Sorry guys, we have to say goodbye!

Remember how I told you in 2023 that Sandro and I ended up in relationship therapy together? In any case, after one session the therapist advised me to come alone a few times.

So I was there.

After a few appointments, it became even clearer to me what was already 98 percent clear to me: I will remain potato-free. Not that I’ve never said that before, but there was always a little bit of doubt. After all, with Sandro I have a potential super father at my side.

Images kept coming up from my inner eye. The four of us, incredibly happy and tanned and happily cuddling and playing on the beaches of the world. Sandro, a boy, a girl and me. And beach puppies, who logically all want to be adopted by us.

No lack of sleep. Not everyday life. No school time to supervise, no puberty anxiety, nothing. Just perfection.

But then there is the reality: just Sandro and I on the beach. Sunsets, umbrella drinks, day life, night life. No quid pro quo, no obligations, sex anywhere and anytime. That’s where I am at home. Then I want to stay home.

So I finally had to do what broke my heart into a gazillion pieces. Mine, Sandros and our parents: I had to clearly communicate (thanks, Mr. Therapist!) that I wanted to live a child-free life. And that this decision is non-negotiable.

Sandro already knew. But I lived in the hope that I would change my mind. I am a volatile soul. Not untrue.* But that doesn’t mean that just because you’re so fickle you can’t make a decision and stand behind it.

*Shoutout to all the fleeting souls out there.

So now Sandro is in the picture. And therefore destroyed. That also brings me to the vale of tears. It’s not that my own feelings don’t make me sad or thoughtful.

It makes me sad that I will never feel the love of my own child. That I will never get pregnant. Never give birth to my own potato. And raise them with a lot of love and a lot of Sandro and passion to grow up to be as great an adult as possible.

Shortly after Christmas – I’m not an insensitive bastard – I told my parents they were never going to be grandparents. My mother swallowed and left the room. Bruno, my father, took me in his arms, kissed me on the forehead and followed my mother, who was crying in the bedroom one hundred percent.

Sandro’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fischer, reacted differently. You nodded first and asked if he wanted another piece of cake. I wasn’t there. So I didn’t notice how Mrs. Fischer said yes “It’s not always evening yet and Sandro will eventually meet a woman who wants to make his wish for a family come true.”

Sandro replied that I am his family. That no one knows what will happen in a few years. But from now on, he can’t and won’t imagine his life with anyone else. Mrs. Fischer nodded. I cried when I found out.

You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this again.

There are two reasons for this:

1. The therapist recommended this.

2. You keep asking for a potato update. And voila!

Next Monday I will seal my decision with a spiral. Sandro comes by and holds hands. I have rarely felt as free as in that moment.

Of course I am aware of Sandro’s craving for potatoes. It is of course also clear to me that at some point a much younger woman with a uterus who would like to give birth will come along and that Sandro may be gone.

But what is the alternative? To panic about this exact situation and give birth to potatoes to keep him? Do I want something like that? No!

And now we can all solemnly bury the potato issue. I’ll open the fucker.

PS: High five, dear Mr. Therapist. What are we going to tackle next? My suggestion: How can Mrs. Fischer and I coexist without me pouring poison into her coffee?