REMINDER: this is a long over-due conclusion to my earlier works Articles of Truth. Therefore reading them before this fiction would be advised.
SET PRE-MOVIE, POST FINALE SEASON
Carrie's article in the paper reads as follows:
We try to find happiness, success, loyalty in our friends and partners, money and above all else Love. It's in our nature; our antennas are programmed to home in on the above, and we joyously follow suit. But I wonder, nine months pregnant and five days overdue, whether we ever stop looking for them?
Question: are we ever truly satisfied with life?
Carriepatted her exceedingly large, rounded tummy and stared blankly at the screen on her laptop. The paper had phoned that morning to tell her people were praising that weeks column and that they were desperate to publish her proceeding article. Problem; there was no such thing.
Since writing the column she'd been happy to file it away in a folder on her laptop and get back to baby shopping; cots to buy, sheets to choice and, of course, baby fashion to expertly decide upon. She'd already found several Dolce and Gabbana sleep suits and she had her eye on many more. She'd never thought about what she'd write next, she just hadn't thought that far ahead.
"Hey baby, I'm going to get us some lunch. Want anything?" Big asked. She struggled to turn herself around on the chair.
"A bagel. . .oh and some coffee."
"No, no, no, no, no. You remember what the doctor said Carrie; your coffee intake needs to be limited, just until the babies born." Carrie grunted.
"At this rate it's never going to be born. I feel like a penguin waddling around the apartment. And it's not even as if I can waddle in good shoes because, oh look –" She lifted her leg up as far as she could and pointed. "I have fat ankles." Big laughed and left the apartment.
Carrie laughed with him as the door shut and he was out of sight. That day, back in the hospital room when she'd told him she couldn't have the baby, he'd left and she didn't know if he'd come back. Now, knowing only too well he'd back in a mere matter of minutes, she felt safe and secure. He'd hated her that day, she knew it. He hated her and loved her all at the same time and it tore her apart. For hours she'd laid there stroking her stomach and apologising to the foetus.
"I'm sorry I just can't do this. . .I'm not ready, I can't. . ."
Then she'd thought back to the 80's. . .all those years ago when, at twenty-two, she'd aborted her first child because of that reason; she wasn't ready. Her brain had been in overdrive, confusing her and pounding her. Which decision was right?
Then he'd come back. Walked into the room holding a bouquet of flowers, and smiling. Carrie hadn't understood; had he forgotten? Had she made a mistake and not said the words aloud? No. there was no mistake, Big had heard her. They talked into the night, way past visiting time, and he'd been there to collect her from the hospital the next day when she was released and suddenly, somehow, everything had been alright.
Carrie turned to her laptop and began typing ferociously away.
There are time when woman wonder what it's all about; sex, marriage, children, families. We ask ourselves over whether we're doing the right thing, making the right choices, asking all the right questions. But we never ask ourselves the most important question; are we happy?
Five days overdue and I am happy and in love. I have the success I wanted and the money that keeps me in Prada and all things designer. I have loyal, adoring friends and, if he or she ever decides to give mummy some help here, a baby. Am I satisfied with life? Am I Happy?
There's no question about it;
Yes.
