Through My Grandmother’s Eyes

Too many of them. Still trying for a girl. The house is damp and cold, with an outside toilet, and lino that doesn’t quite reach the walls.

I hope they know what they’re doing. This makes five. Five boys. Having another child at home, calling Dr Doherty first thing on a Monday, I worry what the neighbours will think.

There she is, pushing away, feet first this one, by the look of things, harder than the others, she smoked right through the pregnancy, I hope it’s not disabled. Tears on her face, a final push. A scream to clear his lungs, rain running down glass frames the grey sky outside.

Crying. Everything in the right place and the right number of toes. Everyone relieved. Dr Doherty looks happy.

I wonder how this one will turn out?


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