It's grey and rainy. It's cold. I am cranky. I'm tired, slow, grumpy. I think it's the weather. A friend asked if it was the pregnancy/brain tumor (which I'd forgotten about) getting me down. Could be.
My best friend suggested that perhaps I shouldn't be so selfish. We're all too self-indulgent, she said. Think of the baby. Even with treatment for the tumor, I might not live, and anyway, I've been around for a while. Why not give the baby a shot? And this could change B's life. Leaving him with a baby would make him realize that work isn't all there is to life. Of course, he'd then have to marry, to have someone to help him take care of the kid. And so another woman would be raising my child. But it's not like I've ever wanted to spend that much time around children anyway.
She says I should tell him soon, though, because I might not have all that much time left. And he's a planner. He's got a 50-bloody-year life plan. He's got a spreadsheet charting out every month for the rest of his life, practically. It's one of those complex Excel documents, so that every conceivable option is included. A random baby is definitely not on there. This will rock his world. We clutch each other laughing at how fast he would pass out.
We had this conversation on a streetcorner, waiting for the light to change. A much younger woman was standing next to us, trying to be subtle about her eavesdropping. She was riveted, and clearly alarmed by how cavalier we were about this baby, about my impending demise. I wanted to tell her it's not real, I'm not really pregnant or dying. Really, I just have Existential Crisis Disorder, and we are very, very twisted people. But the light changed and she scurried.