The SmART of baby making by Raks

So you know how we all get to that stage...been married a few years and inevitably the conversation becomes all about baby making, procreating, breeding and producing the legacy of your loins!  I for one was quite happy with my twosome.  I could drink myself into a stupor and not worry about the sound of some ill-placed noisy gift that someone bestowed on my children to break the banging in my head.  I could get up on a Saturday and decide to just go... anywhere...the spoils of lake naivasha, the tranquillity of mount grace, the spa for five hours of blissful rubbing... and just the idea of having my body being invaded by well let’s face it a mini penis... it was just all too much for me!  Then there the whole “Are you trying?” discussion like my sex life should be out for the world on display especially for your fathers, mothers sisters aunt! The whole idea is just absurd and is natures way of ensuring that we have a testament to our own mortality! So when my husband and I decided it was the year to have a baby – what did I do? Packed my bags and went off to Turkey for a project.  Work was my only salvation!

I was off the hook for at least another three months but I knew I couldn’t put it off forever.  I mean come on – I am a good Indian girl who was brought up to do the right thing  - yeah right!  Whilst on my travels in Turkey I pondered this complex, scary idea that I would one day be someone’s mother.  I mean me? Whaaaat? I am still daddy’s little girl and crawl into mama’s bed for comfort and I was at the time 32!! Surely that’s far too young... am sure I had viable eggs.  At the time I was perplexed by so many wierd notions... would breast feeding have the same effect on your boobs as foreplay? How really will the size of a watermelon pass through the birth canal and effectively eject itself out of the size of a lemon – ok I have witnessed first hand the ladies in Patpong, Thailand doing ridiculous things with their well you know what... see I can’t even say the word... how the hell can I have a baby?  I am just about 5 foot and weigh... well not much... I can barely on most days carry myself.. now I am expected to carry a whole human being with fingernails and all? 

So I get back from my 20 hour journey from Adana to Jo’burg via Istanbul and Germany... exhausted and all I want to do is well... sleep.  Alone. As the duty bound wife that I am (guffaw!)   I realise my month away from my husband will require me to get my ass of the sofa, switch of the TV and at the very least satisfy my husband sexual appetite.  Had I known at the time that that one frolic would land me bare foot and pregnant in the kitchen I might have reconsidering staying on the sofa!!

As  is the norm, every month like clockwork the “painters” come and after a very stressful project and not being one who checks ovulation dates or for that matter tracks my menstrual cycle on an excel spreadsheet I landed back in Jo’burg tired and very cranky!  When I don’t sleep for at least 12 hours a night I am worse than a fretful baby on a long flight.  So I do what I also do... open a fine bottle of wine and smoke my lungs off.   A week later I realised that the “painters” had closed up shop and moved... so I went and picked up a pregnancy test because before I even think about setting foot in the gynae’s office I wanted to rule everything else out!  I mean who voluntarily visits the gyno?  I would rather have a root canal with no anaesthetic than set foot in the waiting room. I take the test after 2 bottles of wine and at least a pack of cigs.  I am convinced that man created the test...it is nearly impossible to pee on that teeny tiny stick without peeing all over your hands!  Anyway it was positive. My reaction you ask?  I laughed my ass off and then the reality of no more 12 hour blissful sleeps, no more dreadful hangovers (ok thats a positive), no more smoking (holy shit!!! How will I cope) so I smoke one more just to calm down and then the reality hit.... and a cried my eyes out!!!