Years before I became a mother someone told me that children should “fit into your life.” They meant that having children shouldn’t be the end of existence as we know it, but rather add an extra layer to the joy of living. It was a positive outlook on procreation, not the usual dire warnings hurled at expectant and new parents.

I have clung to that thought like a life raft.

My daughter came to present my research at an academic conference with me at 11 days. She attended a music festival at two months old, a Judith Butler lecture at four months. She has travelled extensively. Sometimes I take her to the pub.

Pre-baby, I was the one who shut down the bar. I was the one-more-drink pusher, the table dancer. I bummed cigs and bought rounds. By my late twenties, I’d calmed down—as most of us do—and no longer boozed every night. But the pub was still a vital cornerstone of my social life.

I love the pub. I love the chat—sometimes deep and sometimes silly. I love the noise and meeting interesting strangers, and I love spending hours doing nothing with my oldest friends. I’m someone’s mum now, but my entire personality has not changed overnight.

Post-natal depression is both often mentioned and often misunderstood. Estimates range from one in ten women to between 15 and 30% who suffer from PND in some form. Many sufferers will remain undiagnosed, especially as the six-week check focuses on physical recuperation and the baby’s development. New mothers are expected to self-report on mental health and many of us don’t mention feeling anything other than content.

I’m not saying that we can avoid PND by encouraging new mums to drink, but one of the most efficient ways to cut women out of society, leaving them to fend for themselves, is to ban children from public spaces. Spaces like pubs.

Pubs are culturally important in the United Kingdom. They are where we go to celebrate and commiserate, where we go when we’re bored or excited or delighted. We have a drinking culture in this nation, sure, but more importantly, we have a pub culture.

My first experience of the pub was during childhood, as it was for so many of us. Waiting for parents to finish their drinks, bribed with packets of crisps, we learnt that the world didn’t revolve around us. We learnt how to be in public.

There are some people who will complain if children are in their vicinity, outraged that parents would dare bring their offspring to a pub, a restaurant, or on a plane. I wonder about them. Did their parents keep them at home, locked in a nursery? Or were they, like the rest of us, also taken to public spaces where they learnt how to behave?

Children need to experience adult arenas, with appropriate supervision to learn how to conduct themselves. Other countries, where children join their parents outside of the house in the evenings, don’t seem to have the same intense binge-drinking culture that is found in every town around the UK.

Whether this is due to the presence of children, or because the adults learned what responsible drinking looked like at an early age, I can’t say. I can tell you that in Spain I spent a balmy night sipping sidra (tart and rustic cider from Northern Spain), watching children play on the cobbled street next to the bar where their parents lounged, swapping jokes with friends. The children were happy, their parents were happy. Other drinkers didn’t bat an eyelid, everyone was well behaved.

The author Bryan Caplan makes the case for relaxed parenting in Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids. Referred to as the “anti-Tiger Mom” (Amy Chua’s “Tiger Mother” approach to parenting is strict to the point of controlling, with a focus on academic results), he advocates giving ourselves a break. Let the kid quit piano lessons, don’t beat yourself up for allowing screen time. He doesn’t say that kids don’t count, but that “parents count, too”. This echoes the advice I was given all those years ago about children fitting the life you have, and perfectly describes that relaxed Spanish family.

My daughter is joy incarnate. She blows kisses to strangers. She dances constantly and eats tangerines like they’re sweets. She has the dirtiest laugh you’ve ever heard on a toddler.

She’s a good time, is what I’m saying. But she’s still a little kid. As a new parent, I need company. I crave discourse that doesn’t centre around nappies and Hey Duggee.

““One of the most efficient ways to cut women out of society, leaving them to fend for themselves, is to ban children from public spaces. Spaces like pubs. ” ”

At FyneFest—the beer and music festival run by Fyne Ales [disclosure: Pellicle hosts the panel discussions at FyneFest], which just celebrated its tenth year—she snoozed in her pram, snug beneath a pair of hefty ear defenders, right next to the main stage. A friend and I danced around the pram the way some women dance around their handbags. We returned to Cairndow for a party at the brewery in September, on a perfect autumn day. My kid toddled around amicably, admiring dogs, chatting to everyone. While she was making friends and breaking hearts I was able to have a proper catch up with my pals. Everybody stayed safe, everybody had a great time.

When my husband and I were contemplating buying our house, we visited the village pub first. As CAMRA says, a good pub is the heart of the community. Before we made the move from town to country, we needed to be sure that this particular community had a heart. Luckily, we were delighted by the open log fire, the warm welcome, and the glorious beer garden.

During the summer months, I took my baby to that garden on any sunny afternoon. When she was tiny I stuck to alcohol-free; more recently I’ve been sipping IPA from Fallen Brewery, just three miles up the road. My child learned to walk on the grassy turf while I took a moment to breathe.

My local is family-friendly, which means different things in different parts of the UK. Licensing laws are strange, shifting beasts. Pinning down actual regulations regarding children in pubs and what’s allowed is maddeningly difficult, with different rules in place across the country.

We’re out by 8pm round our bit, but in a village pub in Devon, my baby was welcome until close. She slept on my chest while I caught up with my parents, who I’m lucky to see twice a year. In no instance would I ignore the baby to get drunk. I tidy up after her and we don’t overstay our welcome. It is possible to take a baby to a pub and still be a respectful member of society.

This is the crux of my theory. I’m saying, simply: we can trust adults to be responsible.

Pubs offer that vital third space, somewhere that isn’t home and isn’t work. They are where we live the part of our lives not dedicated to employment or family commitments, where we can be our most relaxed selves. Being a new parent is hard enough without being barred from the heart of our communities, and having kids in public spaces is good for everyone—parents, children, and the child-free included. Let’s give each other a break.

The next time you see a mum with her baby in a pub, maybe offer her a warm smile. Remember what it takes to nourish a new life, and what it takes to create a community.

Illustration by Grace Helmer.