There is a haunting song I have heard that begins, “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.”
As I move through the days of my early thirties, I often feel like a childless mother.
My rational mind is well aware of the reality of life with child. It speaks of sleepless nights, screaming infant, lifelong commitment, and complete shift in lifestyle that comes with bringing a child into the world.
My hormones chant over and over, “We want a baby! We want a baby!”
The cultural world that surrounds me informs me that thus far in my life, I am a biological failure. I am a loner and a weirdo, and I will die alone and without a family if I let this fertile period pass me by without procreating.
My women friends remind me that I am only 32 and have many birthing years ahead, should I choose to follow that path. Women of many ages in my life tell me that one’s successes and fulfillment need not be determined by the passing on of genetic material.
Would that I were one of those women without the baby hormone brewing up a storm in my uterus.
Over a busy weekend in Lowell, I literally had to keep myself from tearing babies from their mother’s arms.
If it were not so very creepy, I would ask if I could tickle their chubby tummies and grasp their perfect, soft feet.
It can be complete and utter torture being witness to the beauty of mother and baby. And I feel so very alone and empty in the wake of such love.
And it is not like I can just immaculately conceive, or even that I would want to. I like a quiet life—writing in the morning and picking up my ukulele when inspiration hits
I like things clean and orderly. It is the one ream of control I can create in an otherwise unpredictable life.
Older women tell me the clock will cease from ticking, but I also have a friend whose ovaries scream out in pain every time she menstruates. With each dropping egg, she feels with her entire being the loss of a baby.
So, another morning will soon pass into afternoon. I have spent the morning writing. I will walk and swim at the pond and spend the afternoon with uke in hand.
The evening events are as yet unknown.