’ I thought. My troubles are ‘fini’.

Thanks to the brilliant French socialists in charge of women’s health, I was saved from the stress of worrying that I’d wake up one day and rue the choices that my 35-year-old self was forced to make. My eggs will be frozen and depending on when I want to use them, I can either return to France or have the eggs expatriated back (quel adventure).  But my UK dwelling friends are not so lucky.

Many of my creative friends are dealing with this problem right now. I have a very talented friend who is putting off having a child to direct a film, because opportunities in the industry are so scarce and it’s almost impossible right now to say no. Some are considering donating a portion of their eggs to cover part of the cost - but this is not straightforward either. 

The research often quoted by clinics is that iIn order to guarantee a 60 per cent chance of success, you need to have around 15 viable eggs. For an 80 per cent chance, you’re looking at around 25. There is no certainty that one round of egg freezing will garner these results - so if you’re donating half your successful eggs, you are looking at a vanishingly small number. Considering that the procedure itself is like having your vagina cleaned with a bog brush, it’s a horrible decision to make.

The UK is renowned the world over for the quality of its arts. As one of the creatives who works in that industry, I am proud and delighted to be a contributing member. But the lack of institutional support is hard going. The self-employed aspect does not lend itself to building savings or having the sense of stability needed to make concrete decisions about family planning.

I will soon be returning to the UK full-time and will dearly miss the support France gives its artists. Under the status of ‘intermittent du spectacle’, artists are paid a salary for all the days they don’t work, so that you can survive until work comes around again and plan for the future. You pay a higher tax on what you earn, but it allows artists to pursue their careers fully without having to split themselves in multiple directions - and make gutting decisions they might one day regret.

I don’t know what the answer is (besides a French invasion). I do know that I am relieved to have been able to keep my options open after all – and that I still have both my kidneys. 

The hourglass is still trickling. My career will continue at its own sweet rhythm and there is no telling the ‘right time’ will ever arise - but at least now I have a measure of control and can step into my future without pressure.  

• Charlie Mulliner: Love Hunt is at Just The Tonic at the Caves at 12.10pm during the Edinburgh Fringe

Published: 16 Aug 2025