I’m trying to find the words to tell you the whole story — as I’m sitting in my bed, and I can feel my now 28-week-old daughter inside me kicking. This is my second pregnancy. This week while I’m writing this article, is a year since I found out that I was pregnant for the first time — and, a year since I lost that first baby.
Biological clocks are a real thing — for men as well as for women, of course. It’s just when that clock starts ticking that’s pretty individual. I don’t have a memory of a time when I didn’t adore babies; of both the animal, and human kind. Anything “baby” that needed my help, I’d be there for it. I am writing this article in my head thinking ‘don’t sound like a crazy baby lady’, but I’m finding it hard to avoid that. We live in a culture where wanting a baby conjures up these images of desperate, loony-eyed mid-thirties women, drooling over babies in the mall, before they have to go back for their post-lunch work meetings. For the record: I don’t drool over babies in the mall. I say “hi”, in a very dignified voice, and keep all saliva inside my own mouth, thankyouverymuch. I would like to have a go at whose idea it was to label women who have an active interest in fertility ‘crazy’. My wild guess? Perhaps a few men had some say in this notion. Although they are rare, you do find boys who have always wanted to be dads, and even played with dolls when they were younger. Which, for the record, I do think is a healthy pastime for the future modern involved fathers of this world.