Charlotte
I bend over on the toilet, and I howl and howl and howl. Everything I’ve kept in all these years. The envy, oh God, the envy. The resentment at how easy it is for everyone else. The endless complaining about how hard it is to have something I so desperately want. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do more I ’ m so happy for you , and don ’ t worry about me my time will come. If I have to like another baby announcement online, clicking ‘like’ on a black-and-white scan, writing ‘ congratulations ’ and lying when I say, ‘ what amazing parents you ’ re going to be, ’ I will implode. So many people I know will make terrible parents and get to become them anyway. I’m not going to lie, I have my doubts about Nicki. She’s always been quietly so selfish and used to getting her own way. There, I said it. You’ll probably be a shit mum, Nicki, and yet there you go, out a baby pops. And Lauren. I thought she’d be amazing. She’s so warm, and works with children’s books, and was always there, crouched next to whoever was drunk and crying at the bus stop on a night out. But she just left her baby screaming . . . why? If I ever get pregnant, I promise I’ll be the best mum. I promise I’ll never leave it to cry. I promise I’ll read every book, attend every class, be so responsive that I’m changing a nappy literally as the baby poos into it . . . please, God, I’ll do it, I promise, if I just . . .
. . . but this magical thinking gets me nowhere. I have to accept it’s the desperate nonsense of a pathetic woman who can’t face reality. I thought if I threw the perfect day today, I’d be rewarded, but there’s just cramps in my stomach, and a trip to hospital to be told what I already know. I bend over and let myself feel sad, feel rage, feel shame, feel desperately sorry for myself. I know I need to call Seth, but I can’t stand yet. I just can’t. My entire soul is exhausted. There are no energy frequencies to tune into.
Then I hear the scream.