I am an only child, though its said I was long awaited, I cant say I ever truly felt cherished. When I was 23, midway through my first pregnancy, doubts crept in about whether I was truly my parents daughter by blood. My parents were already in their seventies, and our financial situation was dire. We were living in a rented flat, just barely keeping our heads above water. My husband and I were both studying and working, but our combined efforts still fell short of covering the bills. There were two occasions when we faced the threat of eviction for missing the rent, and we had to borrow money from friends to see us through. The debt mounted, there was barely enough food, and problems seemed to multiply. Occasionally, my parents would help us out with groceries.
It mattered a great deal to my parents that we marry, and so, a year ago, we went without hesitation to the registrars office and made our vows. It was soon afterwards my parents started insisting on having grandchildren.
Time and again, my mother would tell me that I must have a baby, lest I too become an elderly parent like her. But neither of us felt quite ready for such responsibility; with our finances stretched to the limit, having children did not seem sensible, and we were in no rush. That was when my parents made us a tempting proposition. They offered us a generous sum enough to buy a little cottage in the countryside if I were to have a child. The plan was for them to move out to the village, and for us to have their flat in the city. We thought long and hard and realized perhaps that was our chance; if we accepted, we wouldnt have to worry about rent, and whatever money was leftover could help us build a better life. My mother promised she would look after the baby so that I might continue my studies.
They also vowed to support us financially and help buy everything needed for me and the baby. Yet not a single promise was kept. My parents never even bought so much as a nappy. During my pregnancy, my mother would ring often, asking if I was preparing for the birth, while I, with empty pockets, could not afford even the smallest things not even a handful of baby clothes. She suggested my husband take up yet another job to cover the costs. When I reminded her of their promises, she denied ever saying such things and called us foolish for our choices.
When my daughter arrived, suddenly my parents remembered the talk of money, but by then my husband and I had decided to buy our own home, knowing full well we could not depend on their help. Now, looking back, those years serve as a lesson in relying on ourselves, rather than promises blown about like autumn leaves.
