I grew up believing in divorce. My parents were divorced from when I was 3. I never dreamt about getting married and living happily ever after. I was never the tragically locked up princess; I was the crazy run-around-with-no-shoes-on-and-play-with-the-dogs day dreamer. I loved the mud between my toes, a stick in one hand, my other holding a tree I may’ve been “hiding” behind, stories to adventure in my head; adventures where I was all on my own, apart from a dog or two, traversing wild plains and lush forests. I would never want to be the spunky heroine who would shack up with the cute guy and then go into retirement to be a mum.
What’s one to do as a mum anyway? How does the heroine adjust? She can’t go off to save the world because she’s breastfeeding. She has to stay at home because there has to be someone to do the dishes, feed the cat, walk the dog, weed the garden, look after the baby and make delicious dinners. She’s going to wither away, go insane in the domestic, mundane-ness of it all. She’s he exotic flower transplanted into your backyard; a terrible idea.
More to come? Maybe, maybe not :)
i start uni tomorrow.
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