It all began a long time ago, when I was in highschool. All my colleagues wanted to fly abroad, get a whatever job they could, get married, have a bunch of kids and then post pictures on Instagram and Facebook with their perfect lives (although they didn’t know they’re gonna do this yet). I was like a black sheep of the group. I swallowed my words and waged my tail like a dog who’s willing to do any trick to get the “Scooby-Doo” biscuit. I was being passive. And I didn’t like it. I wanted to shout, to start a revolution, so that all those naive girls could wake up and join me. But I continued to wag my tail.
And do you know what happened? It happened. It really did. My entire Facebook wall is now (five years later) shelled with baby-birthday-baths-too sweet snuggling pictures, so many that it makes me wonder “why don’t I have this kind of photos in my albums?”. It didn’t take a lot to find out the answer though.
I have never been the mother-type. This motherhood thing scared me more than Hitchcock’s “Birds” did when I was little. I love kids, but I can’t stand them more than 24 hours; if I had a kid, I’d lose him in one of those pools full of colored balls where children throw themselves I don’t know why. I don’t wanna change diapers now, I’m 24. The only thing I wanna change is my diet (and maybe do some more sports). I also wanna change myself, so I can give the best of me. I don’t wanna work in a coffee-shop and pretend I’m happy, with my kid hooked around my waist like I saw it in so many Hollywood movies. I’m gonna work my ass off to make sure I didn’t study for nothing. To make sure I have enough financial and emotional stability to support my child. Sometimes I’m a child myself, I still cry for my mother’s embrace, I still love to cuddle.
I am just at the beginning of my book, I have just browsed the first pages of the first chapter, so where’s the rush? I am not gonna transform this novel into a cooking book made especially for moms. This is my story – and I’m gonna make it a bestseller.