Newspaper article The Journal (Newcastle, England)


Newspaper article The Journal (Newcastle, England)


Article excerpt


I'M from a family the size of the cast of Spartacus, so new babies are not exactly new.

But this week was still exciting because my cousin, who is one of my favourite people in the world, had me over for cuddles with her very tiny, very beautiful son.

I planned going to see them a week ago, so when people asked me my movements that week, and I mentioned visiting them, the response I got was unanimous.

It always is if I so much as mention a baby in any conversation: I was assured I would be filled with the urge to have a baby of my own.

It was an irrefutable fact.

It honestly happens all the time. It's been that way since my late twenties, when I unwittingly stepped through an invisible door, and into a world where it's socially acceptable and encouraged for women to publicly covet what other women have, solely under these circumstances.

Everyone does it. Even a doctor recently rushed in to assure me that I was far from my fertility expiration date.

This was incredibly kind of him to do so. Except I hadn't actually asked.

And his examination of me as an Ear Nose and Throat Specialist didn't really warrant this.

Last I checked, my neck is nowhere near where babies come from.

Unless my insanely misguided childhood theory about women having their heads temporarily removed to get the babies out has finally come to pass.

In which case we all have far bigger things to worry about.

My cousin's baby is beautiful.

He is smiling and happy and smells amazing and I could hold him.

And, though he may suspect me to be a deranged serial killer for doing so, I could stare at him for hours.

But no, being with him didn't make me automatically pine for a baby of my own.

To me that's as weird as coveting someone else's relationship. Their house or new car. …

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