I just got a raise
We bought our dream car
The pretty lake terrace apartment is finally ours!
Come December and we are off to Rio
I am 2 kilos lighter
It’s our 7th wedding anniversary
We bought our dream car
The pretty lake terrace apartment is finally ours!
Come December and we are off to Rio
I am 2 kilos lighter
It’s our 7th wedding anniversary
Doesn’t all of the above qualify as Good News? Apparently no, even if you
are heady from exuberance you must remember that it’s not good news unless it originates
in the womb. Unless you announce to the world the victorious saga of the single
sperm that spearheads a tumultuous series of biological chain reactions that alter
everything from your physical appearance to perception. Don’t get me wrong, I
am in no mood to belittle procreation and displace it from grace. Neither am I cowering
to throw open my innards for any such experiment in the name of ‘creation’. I
just don’t feel the need for it! Period!
Babies are cute but plump cheeks and bobbing heads have never managed to create
even an iota of longing in me to court the cradle. In my early years, I loathed
playing house-house with the neighbourhood girls who would lovingly cradle and
feed dolls with instinctive ease. Those were my first signs of the CFBC syndrome
and thank heavens it went unnoticed and saved me the trauma of a
maternal-feeling-inducing bootcamp where naysayers are converted with military
precision.
I survived but they found me out. And now there’s war. Everyday I dodge
bullets of suspicion, missiles of derogatory adjectives and canon balls of
emotional blackmail. My reproductive system has become an exhibit, my condom
closet is up for inspection, my sex life can be the topic of boardroom
discussions. Fortune tellers are being actively sought, the Gods are being appeased,
examples of happy ‘complete’ families are being thrown on our faces…the list is
innovatively exhaustive.
But the ‘good news' is, I’ll not
succumb!
