It’s not right that babies are given to some people. People who just keep popping them out only to have them taken into care, living their lives without a thought of how it will affect their children. I fell in love with a baby girl at work the other night, and, coming from her background, a bottle and a cuddle and she seemed to love me too. And I would be so much better for her than anything she’s going to have in the near future. Why do I never hear of women with questionable parenting skills struggling to have babies?

I know it’s judgemental, I completely believe that there is a lot of grey, but there is also just plain wrong.

I’d long been planning how to teach you right from wrong before you sparkled into being. Stories and lessons. Ways to help you see the world. I make a lot of mistakes and every day I do things I regret, but I really try to even the score. I try to make sure I do more good than harm. It’s not about being perfect, but it is to an extent about justifying my existence. Living a life I can be proud of.

There are some, a lot, of good mums out there. An unlikely new mum, whose baby arrived just the day before yesterday, will be wonderful. Better than she expects, I’ll wager. And a work friend, already mum to a toddler, is having her second. I found out two days ago when I saw her belly. She’s only six weeks behind me, where I was, anyway, and I can’t believe I didn’t know. I’m happy for her but I was surprised. And a little upset to be honest. It’s just that I want that so very badly.

With all the baby vibes in the air, I surrendered to buying some baby clothes for myself. I made the decision that it’s not pathetic, it’s optimistic. I need to be hopeful. And I spend time and energy on other people’s babies. I just wanted some of that for myself.

My boobs are still sore and I figured if I want to buy things I better do it before I take a test. I’ll either be sad or scared, and I don’t want to be burying any more baby clothes. Fingers crossed for us, Peanut. 

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