The Right Man and A Baby

I don’t know if I want to get married. I mean, if I genuinely really want it. Or is the society is pushing the thoughts of happy endings and fairy tales into my mind. Or maybe I’ve watched too much of those romantic movies and actually believing I could have my love story. Or, a better one.

You see, I am not that girl who believes in commitment and long time relationships. I am not a girlfriend-material. And I am aware of it. I prefer being independent and free. I prefer hanging out with friends on a Saturday night than staying at home on a weekend because he told me so. I prefer the thrill of ‘courting’ and getting there. I prefer all those butterflies flying around my belly and dying to know when he’s going to tell me he likes me. I prefer not being able to argue as much as I’d like for the fear of losing him. I prefer first dates and first kisses. It may sound strange, but I actually like the ‘chase’.

Don’t get me wrong but I just don’t see myself into long time relationships. Relationships that lasts for more than a year. Relationships that lasts forever, if there’s such thing. I don’t know how I am going to handle it, and if I could. Which I highly doubt so. I don’t think anyone could keep up with me. If they’ll be able to handle how annoying I could be. If they’ll be able to adjust with the things that I do, I get a little crazy sometimes. If they’ll be able to understand why this and why that. If they’ll manage how moody and hyper I can get in a split second. If he exists, then I sure would be as hell lucky than Kate Middleton. (Ha!)

Maybe I’m saying things of such because  I’m too young to care for the mature things. Let the adults do those do their stuff, I always say. But one thing I really want, and surely I genuinely want it, is to have a baby. I want to know how it’s like to carry a little thing in your tummy for 9 months. I want to feel how it’s like waiting and wondering if it’s a boy or girl. I want to know the feeling of delivering a baby and actually giving breath to this small innocent child, with tiny hands as soft as a cotton. I want the sleepless nights, and breastfeeding. This is probably the least thing I like. But I want to witness and take care of a miniature me . A mini Katrina and somebody else.

I know it’s strange and all, but I can’t wait to have a baby. I don’t want it now, though. It’s too much responsibility for my age. But I want it soon. Soon, before I die. Soon, before I give up.

Sorry for another mushy post. I can’t help but write something in this ‘zone’. 1am is kind of my writing zone. So bear with me.


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