When people depart the “conception issues” blogosphere, does it mean the stork has paid them a visit?  Do they stop blogging because they think it would just be a bit smug to announce their new zygote in front of an audience of ladies who are all still trying to achieve the same thing?  Maybe so, but I’d still like to know; it’s like watching Murder She Wrote and the power being cut just before you find out who slipped him the cyanide; like eating half a Snickers bar and having the rest thieved by a basset hound or, even worse, like only having half a glass of wine before you have to return home and face the mind-bending frustration of calculating your taxes.

Speaking of half glasses, both empty and full, I had lunch today with a friend who is thinking about going back to work now that her first child has passed the 12 month mark.  She’s getting very bored and needs adult company.  We had an in-depth conversation about quite what a rich, verdant colour the grass is on the other side of the fence.  I told her about the tears and heartache of not having achieved conception, how the only thing that would stop me from feeling like I’d failed the biological test of life, would be to conceive a baby of my own.  She told me that, having passed the test, she was sick to death of chopping and mushing parsnips, cleaning the plastic sheets you put on the floor to catch all the parsnips as they’re lobbed over the high chair and speaking in a made-up language.  I told her I wanted nothing more than to have my baby puke its mushed parsnip all over my shoulder.  She told me that she wanted nothing more than the freedom to buy a new pair of Miu Miu sandals and not feel like it was taking parsnip from the baby’s mouth.  She told me there was nothing she wanted more than pancakes and bacon in New York, at a moment’s notice. I told her there was nothing I wanted more than morning sickness and piles.

I thought about this conversation for a bit and wondered who, in fact, had the better deal.  Independence, freedom and energy or family ties and baby sick?  Then I remembered that the one and only pair of Miu Miu’s I ever bought are gathering dust at the back of my wardrobe.

I’d choose a living, breathing human being any day.

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