We travelled to the other side of maC yesterday to oogle and aargle and coo at a two month old baby boy. I think I was supposed to feel something. Maybe I was supposed to have feelings of a broody nature? Perhaps some maternal instinct was meant to kick in and make me want to take The Blokey home for an immediate baby-making ravishing?
[i must, i must, i must carry on the human race]
The MiL and The Aunt of The Blokey made those garbled vocal noises that only women who have recently become grandmothers, and those who want to be grandmothers, are able to make.
Cluck-cluck. So, when are you two going to have a baby? Is this making you want a baby Elizabeth? Awww, isn’t he gorgeous Elizabeth. Do you want to hold him Elizabeth? Look at his little toes! Cluck-cluck.
I know that some great big blazing fire should have burned within me immediately upon seeing such an adorable [you can tell he’s a R********, doesn’t he look like his great-grandad!] baby, but it didn’t. It was more of a little spark that feebly attempted to ignite and kept being doused by my worrisome mind.
Because don’t get me wrong, or read me wrong, or try to second guess how I feel about having a baby. I desperately want to be a mummy. I have always wanted to be a mummy, to the extent that I know that if I never become a mummy I will spend my life pained and unhappy. But I am a worrisome creature and I have a negative mind that makes me think too much and thinking too much is problematic.
So, if I get pregnant it means that for nine months I have to carry something inside my belly and that freaks me out. And what if there are complications? When it kicks it’ll make me feel sick, I know it will. And more to the point I’ll probably suffer from terrible morning-sickness throughout the entire pregnancy because when I suffer I really suffer. And then there’s the actual birth. Look how tiny he is Elizabeth! No, he’s f.ucking huge! How on earth does he come out! Once a baby is on the scene there are then the sleepless nights and the worry of never letting him/her out of my sight because I worry so much anyway and I’m just going to worry the entire time. Once I have a baby I will never be able to not-worry ever again. And that scares me. And what if I don’t take to being a mummy? What if being a mummy causes my depression to rear its ugly head worse than ever before?
And what if I can’t get pregnant?
I want a baby so much and the more I want a baby the less I want one … does that even make sense?
So, I drank lots of vodka to show that there won’t be a baby in the coming months. And then wondered if there’s a pill to stop people worrying so much.
Perhaps I should then have wished upon the shooting stars that I was able to see last night. The last time I saw a shooting star was way back when myself and The Blokey first met and I wished for something, and the wish came true, eventually. I saw six shooting stars last night – could I have had six wishes? I can’t think of six things I could have wished for though. Hmmm.
The sixth shooting star was the most impressive. I was gazing out of my bedroom window after midnight, partly spying on the neighbours and partly keeping my eyes peeled for flashes of brightness that were going so fast they couldn’t be planes, and it went whizzing across the sky.
Wow, I whispered. I felt very child-like at that moment. I was very innocent and very awe’d and felt very small. And it was a nice feeling, one which I don’t feel enough and would very much like to feel again …
please God stop me worrying so much and let me just go with the flow xxx Elsabeth