A reoccuring thought enters my mind at least twice a week: What kind of mother will I be?
I would like a biological child, yes, but I am very open to adopting or being a foster care mother. The abandoned children of this world, unfortunately, cannot afford to wait much longer to be loved.
When I view the squirming and screaming little ones, my breathing becomes erratic. Could I really handle that? One of the things I cannot live without is my sense of self, my free time. While I know scores of that will vanish once the blue line turns pink, I cannot cannot cannot be one of those babbling fools who incessantly talks about how they do not have one minute to themselves. How does one survive without one minute to themselves?
Much like getting over my monolithic anxiety of a permanent relationship, aka marriage, Adonis often remarked during our engagement, “We’ll make it our own.” That was our mantra and behind the scenes vow when tying the knot. It’s worked thus far. I find no other model for partnership other than the one I wake up in each morning. Committed togetherness is fraught with unforeseen challenge, unexpected twists of dreams and desires, and shaped by the limitations, frailty, and whimsical nature of the human psyche. Psst! Here’s a secret: that’s what make it so great.
I hope, in about two years, I will be posting that the same holds true for motherhood.