Please don’t sit near me.
That’s probably your first thought when you see a parent clambering onto a plane with a baby, but mine was different. Mine was, I wish that was me.
A month ago, brokenhearted, I went on a trip to Paris with my mum. The city of love. With your mother. Immediately after a break up – it will stir up some stuff evidently. Taking off on a plane to Paris should be a really exhilarating moment, but I was uncontrollably sobbing. I was travelling with my mum because two months beforehand, my boyfriend – the love of my life – left me.
OVER. THE. PHONE.
We were together five-and-a-half-years, so that makes f**king sense. I thought we had some stuff to work on, but I honestly thought we were unbreakable. When I looked at other couples, I actually felt secretly superior. We tell each other everything, we’re not like other couples… all that bullshit. He had some things he’d been holding onto as it turns out (but that’s another story). As I saw it, we were on a path. You know the one: dating, moving in, then marriage and babies. I was busy looking to the future and making big plans! And about a year ago, my boyfriend and I even had the serious discussion. It was decided – in about two years we will try for a baby.
I’m not crazy. He had ALWAYS been keen on kids. Sometimes I even joked that, by the time he finished his degree I would probably be too old and barren (I’m 32), and he would get really upset. I suppose it was my way of testing the waters… to make sure he really, really wanted them.