Boris Never Wanted Children

**Diary Entry**

Boris never wanted kids. The thought of being a father had never crossed his mind. All his life, hed dreamed of owning a doga big, shaggy onebut first his mother wouldnt allow it, then his wife objected. Now, though, he stood cradling a pink bundle, from which peeked out a tiny face, enormous blue eyes, and lashes so long, dark, and fluffy they couldve belonged to a doll. Russell-Silver syndrome meant nothing to him. All he saw were those wide blue eyes framed by impossibly thick lashes. His daughters slightly protruding ears made his chest ache with a fierce, protective tenderness.

“She wont grow taller than 46. Shes a dwarf,” the midwife explained gently, trying to break the news. “You can still sign the papers, if youd rather not” Boris only clutched the bundle tighter, staring blankly. His wife wept, tugging at his sleeve, whispering things he couldnt hear. Nothing else mattered. They named her Emily.

Life settled into the exhausting rhythm of parenthood. His wifes milk never camethe birth had been too traumatic, the diagnosis too crushing. One day, she packed her bags. “I cant bear to look at her,” she admitted, voice shaking. “Its too much. Theres no one like her in my family. This must come from you.”

When she spoke like that, Boris shut down. He didnt hear her, or his mother-in-law, or even his own father, who had only once peered into the crib with thinly veiled disgust. Only his own mother looked at him with pity, shaking her head. Then his wife left.

Boris raised Emily alone. He took a year of paternity leave, scraping together funds for physiotherapy, swimming lessons, massages. When his mother grew too tired to babysit, he hired an elderly nannykind, patient, sometimes even staying overnight while he drove his cab. By two, Emily spoke in full sentences, sang in a sweet, high voice, swam like a fish, and laughed hysterically at cartoons.

At seven, it was time for school. Boris panicked. He enrolled her in self-defence classeswanted knife-fighting lessons, but they refused until she was older. On her first day, he marched her into class, glared at every child, lifted her up, kissed her cheek loudly, and announced, “If anyone hurts my girl, Ill rip their ears off.”

Emily thrived. She played Thumbelina in the school play, became the star of her class.

Then, Boris finally got his doga Hungarian Komondor, bought for a symbolic hundred pounds from his boss, who was relocating to London. “Fates got a funny way with you, mate,” his boss said, clapping his shoulder. “A dog like thiscant brush him, just separate the cords every day.”

Life changed again. Every evening, Boris and Emily walked Albert in his special coat, then painstakingly braided his cords. Emily rode him like a tiny jockey, and Albert moved carefully, terrified of unseating her. The trio became a spectacleBoris in his old shearling coat, Albert massive and snow-white in green dogwear, Emily perched atop in a long pink puffer.

They moved away eventually, but the neighbours never forgot them. Years later, someone found Emily on social mediamarried, living in America, with children of her own. As for Boris? He remarriedto a wonderfully plump Jamaican woman. Because thats just how his life goes. Never simple, never dull.

Somehow, the things we resist most become the ones we couldnt live without. Funny, that.

Rate article
Boris Never Wanted Children
Just wait a moment,” he said.