Saturday morning, a work morning for me, and my hormones are raging once again. I thought I had made peace with them months ago, but these past couple of weeks they have fired up with a vengeance.
Is it biology or a true desire for a child that is this fire inside of me? Sometimes, I am not sure.
I fall asleep imagining a baby lying beside me on the bed and wake up to the envisioned sounds of small feet padding along the floor of the hall outside my room.
Is it so important to have a child? In this country, it seems to be. But I am under no allusions that this is the most important or only path a woman can follow in her life. I also know that progeny brings with it challenges of its own, as well as self-sacrifice. Could I be an artist and a mother? My research and music partner has assured me that something happens to a woman when she becomes a mother that causes everything else to become a lower priority. So much of my life I have made other people and their happiness a priority over mine. I am not sure I want to follow that path once more, at least not yet.
One of my challenges in my own life has been the desire to do everything I dream of. I went to Africa, twice; I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro after hearing stories from my father who had climbed it 26 years earlier; I learned a second language, French; I lived abroad; I moved to Alaska; I became a writer and songwriter.
Is it enough to bring songs into this world? In this day and age, I know that the earth does not need me to bring another child into it.
There are two paths before me, and I feel the burden of having to choose only one.