The West Virginian. [volume] (Fairmont, W. Va.) 1914-1974, 1915-07-21

know now what TO do with son.
ny's little clothes. This morning l re
ceived the following letter from Kitty
Malram Il guess I'll call her Kitty
Malram until the end OF time)
"Margie. dear dear. Margie you
can't tell how sorry am for you that
your baby did not live. for you wanted
a baby and YOU. dearest OF women.
seemed to have the mother kind OF
q nature. II would make me almost
laugh II did not feel more like
screaming against fate. as | sit here
and realize that you. whose whole
heart and soul seemed bound up in
your baby. should lose 1t and |. who
don't want baby. who am not IN the
least inclined TO motherhood. will
probably have twins or triplets.
Mature. my dear. seems TO delight
in playing practical jokes. and they
are apt to seem tragic to most OF Us.
YES. dear. am going to have a
baby-aud. oh, Margie. | don't want
TO look ugly for the next few months.
l thrink from the pain and suffering
and know in my Utmost soul that |
am not capable OF shouldering the re-
sponsibility OF bringing up child. l
know ] shall love il and hate il. Don't
look shocked as you read this-many
women. II they told the truth, would
say what ! am saying to you. Al least
they act this way to their children.
"Margie. when a woman accepts
motherhood she has dedicated her life
to cause Of which there is none hol-
Ter and. dear. your poor friend Kitty
Is not big enough 10 give up her fool
ish little pleasures and sink into the
background Of just a propagator OF
the race.
81 hate the word duty and its the
word that is most on Herberts lips.
want to let all the things which most
people think important slide and |
want TO put in their places the unim-
portant things which mean so much
TO me. never can get used to the
idea of being an old married woman
10 whom no man but her husband must
pay compliments. l want to be fat
tered and caressed, to have someone's
eyes at least tell me that l am most
good to look at, even II his lips do
not form the words Margie, III new
er settle down and, OH how miss
the fascination Of little Irritation.
Il wonder II you have forgotten,
dear. that you used to have plenty OF
admirers. Are you perfectly satisfied
with the prosaic everyday monotony of
married life. Don't you want the
tenseness and Jingle Of the nerves
that we used to call good times? Don't
your feet ever ache to dance all night
with no thought of the morrow?
Aren't you sometimes sick Of the
roast beef and potatoes OF married
life and don't you long for lobster and
artichokes? do. Margie. and can't
help 1t. Sometimes when I sit across
the table from Herbert at breakfast,
and hear him discourse on the needs
OF Mary Maloney and her sore-eyed
baby and on the likelihood OF Pat Ma
loney staying sober more than one
day q week, as he placidly drinks his
coffee and eats his invariable cereal.
! want to get up and go around and
box his ears.
Anything to get him out Of his
seeming content But instead say:
Yes. Herbert. and No. Herbert"
where the words are needed and pa.
tIently accept his cool kiss on my
cheek while all the while want to
be taken and crushed IN his arms
want to have my hair mussed and my
pretty negligee crumpled and my head
strained back until he can look into
my eyes and tell me that We are