Bal and I are not the most conventional couple. We have been together 11 years but we are not married. We have always loved each other madly but I moved, alone, to Korea for a couple of years and later, we each travelled seperately for 5 months on opposite sides of the world. Years after these travels, we bought a house in a town neither of us works. As a result, we both commute long distances but drive away in opposite directions. Most recently, we honeymooned in Fiji without bothering with an actual wedding ceremony first.
It is here, in Fiji, that we decide to start trying for a baby. Of course, we didn’t know then about ovulation calendars, folic acid or statistical probabilities. We only know, while walking hand in hand along the white sandy beach, the sweet smell of frangipani surrounding us, the sun and waves and thatched huts around, that we are ready to be parents. That we want to conceive a child here, in the most romantic place we have ever been.
What a romantic ideal we had. To decide, while on our ‘honeymoon’ to conceive, have a ton of fun trying, then 3 months later, regale our family and friends with tales of conception in such an exotic locale. So romantic. So perfect. So undeniable unrealistic. Not to mention absurd.
Getting knocked up on my honeymoon?
Ah, too damn conventional for us anyways.