Every time I
set eyes upon a squishy, beaming little infant, I am instantaneously possessed
by a primal urge to procreate. A deep,
aching longing sets in such that it’s all I can do not to grab the thing and
run. Friends, upon witnessing what must
resemble a junkie greedily eyeing off someone else’s smack, will take my hand
and wordlessly steer me away, my head swivelling on its axis like Linda Blair
from the exorcist as the bundle disappears from sight. There’s clucky. And then there’s me.
For years I
have been waiting impatiently to reach that magical point at which maturity,
age and financial security combine sufficiently to justify producing my own squishy
infant. That time is not yet upon me. So I placate myself with the secret hope that
maybe, just maybe, it will happen by accident.
Who am I to question the gods of conception if they decide that the time
has come to bestow upon me a foetus, despite being utterly, desperately
unprepared?
It was with
this secret hope in mind that I stared at the inside of my undies the other
day. There was nothing, not a
speck. I had missed my period. You’ve been stressed, I told
myself. There’s a perfectly good
explanation for it. But nothing
could stop my pounding heart. Maybe it
was time!
As one day
passed, then another, I couldn’t help but analyse every twinge. Was that a slight burning in my right
ovary? Must be an early pregnancy
symptom! What about that dull ache in my
lower back? I rushed to consult doctor
Google. Yes! Pregnancy symptom! No matter that a back ache is also
symptomatic of precisely five thousand other afflictions. When combined with the ovary burning and the
sweaty left foot, there was simply no other explanation!
Quietly, I
became a pregnancy forum addict. At
every opportunity I would pull out my phone, an exhilarating sense of curiosity
and stealth spurring me on. I would
devour the stories of my cyber peers like delicious morsels of hope. Mary from Toronto had also experienced slight
cramping in her left side before getting her BFP (Big fat Positive); Stella
from Liverpool described being too tired to get out of bed. It all sounded just like me! Convinced of my state as mother-to-be, I
looked up baby names, pregnancy diets, the relative merits of the controversial
but effective bedtime technique controlled crying.
I dared not
tell Tom about my secret pleasure, for the exact same reason that I dared not
piss on a stick. I was having so much
fun conspiring to be a mother, I was wary of anything that might burst my bubble. I did, after a few days, give in to the urge
to interrogate my mother.
‘When did
you first know you were pregnant?’ I
asked in the most casual tone I could muster as Mum watered her vegetables.
‘Well, the
first thing I noticed was my boobs were sort of tingly. And I would have waves of nausea but I didn’t
actually vomit. The biggest thing was
feeling like I had the flu, all hot and bothered, especially in the morning.’ Mum paused.
‘Katie? What’s wrong?’
I had
stopped short and was staring at my mother, immobile, a weed that I had plucked
from a pot plant dangling limp from my clenched fist. I WAS PREGNANT! I rushed inside the house and grabbed the
pregnancy test I had been carrying around in my bag. Wrestling it frantically from its plastic
casing, my mind was a cyclone of fears.
Where would we live? How would I
afford not to work? Did Tom really want
to call it John? That name was so
dated! Anxiety threatened to consume me
as I waited breathlessly for the three minutes it takes the test to work.
I turned it
over. One line. Relief poured over me. A tiny, tingly bit of disappointment lurked
amongst the feels, but mainly, I was relieved.
I want a
baby. And some day soon I’ll be ready
for one. Until then, I’m happy to get by on my fantasising and forum-trolling.
No comments:
Post a Comment