{"id":9181,"date":"2018-01-08T14:51:52","date_gmt":"2018-01-08T09:06:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/pahichan.com\/?p=9181"},"modified":"2018-01-08T14:51:52","modified_gmt":"2018-01-08T09:06:52","slug":"there-comes-a-time-in-your-lesbian-life-when-your-brother-offers-to-impregnate-your-girlfriend","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/pahichan.com\/en\/there-comes-a-time-in-your-lesbian-life-when-your-brother-offers-to-impregnate-your-girlfriend\/","title":{"rendered":"‘There comes a time in your lesbian life when your brother offers to impregnate your girlfriend \u2026’"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Kathmandu (Pahichan) January 8 – When I first saw my niece it was broodiness at first sight. Plus, my brother has offered to donate sperm for my lesbian partner. But for a property-less millennial, things are not quite that simple \u2026<\/h1>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/header>\n<\/div>\n
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\"Eleanor<\/picture><\/div>
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\u00a0\u2018I have an announcement to make,\u201d says my sister, on FaceTime. Holy cow. Is she pregnant again? She swore two kids was her limit, but I guess she must have had an accident.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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\u201cYeah?\u201d I say, already thrilled about my third niece\/nephew.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a pause. She\u2019s really milking this.<\/p>\n

\u201cI ate poo,\u201d she finally says.<\/p>\n

I blink.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI ate poo. I ATE POO.\u201d<\/p>\n

What follows is a tale as old as time. My sister had made the usual Brooklyn Mom healthy\u00a0bean mulch<\/a>\u00a0for my two-year-old nephew\u2019s dinner. The bean mulch is brown. Poo is brown. She\u2019d just changed my nephew\u2019s nappy and, while back to making bean mulch, spotted some brown on her finger.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, some delicious bean mulch,\u201d she thought to herself before \u2013 without a second thought \u2013 licking the brown off her finger. But it was not bean mulch. Not at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does it \u2026 taste like?\u201d I ask, having clawed my way back to composure from a laugh\/cry meltdown.<\/p>\n

\u201cLIKE POO,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

Then and there, I easily could have made the decision never to have kids of my own. The decree that parenting carries even the smallest risk of accidental poo-eating should have knocked me off the fence like a great, turdular cannonball. But I\u2019m not sure it did. Around the same time as poo-gate, a couple of other things happened.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve always been worried that I look more like my dad than my mum. With all due respect to the latter, he isn\u2019t exactly\u00a0Audrey Hepburn<\/a>. He\u2019s \u2013 as a lot of dads are, to be fair \u2013 a large, hairy oaf with a giant head. I inherited his unmanageable hair and thin upper lip that my mum always insisted was both full of character and quintessentially Jewish. Luckily for my mum\u2019s vagina (there\u2019s something I never thought I\u2019d write \u2026) I did not inherit his enormous head. Meanwhile, from my mum, I inherited ferocious\u00a0premenstrual syndrome<\/a>. And that\u2019s about it. Well, that\u2019s what I thought until I found an old photo of her looking so much like me that she could, well, be my mum. Aged 28 \u2013 exactly the same age as me, spookily \u2013 she\u2019s sitting with my one-year-old brother on her lap. Unceremoniously, I cropped my blob of a brother out of the photo when I posted it on Facebook next to one of me looking identical to her.<\/p>\n

Although it was a relief \u2013 for once \u2013 to look like my beautiful mum, the baby I\u2019d lopped off the photo began to bother me. That\u2019s to say: never had it weighed so heavily on me that, at my age and my face, my mum had two children (my sister had already been on the scene for three years) and the deeds to a house. I, the disappointing 21st-century remake of the classic that was my mum, have clinical anxiety and a cat who gets an erection every time he cuddles up to me.<\/p>\n

Without wanting to perpetuate boring stereotypes about millennials: I don\u2019t really know what a pension is and I just spent \u00a37.99 on a Groupon for some solar-powered fairy lights for a patio I don\u2019t own. Unless writing think pieces suddenly becomes extremely lucrative, I\u2019ll never own a house. And, let\u2019s just clarify, no, giving up my \u201cbuying pointless crap online\u201d habit won\u2019t mean I suddenly, or even in 20 years from now, have an \u00a380,000 deposit for an abandoned fridge in Penge that a tapeworm of a landlord has converted into a studio flat. But having a kid, well, that\u2019s a slightly different matter. Again,\u00a0affordability is a huge, glaring issue<\/a>. Although I don\u2019t have a biological imperative to own a house.<\/p>\n