Page 2 of So Thrilled For You

IHateWomenAndSoDoYou has shared this story

WOMEN SHOULDN’T BE ALLOWED TO HAVE BABIES

TheRightSideOfHistory replied to this comment:

How are we supposed to address the dwindling birth rate then?

FemSocForLifereplied to this comment:

I bet you’re anti-abortion too.

IHateWomenAndSoDoYou replied:

SHUT UP AND DIE YOU FUCKING FEMINIST WHORES

DAY OF THE FIRE

Transcript: Inspector Simmons

interviewing Nicole Davies

Simmons: Can you talk us through your movements on the day of July 14th please?

Nicole: [shuffles] Before we start, can I go to the bathroom, please?

Simmons: You just went.

Nicole: I’m aware of that. But I’m also eight months pregnant. Is it true what they say? That I can pee in your helmet if I need to?

Simmons: There’s no need to pee in my helmet. We’ll get someone to escort you to the bathroom.

Nicki

I can’t believe today is my baby shower.Mybaby shower. It’s surreal but it’s finally happening.

I’m going to be a mother. I’m going to have a baby.

Honestly, I feel like the last decade of my life has been low-key obsessed with the question ofam I going to have a baby? Can I have a baby? When should I try to have a baby?One of the best things about having a baby seems to be finally knowing,yeah, you did,and being able to let go of all that questioning shit. Letting go of all the anxious energy is way more relaxing than this lukewarm bath at dawn, but my baby will poach in here if I don’t cool down.

I stayed at my parents’ house last night, and I was looking forward to the peace of the countryside and having a double bed all to myself. But the birds’ morning chorus here is louder than our dub-step loving neighbours. I’ve been up for an hour already, since 4am, alongside the ferocious sun. I yawn as I attempt to lower myself further into the water in a fruitless attempt to cool down. Comedic squeaks join the birdsong as my puffy flesh chafes against the bath. My bump icebergs out of the thin layer of unscented soap, and I pour water over it – finding relief for three whole minutes, which is good going for eight months pregnant. I close my eyes, cradle my stomach, and practise my hypno-birthing breathing. I feel my baby rustle under my stretched skin. I watched a TikTok video that says our fingerprints are created in the womb by the mother’s amniotic fluid movingaround our hands. Every twist and turn of a pregnancy is etched onto a baby’s skin – a nine month house-share between mother and child turned into a glorious art on your baby’s palms. I cried watching it, and though I’m sure it’s not scientific fact, I need some magical thinking to get me through my third trimester in a hellish heatwave. And today I need to get through my baby shower, in a hellish heatwave, in my parents’ house made entirely of glass. A baby shower I didn’t even particularlywant,or ask for, but has nevertheless been bestowed on me by Charlotte.

‘It’s going to be a perfect day,’ she keeps telling me over the phone, over messages, over carrier pigeon if she gets the chance. ‘Perfect.’

‘Honestly, I don’t need any gifts, yeah?’ I’ve tried pleading with her. ‘Will you tell everyone that? This isn’t ababy shower, just an opportunity to see everyone.’

‘You should still have a registry. People are going to buy you gifts, no matter what you say.’

‘No registry, Charlotte.’

‘I’ve set up a John Lewis one with a few standard pieces.’

‘Charlotte!’

‘It’s going to be perfect. Perfect.’

‘You really don’t need to do this. I know things have been hard for you . . .’

‘PERFECT.’

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