I am not a mother. Yet. I am on the homestretch to being one. I am 8 months pregnant as I write this. 33 weeks and 6 days to be precise. I realize I cannot call myself a mother yet because there’s this 7-week stretch where anything could happen. Anything that could flip the script – anything – and I end up being caught between that space of saying I was pregnant and I was almost a mum. I’ve been there before. It’s the harshest place a mum-to-be can find herself. There’s an emptiness to it that echoes across the…
Author: Florence Bett
Florence Bett
My name is Florence Bett, and I am a writer. I am a young writer. Being young at this craft means I have only a slight idea what I am about so, I carry on as I know. I shall continue aiming and shooting at this mockingbird (catch that pun?) which is in constant motion, with the hope that when it finally lands in my hands, it will hold the answer in a piece of paper rolled up to the size of a cigarette and tied to its foot. A message from the gods; a wink and a nod that maybe, just maybe, I am steering this ship the right way. Until then, I write. I simply write.