“When are you having a baby? Don’t you want children?”
Kids, in the autumn of 2016, I was sick to death of hearing this statement flung at me by smug married women and seemingly exemplary goddesses of fertility and I was hard pressed not to respond with a biting sarcastic reply like:
“No, of course not. I mean that’s totally not why I have been dating everything that moves, subjecting myself to torturous blind, online and speed dates and wondering why in all the known universes it’s so bloody difficulty to meet, marry and shag someone in order to produce miniature versions of ourselves. Thanks for asking, though!”
I had , of course, hit the pause button on my biological clock after a particularly bad round of online dating but that didn’t mean my ovaries didn’t explode with love and hope every time I held a ridiculously gorgeous bundle of joy.
After yet another of these annoying rounds of questions into my potential babe-producing plans, I flash backed to that time I met with a psychic for a look into my future…
August 2010 …
Six years previously, I had been newly unemployed, living off my TV publicist pension and looking forward to my upcoming Italy Contiki trip.
But, I still felt that all-too familiar ache that something was missing – you.
So, when a friend suggested I meet with her family’s psychic, I was honestly desperate enough to do so.
Don’t get me wrong: I have a huge respect for sensitive people with extraordinary senses – I ‘ve had enough brushes with it, working on a TV dating show with a clairvoyant and via my own dreams which often come true and ones in which dying relatives have come to say farewell to me, to know that mediums possess amazing gifts.
On this particular winter afternoon, I was extremely nervous and ok, somewhat sceptical – I really wanted whatever this man was about to tell me to be true but I also didn’t want to put all my faith into it, lest I be disappointed.
After doing a quick analysis of my personality and getting a reading on my desires, telling me I should pray for the things I wanted, he gave me the following prediction:
“You will meet your future husband and father of your six children when you are 30. He will be a God-fearing man, perhaps a pastor, and you will raise your children in a loving home.”
Right … anyone who has ever met me will know that religion in any form and I have a bit of a chequered history. I believe in a higher power, just not necessarily a particular dogma and even in the midst of my joblessness singledom, I knew that the chances of me falling for a man of the cloth was unlikely unless he was one of the Winchester brothers in costume …
By 2016, I was once again wondering how much truth lay in the old man’s prophecy. It was true that someone from my past with a deep religious affinity had reappeared in my life just after my 30th birthday but he was married and I had already sworn off unavailable men for good.
Was your father just one crystal ball gaze away? The future, as you can tell, was anyone’s guess …