When my Womb is at War.

 

Oh! Sister, but what can you tell me about pain?

 

Do you know what it feels like for all your insides to be at war?

But you are at work. Or at Church.

You must look pretty and like you got it all together.

Do you know what it feels like to have a deadline, but the womb has decided to have a party, and no, you're not invited, my love. Yours is just the house, the party is at.

So your womb twists and turns, vigorously gyrating to the rhythm of your heart. Till the heart suddenly goes faster and faster, as if suddenly realizing its own importance to the party.

So your womb dances and twists. It starts kicking and fighting. But there is nothing you can do, my love. You're not invited to the party.

You have two options.

Either you choose negotiation:

Telling and persuading.

Negotiating requires warm water and some ginger. Both arsenal not at your disposal.

So, like an uninvited guest to a party, you protest.

But protest requires power.

So you summon the armed forces of ibuprofen and even take it a notch higher and take that pain injection.

Now the invasion begins. But you can't participate.

You hear the drones rankling, the armoured vehicles moving in, and as you are just about to pass out, the grenade finally explodes. And you're just lying there.

The forces have succeeded. The party is stopped.

Womb is silenced.

 

But you start to ask yourself, perhaps the cost of the invasion is too high a price to pay.

You just wanted the party stopped. But, wait, is that your favorite bookcase that's been destroyed?