No Pressure, Like

{A poem about mounting pressures to have a baby before I was ready. My mum even said to me a few years back 'well, you certainly won't be a young mum now...' which was nice ðŸ˜‚}

‘You’ll be the next one with a baby!’
They told me at eighteen
The cat that I was cradling
The only evidence I could see

‘You’ll be the next one with a baby!’
They said as I brought home
A squirming writhing kitten
I had not grown in my womb

‘You’ll be the next one with a baby!’
They exclaimed one fateful day
Apparently the logical next step
With graduation out the way

‘You’ll be the next one with a baby!’
When I packed up and left
My life behind for London
My dreams put to the test

‘You’ll be the next one with a baby!’
When we announced we had a dog
The move back north from the deep south
A more suitable family set up

‘When will you have a baby?’
Their enthusiasm dimmed
All of my achieved life goals
A list of pointless whims

‘She’ll never have a baby’
They’d say when I was 29
As though my still young uterus
Was out on borrowed time

‘I guess that’s no to a baby?’
One by one, they said to me
But bloody hell guys, what’s so wrong
With getting pregnant when ready?

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