TIME: 2:17 P.M. JULY 31st.
PLACE: THERAPIST’S OFFICE, BRONX, NEW YORK.
LIGHTS UP ON LILITH. SHE SPINS ROUND AND ROUND IN A SWIVEL CHAIR, HER OVERSIZED WINNIE-THE-POOH PAJAMA PANTS DRAG ON THE FLOOR.
Babies are gross. What are you even supposed to do with them? Why does he want one so badly? Because he doesn’t have to push it out, that’s why, the bastard. I think he thinks that the only bad part about giving birth is getting fat and pushing a human being through a little hole.
SHE STOPS SWIVELING AROUND IN THE CHAIR SUDDENLY AND GLARES POINTEDLY TOWARDS THE AUDIENCE.
Little does he know, I have a list of reasons why pregnancy is The Worst. Getting fat is one of them though, because I wouldn’t even be able to tie my shoes or see my feet and I would have to waddle around like a penguin. Then there’s the nausea and morning sickness. That’s what creates that pregnant woman glow. The glow is that sheen of sweat you obtain during your suffering. You can’t eat sushi or fish or too much fancy cheese or too much chocolate or medium rare steak or deli meat or coffee or alcohol or anything fun.
Did you know that you don’t get paid maternity leave because the world hates women? You also apparently shouldn’t change the cat litter while pregnant because of toxoplasmosis, and that sounds like a made up word. You can’t take long baths because the baby can’t sweat, like that’s supposed to be my problem.
THROWS HER HANDS IN THE AIR EXASPERATEDLY.
You get so moody and wanna strangle your husband for knocking you up.
He tells me, “But your boobs will get bigger, wouldn’t you like that?”
GIVES AN IRRITATED LOOK.
He’d like that.
My back will not be happy about having more weight to carry. Boobs drop like anchors right after giving birth anyway. Then I’d be randomly lactating and it’ll go through my shirt and ruin my day.
There is a chance that I’ll accidentally pee while sneezing because my bladder doesn’t care about my happiness.
Everyone wants to touch your stomach, and you don’t know how to politely tell them to fuck off.
Oh, but you don’t get your period for nine months. Of course, that’s because you get this weird vaginal discharge instead. The bleeding is ridiculous after you give birth, but everyone tells you it’s worth it when you’re holding your baby in your arms. And I think they’re dirty rotten liars.
My sister is the most uncaring human being in the world, but she doesn’t want a kid either. She told me, “I better not get pregnant because I don’t care, I’ll get an abortion and flick that little shit out like a booger.”
TWIRLS A STRAND OF HAIR AROUND HER FINGER AND TUGS ON IT ROUGHLY.
My friends tell me childbirth horror stories like fond memories.
One of them cracked a rib while in labor.
Another one’s asshole ripped.
Another one pooped on the table.
I never, ever, wanted a baby. That’s why I started a list of why being pregnant sucks so that if my maternal instinct kicked in, I could convince myself why I don’t want one.
It never kicked in though.
He doesn’t know that I tried to condition myself to be okay with having babies when he told me he wanted a son named Alex. He wouldn’t make me get pregnant if I told him, but I’m scared of disappointing him.
I can’t have him loving someone else more than he loves me, especially because I don’t think I’d love a baby more than him.
I can’t have a baby.
BURIES HER FACE IN HER HANDS TO CRY.