3 weeks pregnant, read the digital stick I pissed on one Saturday after feeling fat and taking everything that came out my husband’s mouth as a personal attack.
“Honey, are you ready to…”
“I’M ALWAYS READY!”
How odd humans are, I remember thinking as the words rapidly appeared. We’re so smart we can digitalise our piss, but we’ll drink a credit card amount of plastic every week without complaining.
Now, you would think an ecstatically married woman in her mid-thirties who had been trying to get pregnant for more than half a year would be beaming with the words on this stick. Not just in awe of the human progress of digitalised piss, but blissing out on the news itself. Would be overwhelmed with gratitude. Elated. Bursting with happiness.
I was paralysed by it.
Here’s how much we waste in Australia. Post continues after video.
If only the news had arrived a week earlier. I would have instantly felt a glow, floating around the house in cheesecloth, throwing knowing glances to my husband as we silently imagined what our magical baby might look like in a small pair of sneakers and a knitted cardigan.
But that week, instead of clicking on a video highlighting the inspirational disabled contestant on The Voice, I clicked on the IPCC climate change report. Twelve years, it said. Twelve years for every individual to radically change the extravagant lifestyle they take for granted. Twelve years for nations, not famous for friendliness towards one another, to work as a team to save the planet from frying.
Twelve years. You could barely watch all of The Simpsons in that window of time let alone dismantle systematic neoliberalism.