That Sickness: a monologue

It is not until I learn to take care of myself that I will be of any use to anyone else. My husband and children do not understand that. it is always mommy this and honey that. I feel like I am a rag doll being stretched in five different directions. Eventually, I will unravel completely and there will be nothing left of me but a torn scrap of fabric. I am already frayed at the edges.

Look at all the gray hairs I have collected in the past ten years. The last thing in the world I wanted to be was a stay-at-home wife and mother. But, like Mom always said, life is what happens when you have other plans. Oh, ain't that the truth! Ain't that the godforsaken truth! And Heaven forbid I should get pregnant again. My husband is a very god-fearing man and insists upon the need to "be fruitful and multiply."

The next time I feel that sickness coming on, I will go to the witchwoman in the woods. She will save me from going though this whole ordeal again. She will make me a black brew to burn my insides and the baby itself will never form.