Shoot the Messenger

A weird thing happened the day that I got engaged. Apparently a memo was sent out to every individual I was ever to come into contact with for the rest of my adult life, informing them that they had a vested interest in the contents (or lack thereof) of my womb.

I’ve been married for nearly three years now, and I can say – hand on heart – that not a single month has gone by in that period (pardon the pun) where a person hasn’t asked me the question. THAT question. The question that makes my stomach clench, my blood boil in my body, and my mind scamper to and fro like a trapped mouse:

« So, when are you having kids then? »

At first I’d laugh it off. Surely they were just being friendly. The news of a new marriage is kind of like the news of a bereavement…

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