Aoife / Invitation

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It’s December 2016. We’re in the Labour Suite of the Infirmary. A home away from home – your brothers were born here, and your Mum and Dad work here. It’s been a bad few months – in which governments encouraged us to clamber over each other to escape this fucking dumpster-fire of a year, only pausing to turn back briefly to blame the charred corpses for getting in the way. But now you’re here. The light at the end of the tunnel. What kind of a life have we brought you into? No wonder you came out screaming.

Which idiots decided now would be a good time to bring you into the world? One that’s so far off the rails we’re starting to forget what the rails looked like? “Forget about the rails” they tell us, “Rails never really existed”.

Maybe it’s because we think that you, in your own way, could make the world a slightly better place? I hope that’s true – that you become one of those people who put in more than you take out, in whichever way makes you happiest. But most of all I hope that you realise you’re loved, and have the chance to love others.

For now, you’re lying peacefully in the cot. Small in size, big in potential. Are you a blank canvas? Completely free to choose your own direction? What has been predestined? Will you have your Mum’s strength, her determination, her selflessness? Will you have my poor eyesight? My high blood pressure?

One thing I know you have is an opportunity. A chance to experience this wonderful, crazy, frustrating, exhilarating adventure. Your invitation was sent. And now here you are. Welcome to the party. It’s BYOB.

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