One minute I’m devouring a Cadbury cream egg in April and within a blink of an eye everything is all green, red and tinselly and you can’t get a park in Westfield for the love of all things pagan. This Christmas especially has a more ominous quality.
Not celebrating my 37th birthday in Noosa, we were in the spa on the balcony, gorgeous sea breeze, the blissful sound of the ocean gently lapping on the shore when I piped up to hub who is admittedly a smidgen younger than me (not as young as I’d like to be perfectly honest) and asked the golden question, “so do you still want to have a baby?”
“Yes,” he answered immediately.
“I don’t mind if you’re not sure…I mean I’m fine if you don’t want one…”
“I want one.”
I sighed at the inevitable “So when do you want to start trying”?
“Mmm…how about after Christmas at the end of the year.”
How about after Christmas at the end of the year? Can we keep this thing at arm’s length any longer? Apparently not. So there we have it! A confirmation. Looks like we can’t keep ducking and weaving forever. And quite frankly, I didn’t want him to turn around, say if we were in a spa not celebrating my 40th and exclaim “let’s have a baby!”
God knows my husband has no concept of time. Like recently when I illustrated how he has attended the gym twice the whole year and doing the math…that’s approximately $564 per visit. . “Rubbish,” he said. “It’s just these last few months. I went heaps at the beginning of the year when you were in London.” Newsflash! Last time I visited London was May 2008. Yep! No concept of time. Which brings me to the reality of this moment. Christmas is a mere breath away and I, oddly enough, am not prepared in the slightest for the pregnancy I have been delaying for 3 years. Did we perhaps lose that pesky 10 now 12kgs? Nope. Detox our putrid body so it’s all lovely and fresh for foetus? Hardly. Located our pelvic floor? Where the hell is that? No idea. Have we delved into the plethora of supplements one in her late 30’s takes when she is trying for child? You know the ones that the New Mums rattle off deliriously. “Are you taking folic acid? Oh my God you have got to start that now! And what about The Blackmores Conceive Well formula? That is a must! Have you been tested if you are immune to small pox, chicken pox, measles, whooping cough, rubella, mumps and…?" What ever happened to the good old days when women would just fall pregnant, drink alcohol on only every second night and eat soft cheese whenever the craving hit? Now you have to make a bloody career out of it. Falling pregnant has become a full time job! And the trying…I could put a hefty deposit on a four bedroom house in Clovelly if I got a dollar for every time someone asked me if I was trying. It’s now totally acceptable whoever you are to ask whoever you want if they are having sex with their partner enough and at the appropriate time to warrant a pregnancy. Actually when it comes to the business of having a child nothing seems to be off limits with these crazy New Mums. Nothing! Well meaning New Mums… why do they go on and on? And as always it’s they who make this ordeal so frightening. If the prospect of hanging out in mother’s groups isn’t terrifying enough, it’s the thought that maybe I will upon birth of child become one of them. Note to all friends who have babies-love you! However, temporary insanity amongst you is rife. And part of my terror in having a child is not only pushing out something the size of watermelon out of something the size of a pea (oh who am I kidding!) but it’s the likelihood of also losing my marbles.
This reminds me when I used it work at the M.A.C counter. Excruciating at the best of times. It felt like these women left the house and headed to Myer with the direct intention of torturing some poor girl at a make-up counter. On several of these occasions when I would be helplessly trapped on the cosmetics floor, the air laden with 2000 different fragrances, wearing some garish MAC look I would normally never be caught dead in and being punished mercilessly by a 30 something year old neurotic who had spent half an hour of my life deciding between three shades of pinky, brown lipstick, she would, after asking me repeatedly which one was right for her, which pinky brown shade would make her look younger, fresher, less tired (being a new mum is very tiring..), crouch down to be at face height with child in stroller gurgling on a dummy and pointing to her mouth ask, “does this one look good on Mummy…?”
Will this be my fate?
This is just awesome! Never a truer word has been spoken. They're all nuts; don't do it!! But I know you will and in between the moments of begrudging it, you'll love it. Fare thee well my good friend! xx
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