When I looked at that pregnancy test the other day and read the negative result, a huge part of me was one hundred percent relieved. Relieved that I hadn’t found out I was up the duff just 24 hours after I broke up with yet another chapter in my failed love life. However there was quite a large part of me was that felt something else towards that test… Something completely the opposite to relief.
In every sense, I’m not ready to have a baby. I’m a failing-at-life almost-30 year old who lives in a house-share and basically lives pay check to pay check. I’m fucking my life up quite spectacularly, destroying every relationship and pushing away all hopes of ever settling down to have babies. The older I get, the more I’m aware of how many other people around me have their life sorted. Another cousin had a baby recently. It’s only me and my sister now and she’s five years younger than I. My Papa Smurf took great delight in telling me he was an uncle again and once again let rip with the little digs…
“Oh don’t worry. I know you’re probably not going to give me grandkids. It might be your sister soon. She’s getting married.”
Yep, aware of all of the above thank you very much. One hundred percent aware. I know how spectacularly I’m buggering up my life thanks, I don’t need constant reminders of it. Sometimes I want to remind him of the thirteen-year old misery him and my mother had together. I’d call it a marriage but I never knew it to be one. When they weren’t screaming at each other, they were ignoring each other. That’s not what a marriage is meant to be like. That’s definitely not how I want any marriage of mine to be.
But my dad and his little digs, it’s just another thing that reminds me I’m so far away from the concept of having kids. I’m actually considering taking my Bestie up on our pact – he’d baby me up if I ever wanted him too. My womb is promised to him, as such. He’s my ‘backup plan’ except we’re never going to have sex. He’s in charge of bringing the turkey baster. But at the rate I’m going, I’m going to need to take him up on that. I can’t seem to hold on to a man long enough to even think about making babies with him.
That negative result, it was just another reminder of how badly I’m doing at life. Well, for what I wanted anyway. I know I’m so lucky compared to other people out there, people who have much less than me, but I’m allowed to wallow in self-pity from time to time and I’ve decided that right now is going to be my time. I’m sick of failing. I want to have a happy relationship with someone I love and adore. I want us to have great sex although this isn’t a prerequisite. I’m more than willing to compromise on that. And his levels of attractiveness too. Looks aren’t everything. I’ve definitely learned that over the years. But I want to be with someone who I can see myself having a future with. I want someone I feel that ‘zsa zsa zsu’ with. I want to be someone who I’m sure won’t do a runner when the going gets tough. I want more, more than what I seem to be getting that’s for sure.
I’m not trying to get pregnant. I don’t know how strongly I want to keep reiterating that point but I always kinda figured that ‘accidentally’ getting pregnant was the way it would happen for me. I’d never be 100% sure whether or not I’d actually want kids so it would be down to fate. If I got pregnant when I was with someone, I would evaluate it on a case-by-case basis. At this stage, coming up to thirty and having serious concerns about my own fertility, I almost wanted that choice. I know what I would have chosen. I know myself too well. I would’ve kept that baby and I would’ve made it work in every way and any way I knew how. So many parents tell me that you can never really be prepared for kids and they’d wished they’d just said ‘to hell with it’ sooner.
I know I would never have forgiven myself if I’d gotten pregnant, aborted it and then faced the prospect of not having children. That HPV positive result keeps looking over me and I’m *still* waiting for the biopsy results from my last colposcopy. The NHS likes to damn their sweet time. You know, just to add more excitement factor to the mix. As if the threat of cancer wasn’t already scary enough.
But what happens if I can’t have kids? What happens if that choice is taken away from me? All those times I was so scared to fall pregnant, all those times I tried every birth control solution under the sun in a bid to find one just perfect for me and even then, not really finding one I LOVED, it was all for nothing. Because when you try to plan these things, the plans never go right.
Although I never really wanted children, I always figured I’d have them one day. I’d find a man and we’d live happily ever after. He’d want kids so in turn, I’d want them and we’d live happily ever after. The perfect little family. I’ve been married and I couldn’t imagine anything worse than having the spawn of that Satan. But I always guessed I’d have them before I hit the age of thirty. I didn’t want to be an older mother. I still don’t want to be an older mother. But here I am, edging closer to thirty, womb still vacant.
In my current situation, I’m not all that embarrassed about being disappointed by the negative result. There’s a huge part of me that almost wished that pregnancy test was positive – to prove my lady-bits were still in working order, to take away the responsibility of making the decision to actually start a family, to just dive in head first and do it… That one thing that always scared me.
But it was negative and I still haven’t heard from The Director. His window, if he even had one to begin with, closed at about 10pm last night. Block and delete time. I set myself a time limit, just like I suggested in my book. 10pm last night was that time. No more stalking, no more driving myself up the wall, no more of that silly nonsense. He’s just another closed chapter.
Now where did I put my contraceptive pill…?