Carrie's article in the Sunday paper reads:
"Question: is it a woman's destiny to bear children? I find myself wondering whether a woman should have a baby simply because they can. A woman should have the right to lead a life based entirely on her career and love. Question: how do you turn your biological clock, off?"
Carrie shut the paper satisfied that the first part of her article would stop woman all over New York from buttering their husbands toast and cleaning toys up from the floor. Yes, she had written an article that would relate to every woman in America.
"Sweetie, you want some toast?" Bigg called out from the kitchen. "I know how your hormones can run riot at this time."
"No thanks, I'm not hungry." She folded the newspaper beside her and pulled the covers up round her head. Yes, she was pregnant and yes, she had just spent four hours the previous morning writing an article on why woman shouldn't have children.
"You know," Bigg said, chewing rapidly on a piece of wholemeal toast. "I was thinking about Lawrence, if it's a boy and maybe Lilly-Anne for a girl," he perched on the bed and watched Carrie fling the covers back.
"What? Bigg I'm two months pregnant and you're thinking about baby names? Go ahead and start knitting bootees." Bigg put his plate on the bedside table and leant over his fiancé.
"Carrie, I thought we were excited about the pregnancy? I'm getting the vibe you're not." Carrie looked at him sympathetically. Oh how she loved his smile and his big brown eyes. Why couldn't things be how they were? Why couldn't she run around Paris trying to find him and then have him declare his undying love for her?
"Bigg, you haven't given me time for excitement of regret. We found out yesterday, I haven't even had time to tell the guys yet." She got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Bigg lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"Do you think about aborting it?" He asked, his gaze never leaving the ceiling.
Carrie stopped in her tracks. Although the door was closed and Bigg was out of sight, she felt his mind focused on hers.
"Yes." She replied. She wasn't going to lie to him.
"Well, I don't. I'm 46 Carrie; I have no time to loose on having kids." He got up, straightened his jacket and left the apartment.
Carrie heard the front door slam shut and opened the bathroom door. He was mad at her, she knew he was. The sooner she called everyone together the better it would be to discuss her problem.
"Answer: you can't turn your biological clocks off. . ."