By Kellie Powell
Gingerbread is a ten-minute play about a conflict between two sisters. Miranda is seven months pregnant with her first child, and due to complications, her doctor has ordered bed rest. Her older sister, Gretchen, has taken a leave of absence from her job to take care of Miranda during the day while her husband (Eric) is at work. As Miranda grows increasingly stir-crazy, she tries every tactic she can think of to convince her sister to let her get out of the house. Gretchen tries to reason with her sister in the face of Miranda's growing hysteria.
I know it's hard. You don't feel like yourself, and, that's because right now, you're two different people, sharing one body. But, it can't be much fun for the baby, either. Imagine being that helpless. Floating all alone in the dark, with no one to talk to, and no control over anything - not what it eats, not even what it breathes. Totally helpless. No voice at all.
You're angry at her right now, I know. You're not used to being needed so much, and it's hard, and it's scary. I think you're angry at her for making you feel so helpless, and so afraid of losing her. And, yeah, maybe you do resent her a little, because you have to share the same space right now, and give up so many things that you want because of what she needs - but one day when she's grown up, you'll miss how close you used to be. Just like how you and I used to fight so much - we felt like we hated each other, but that didn't make it true.
No one blames you for what's happening. It's not your fault. And it's not the baby's fault, either, and you can't keep getting angry just to keep from being afraid. It's not going to get you anywhere. It's not going to make you prepared for the worst. It's not going to protect you, or the baby, from all the things that might go wrong. All you can do is concentrate on the things you can control. You can stay in this bed. You can make that sacrifice for your child. And years from now, when she's being a bitchy teenager, you can remind her how much this sucked, and make her feel guilty. And you can finish this baby blanket. You can give it to her when she's born, and you can tell her, "This blanket is not perfect, but neither am I. The important thing is that I did my best." Okay?
This monologue is from the ten-minute play Gingerbread by Kellie Powell, published by These Aren't My Shoes Productions. If you would like to read the entire play, you can purchase an electronic copy (PDF) of the script for $5.00.
This monologue is brought to you by The Monologue Database and These Aren't My Shoes Productions.