I actually wrote this a few months ago for a project that never came to fruition. Since then, it has been sitting on my laptop with no real home. I figured now was as good a time as any to share it, since I have no idea when I will be able to get on the computer today. Warning: It’s a long one!
My entire life, I have wanted to be a mother. I wanted the family unit I was deprived of growing up; the 3.5 kids and the loving husband who comes home every night at 5:30 on the dot. I wanted the hot meal on the table, and the naughty boys taunting the only daughter. I wanted lazy Saturday afternoons spent baking or playing board games, followed up by t-ball practice and hot chocolate. I wanted talks about how the day had gone, and what was coming up in the week. I wanted time outs and make up hugs; arguments and random expressions of affection. I wanted the love that is implicit in the family unit. I wanted to be someone’s mother.
When I was a kid, I was far more excited about my future as a mommy than about anything else. That was what I daydreamed about. That was what I looked forward to. Nothing else quite compared to my urgency to mother; not the promise of driving or first dates, not even college. I saw all those milestones coming and going, but I always knew that the biggest one was yet to come. Nothing seemed quite as thrilling as being a mother. So I bided my time. I lived through those milestones and I did as I knew I should. I dated, learned, traveled, and got a grown up job. I did all of this however, with my eye on the prize. I knew that the real goal was still further on the path.
This is not a new goal of mine; in fact it has been forefront in my mind for most of my life. The changing of life’s circumstances did not create this goal for me; those changes simply made it more exaggerated. It turned this dream I had never questioned having into something palpable; something I could literally taste – something I felt painfully being ripped away.
When I think about motherhood now, it starts at inception. I wonder what it must feel like to just know you are pregnant. The joy that must overtake you when you set your mind to achieving those two lines and succeed. I think dreamily about every moment of it. I know I will be one of those women who tells everyone she knows the happy news right away. I know I will be so elated with the gossip I have to share, that I simply won’t be able to keep it to myself. As soon as I know, so will everyone else.
Then I think about that growing belly, and the other life relying upon me to provide it everything it needs. The connection that must be there between baby and mommy is enthralling to me. I want to be able to talk to that bean growing inside of me; I want us to have real conversations; if that is even possible to imagine. I feel as though we will just know each other in a way that no one else could comprehend. I want to feel those first flutters and know there is no way I could possibly love anything or anyone more than the little one causing those flutters. I yearn for the kicks that other women complain about; the acknowledgement that “yes, I am here, and I will be out soon, but in the meantime – still here!” The heartburn, nausea, soreness, and fatigue? None of that matters to me. If anything, I would take it as grateful reminders that I have a life growing inside of me. A life that needs me (and that I need). A life that loves me (and that I love) already.
I have had my birthing plan for years, and even that I look forward to. I want a natural birth; a water birth. Yes, I realize this makes me a crazy hippie in many people’s eyes, and I in no way condemn those who choose the other route! For me though, I want to feel it all. I want to experience every moment and do so in as Zen a state as possible. I want to be surrounded by the people who love me, and be in a birthing center environment that is designed to feel like home. I want to feel comfortable to scream through my pain, and to know that it will all be worth it in the end. I want to labor. I long to give birth.
The actual being a mommy part almost eludes me. I look at my friends who are parents, and I am awed by that interaction. The constant give and take and need to re-evaluate your position on any number of issues you once thought you were set in stone on. The infant stage; the breastfeeding and changing and nurturing? I am ready for that more than I have ever been ready for anything. But the mothering stage; the part where you scold, and love, and mold this little human being? I’m not sure you can ever fully be ready for that until you are there. I’m not sure you can prepare yourself until you are starring into the eyes of a child you love more than life and are desperately crafting compromises. There may be no way to assess your “readiness” until you have no choice but to move forward.
I would be lying if I said I was ready; but just because I can’t proclaim complete preparedness does not mean that I am not fully open to the experience and to watching my life become something I don’t even recognize.
I am welcoming of that stage. I may not necessarily be ready, but I know I will be. I know I will be open and warm as a mother. Loving yet firm. I am ready to rejoice in my children, and to learn with them as we go. I will forever love the way a child’s brain works, and I am anxious for the day when I can converse with the child who possesses my inquisitive spirit. I want to teach sign language to my infant, so we can communicate as soon as possible. I want to give all the love I have to give. I want to pour everything I’ve got into the child that is mine.
There will be love and joy, but there will also be some of the greatest exchanges known to man. When I am a mother, we will talk. We will talk to the depths of the ocean. We will explore, and learn, and grow; we will grow together. I will be the mother who is striving to look at life through my children’s eyes, and while I do not yet know if I am ready for motherhood, I do know I am ready for that other perspective. I am ready to see the world as it was meant to be seen; with innocence and wide eyed appreciation.
I long to be a mother because I know how much I have to give, but also because I know I have ever more to gain. Without children there seems to be an absence in my life that cannot be filled by love or friendship; by success or travel. I have loved my life and I have been greatly blessed with opportunities and experiences that not many can boast. I am infinitely lucky in the life I have been handed, but that life is lacking. I was born to be a mother; I was built for this job. There is no other explanation for the drive I have had towards it my entire life. While I have lived and loved and seen the world; there is still something missing. My child is missing. My opportunity to mother is absent. There is emptiness there. I have a hole in my life, and the only thing that will be able to fill that hole is a baby who was meant for only me.
Motherhood is not an intrinsic right, but for me it is a driving need. My life will not be completely fulfilled until I have my child in my arms. I know this is not true of everyone, and I do not mean to say that women without children are lacking. I can only speak for me; for my dreams and my life. I do not want to be a mother because I was told that is what I am supposed to desire. I yearn to be a mother because there is a very large spot in my heart that was meant to do so. That spot is empty. It is waiting. It is longing to be filled. I desire to be a mother because in my mind it is the only thing left to truly desire; the one thing I wanted the most and the only I have failed to achieve. I was meant to be a mother. I was meant to love and nurture and grow.
That spot in my heart was meant to be filled.
ADSPACE
