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https://musicboxcle.com/2025/04/22es1fcw I heaved and pushed. And pushed. And pushed. And pushed. They just came out of me, almost slippery in fact. The room is full of cries.

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https://mhco.ca/mjniacg I could have had six, as if that wouldn’t have been enough. But the last one was a blue one.

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get link I’ve always known I couldn’t conceive. I was seventeen then, and because I was eager to prove my womanhood, I copulated with whomever I fancied. But I never got pregnant. It got me wondering one day, when I felt the pang of envy when my sister gave birth to her son. Ten years ago, I would have never thought I had it in me, to dream of being a mother.

click here I always saw myself to be unmarried, living the boheme life, acquiring several lovers along the way, and perhaps adopt. I thought I hated children, how messy and cumbersome they can be to one’s independent lifestyle. But I fell in love with Matthew, my sister’s son. How can one not be? He’s adorable as a button.

see And several years later, I met someone whose eyes remind me of sunflowers during summer. Gazing into them I saw myself running after rosy-cheeked cherubs with a spoon in my hand and a bib in the other. They excitedly scream ‘Papa!’ as they run towards him and I sigh in resignation. You do the dishes, I’d say, and I’ll have to bathe them. We argue, attempt to fuck once they’re tucked in, but too tired to even undress. He snores, I moan (as my way of snoring). I wake up nuzzled in his arms and gaze at his sleeping face, so beautiful.

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https://www.psychiccowgirl.com/fn2mnazgqs And so I weep for that lost little soul that never even had the chance to live. I weep for my own soul for I will never have the chance to give life.