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Thank you for breastfeeding - Part 2

Thank you for breastfeeding - Part 2

As I've mentioned in earlier posts, I'm currently writing a semi-autobiographical play about my pregnancy experience. Here's a monologue I'm working on from the first act that tries to capture the boundless excitement and unrealistic expectations I had of starting a family. What was your own experience like?

Thank you for breastfeeding - Act 1 Excerpt. 
Read additional scenes.

Eliza - Expectant mother in her mid-thirties
Paul -  Expectant father in his mid-thirties

Setting: Eliza is standing alone in the kitchen. A spotlight is on her and the rest of the stage is dark

Eliza: Paul lived five doors down from me. I remember the first time I saw him; old pair of soccer shorts, mismatched flip flops and tousled hair. He was so sexy.

On one of our first dates I asked him if he wanted kids. He said, “Yeah, unless you want like five. I don’t think I can do five.” I reassured him that two would be fine, three would be better.

These are the types of conversations you have when you have absolutely no idea how hard it will be to get pregnant or how bad the morning sickness will be the first trimester or what sleep deprivation will do to your brain.

Baby-making sex had long lost its allure by the time we got pregnant. We’re the couple that keeps the average at six months even though most women get pregnant the first few tries. The final trick was this twelve pack of ‘fertility beer’ my sister gave me last Christmas. It’s this cheap Japanese malt liquor that tastes like a Miller high-life gone flat. She swore by it and two months later we had two pink lines.

I was lucky I didn’t have to worship the porcelain goddess every morning, but I was a prickly pear that first trimester. Paul was so excited. He wanted to hug me all the time. I’d see him coming and shoot him this look like, “stop right there or suffer the wrath of a puffer fish.” Things got better by week 20. Thankfully.

That’s when we found out we were having a baby girl. Within seconds IT became HER. Only six more weeks now. I can’t wait to meet her. [pause - correcting herself] I mean we can’t wait to meet her.

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