Sunday, March 29


This morning I peed over a stick to see what the results would be. Two stripes means pregnant, one stripe means you’re either not pregnant, or there’s not enough hormone to be traced. I thought I knew what life was about until I started googling topics related to motherhood. There’s a whole world out there, a seperate reality of women who are desperate to have a child. According to some sites you can still expect twins, even if the results of multiple tests are negative. I think that waiting for your period is more excruciating than waiting for a lover, it makes love seem like a complete waste of time. To cheer myself up I had a haircut on Saturday. My hairdresser, an attractive woman who is one year younger than me, turned out to be four months pregnant. “That’s wonderful,” I said, while studying her face. She looked so happy and peaceful, so at ease with herself. “It wasn’t something we planned,” she said, “but it’s welcome.” I felt like I had been given a part in a Russian play. She gave me the same haircut as usual, and when I left she gave me free shampoo.


Last night I spent an hour on the phone with the possible father of my child. He was on his way to spend the weekend with his family. He said that I should see the doctor on Monday, if nothing happened during the weekend. I asked him: “What if you were single, would you then consider keeping this child?” He said that it wasn’t his decision to take, I would have to take that decision by myself. I rephrased and said: “If this child was born, and you were single, wouldn’t you be happy with it?” He replied by saying that he couldn’t give any guarantees, and that there would be a chance I’d have to raise the child all by myself. "What do you mean?" I asked, touching my stomach with one hand. His exact words were: “Well, there might be a day that I would just stop calling you and disappear into thin air.” That killed all the romance I still had inside. There´s nothing romantic about being a single mom. I guess it is less painful if he disappears into thin air today.

Saturday, March 28


The worst case scenario would be that I am pregnant. At first Moto Taxi Guy didn’t believe me when I mentioned the word ‘pregnancy.’ He figured I might be making up another story, one that would prevent that he would lose interest in me. To tell you the truth, I could not care less if he would lose interest, perhaps I would be quite relieved. My intuition tells me that he has already found himself a new girlfriend, one that is just as gullible as I was, and all his talk about ‘how he never felt this way’ was sweet and empty, some easy pickupline. Of course I am not surprised when the word ‘abortion’ comes up. Moto Taxi Guy sounds like he has dealt with this situation before. I mention he must know the way to the nearest abortion clinic, judging from his experience. Since a few weeks he doesn’t think I’m funny anymore. I’m turning into a real woman: demanding, suspicious, a bit needy at times. This is not what an extra-marital affair is about. I should be happy, adoring, craving for sex. Instead I feel like throwing up and crying when he smiles.

Friday, March 27


One of the good things in life is that I always get my period on time.
The pain is usually quite bad and starts about three days in advance.
That’s why I was surprised that this month I did not seem to get my period at all. I threw up before breakfast on Wednesday morning, right before leaving for work. The emotional part of my brain said: I must be pregnant, while the rational part of my brain said: This cannot be. The fact is that I would not mind having children, but I would mind raising them on my own. I can just imagine the conversation when the child is grown: “Your father was married to another woman and I was his sidedish while she was away.” The child will grow up hating his parents for being so completely irresponsible.
Every now and then I run to the toilet to check if there is some good news. Meanwhile I’m just waiting for flow to come to town.

Sunday, March 1


There are some things that a woman should not want to find out. For example: why did my last boyfriend dump me? Was it the hair, the jacket, the pink sweater I wore on our last date? You could ask him and risk making a total fool out of yourself, or you could pretend to be this wise and detached woman and add the mystery to the other mysteries of life. The subject came up this weekend when I went to visit a friend in Amsterdam. She recently moved in with her boyfriend and has this amazing job. She also just returned from a trip to Thailand and wears all the right clothes. I feel that no matter what I wear - Karen Millen, Ralph Lauren or Chanel - I still look like a fourteen year old. When I told her about the recent developments in my love life she laughed and ordered some more wine. At the same time there was something judgemental in her face. I told her not to judge the situation, maybe this was just about sex, maybe life was too short to be a saint. She asked: “what happened to your last boyfriend, why don’t you give him a call?”
We were sitting in the same bar where we had lunch before.
I said: “He proposed to me and then disappeared into thin air, do you expect me to call him and ask him how he is?”
“No, not if he’s a mental patient,” she said. “Then just let it go.”