Change is here

Last October, I went to see a psychic. She came highly recommended by S-Friend and although I’d wanted to see her on previous occasions, it just never happened. But over breakfast on a Saturday morning, with a whole week of leave on the horizon, S-Friend suggested I see this psychic and something just clicked.

She predicted many things, like needing minor abdominal surgery (hello emergency lap coli) and much travel. But the most interesting was the prediction was that I wouldn’t recognise myself in a years’ time. Admittedly, she didn’t say whether the change would be good or bad, but I just assumed it was for the better.

Since I’m coming up to the anniversary of the visit, I’ve been looking for the change. I still see the same chubby face in the mirror when I brush my teeth and my clothes all still fit, so the change hasn’t been physical. This morning, though, a change dawned on me as I lay in bed procrastinating getting out of it.

The back story goes like this: I’ve always maintained that I’ll never have kids. I never thought it fair to pass on my undesirable (in my eyes) genes and pregnancy completely grosses me out. I tend to be pretty selfish, so I didn’t want to have to share my space and time with a screaming infant. There were always many, many reasons. Ten years ago I was adamant that I would never procreate.

Then I turned thirty. No, there was no sudden ticking of my biological clock, no jumping uterus every time I saw someone else’s screaming infant, no overwhelming desire to steal babies away from their mothers. But there was this thought that if I did happen to find myself with child, I would cope.  Not that it was likely to happen – I am perpetually single and not all that unhappy, yet – but if it did happen, I wouldn’t be upset. I decided that I wouldn’t go to great lengths to fall pregnant – IVF etc – but if it happened while I wasn’t paying attention, that would be ok.

But this morning, out of the blue, came the thought that I might actually like to have kids. Note the plural, as in more than one, because I think it’s important to have at least one sibling. Don’t know how I’ll cope with being pregnant. The thought of this thing growing inside me is completely appalling. Maybe they can put me into a medically induced coma for nine months and wake me up once its been cleaned up and is cute.

It might not sound like a huge thing to you, but for me it’s equivalent to Neil Armstrong landing on the moon. I’m not rushing out to find a sperm donor, and I still doubt I’ll agree to major medical intervention if it doesn’t happen naturally. I’m holding out for the nuclear family – a husband before kids – for now. But who knows, the clock might start ticking before that happens.

 

So, the change has become noticeable. It has me excited and apprehensive about what else is going to change. And a little sad at the gradual passing of the old me. I was rather fond of that girl.

 

Don't abuse the exclamation mark!

One of my greatest bug bears is the use, or rather abuse, of the exclamation mark. I cannot believe that so many people are that excited about life.

‘Same here!’, ‘So cute!’ and ‘Me too!’ are acceptable, occasionally.

But are ‘He loves the company!’, ‘Amazing!!!!’, ‘They are little cup cakes! Baby ones!’ and ‘Took it to school today!’ really necessary? These are real life examples and they drive me nuts!

In this day and age of emoticons to convey your pleasure (or a host of other emotions) at a statement, do we really need to resort to shouting every time we communicate? Because, traditionally, that’s what an exclamation mark means – a raised voice, or a vehement command (according to Collins). So, in the example of the cupcakes, what’s really being communicated is that ‘They are little cupcakes, dammit. Freaking baby ones. How many more ways can I say this to make you understand that they are not regular sized cupcakes?

I know she didn't mean it like that – she was excited to tell the world that she had made little cupcakes – but it’s how it reads to me.

For those of you who just love to pepper your writing with these little darlings, I want you to think of them as an endangered species. There are only a few thousand exclamation marks roaming the wilds and no captive breeding programme has been successful in increasing their numbers. So every time you use one, you rip a poor little mark out of the wild and reduce the population. And soon there will no more exclamation marks left, which means that children will never be told to "Stop it right now!" No woman will experience her heart beating like a bongo drum at Mr Swoon-worthy’s marriage proposal!

Please, please, join my cause to save the exclamation mark from abuse and eventual extinction. Think carefully before taking a poor mark away from its loving family. And when you douse it, for we all know that it’s going to happen, make sure it’s a worthwhile move.